“Erm, well,” he faltered, the smugness on his face suddenly replaced by a growing unease. “It was a busy week; I had a lot to catch up on.”
“A lot to catch up on?” she repeated scathingly. “And that’s your excuse, is it? You didn’t come to see me because you were busy. You liar. Penny was right; you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself.”
“No, Layla, no,” he replied, lunging for her hands again, “that’s not true. I did care, I do care. I was confused, scared even. I’ve never felt about another woman the way I feel about you. I am not a liar.”
Shaking him off, she said, “Okay, come on then, tell me. How do you feel about me?”
“Well, you know,” he said, faltering again.
“Do you love me?” she interjected, amazed at her boldness.
“Love you? Yes, of course. Of course, I love you.”
It was the first time he had ever said those words to her but only after being prompted. That wasn’t right, surely.
“Alex, I think you’d better go. I don’t want you here.”
Bewildered by her rejection, it took a few moments for him to rally. “Layla, please, give me a second chance. I deserve that much at least. You’ve made your point. I get it, I understand. Someone like you doesn’t belong in this rural backwater. It will kill you, with boredom, if nothing else. Come back with me, to Brighton, where you belong. We’ll start again. We’ll make it work. I promise.”
Incensed, she stood abruptly up, sending her chair crashing to the ground behind her, an almighty bang against the flagstone tiles.
“How dare you?” she shouted, all the pain and fury of the last few months exploding. “All of this, it’s not about making a point, not to you anyway. It’s about me, about trying to be happy again, a happiness you took from me in the first place because I wasn’t enough for you. And as for deserving a second chance, you deserve nothing. You left me, and the first I know about it is that hateful Post-It note. Well, that and Hazel shouting it from the rooftops. If you were bored of me, Alex, you should have been a man about it. You should have told me face-to-face. And in private.”
Alex jumped up too and grabbed her by the shoulders. “But that’s just it. I never wanted to finish things between us. Don’t you see? Commitment and me, we’ve never been the best of friends, I admit it. The fact that I was falling in love with you, that I couldn’t see a future without you, terrified me. And that’s why I did what I did. It wasn’t because of lust. I didn’t even fancy Sarah-Jane. It was because of fear. I was frightened.”
“What, and suddenly that fear’s just gone, has it? Or will it rear its ugly head time and time again, every time you decide to have an affair?”
“There won’t be any more affairs, I promise. If you come back to me, I won’t let you down again. All that philandering, it disgusts me as much as it disgusts you. I want no more of it. I’m sick and tired of it. I’ve changed, Layla. I’ve grown up. All I want is you. I’ve tried, but I can’t live without you.”
“Rubbish,” said Layla, quickly turning from him, hoping to hide the tears that were starting to fall.
“It’s not rubbish. It’s not. Look,” he insisted, fishing about in his jacket pocket for something.
Curious, she turned back to see what he was doing. Dangling in his hand was the diamond bracelet he had given her for Christmas.
“As soon as we get back to Brighton, we’ll buy an engagement ring to match, an antique one from those shops you love so much in the Lanes. I’ll marry you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To get married?”
Staring at it, she took it from him, unable to believe it had found its way to her again. It was still a merry little thing. Still sparkling away. After a while, she took his hand, placed it back in his palm, and closed his fingers over it. She was not a donkey, and the carrot did not tempt her.
“You know what?” She was more sad than angry now. “You make it sound as though you’d be doing me a favor, marrying me.”
“Of course not,” he blustered. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I want to marry you. I’d do it right now, right this minute, if I could.”
“Just as well you can’t, then,” she whispered. “Just as well you can’t.”
“Layla,” he continued desperately. “I want nothing more than to marry you, to have children with you. We can have a great life together. We belong together. I’m just sorry it took me longer than you to realize it.”
His hands were on her shoulders again, and she let them rest there this time. She was tired of fighting. Earlier that day she had said to Hannah she couldn’t stay in Trecastle when the year was up because she wouldn’t have anywhere to live. As Hannah had pointed out, she didn’t have anywhere to live in Brighton, either. It was true: she was, to all intents and purposes, a vagrant or would be in a matter of months. And now here was Alex, offering her the world. Not just a place to live but marriage too, a family. Everything she had wanted not so long ago.
Looking into his face, she searched for signs of sincerity. Unless he had developed a talent for acting, he looked genuine enough. Whilst scrutinizing him, she noticed how deep set the lines around his eyes were, his slightly saggy jowls, and it took her by surprise. He seemed to have aged since Christmas. Is that what missing her had done to him?
Not wanting to even utter her name but knowing she must, she asked, “What about Sarah-Jane? What’s happened to her?”
“She’s long gone. I fired her. The last thing I needed was a daily reminder of where I’d gone wrong.”
“You fired her?” Layla was stunned. “Because of me?”
“Yeah, no, not just because of you. Look, I’ve had to make all sorts of cutbacks. She was last in, so of course she’d be first out,” Alex replied hastily. “But never mind that. All you need to know is Sarah-Jane has gone. It’s you I want. It always was.”
Feeling like a battered opponent in a boxing ring, Layla tried to make sense of everything Alex was saying to her. It was hard, though. Her mind, heart, and soul were reeling from the onslaught.
“I’m getting rid of Hazel, too,” Alex continued. “Her people skills are appalling. You can have her job. You’d be brilliant at it.”
So not only a place to live, marriage, and children, but a promotion, too. Was there anything this man wasn’t prepared to offer her?
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head in confusion. “I just don’t know.”
“But I do,” replied Alex, the certainty in his voice impressive. “I know for both of us. What we have is special, too special to lose. We owe it to ourselves to try again, to learn from our mistakes, to move forward.”
Our mistakes? she was about to say, amazed at the cheek of him, but then she faltered. Maybe he had a point; maybe she had made mistakes too. He had never mentioned love or marriage to her when they had been together. Those had been her dreams. Not yet his. Could he really be accused of leading her on? More likely she had led herself on. Read too much into a pretty trinket.
“Layla?” he prompted, agitated now.
“I, Alex, I don’t know…maybe.”
“Maybe?” he said, his eyes brightening endearingly. “Is that a yes?”
“Don’t push it, Alex. It’s a maybe. I can’t be more specific than that.”
A huge grin spread across his face. For such a powerful man, he had a little boy look about him sometimes. A look, she found, that still tugged at her heart.
“If I do decide it’s a yes,” she continued tentatively, “if I do come back, it’s zero tolerance, I warn you. Another affair and I’m gone for good.”
“It’s irrelevant,” he said, still grinning. “It’s never going to happen.”
He pulled her to him and hugged her, his arms so tight around her she could barely breathe. She hugged him back but limply in comparison, unable to inject much energy into it.
After a few moments, he pulled away. Staring at her intently, he said, “Could that maybe be more of a yes than a no?”
He lifted his hand to stroke her face. As he did so, she thought, This is it, the big reunion kiss, the kiss you’ve been waiting for. She braced herself as his lips found hers, his breath slightly sour, she noted, from the beer he had been drinking earlier. As he continued to kiss her, she wondered where the fanfare was: the trumpets, the drumroll. Surely her internal orchestra should be going into overdrive as they attempted to put the past behind them and move on? Instead, the only sound she heard was the lonely ticking of Lenny Dryden’s wall clock.
Pulling apart, his voice was husky as he whispered, “Layla, it’s been so long, too long.”
“And it’s going to be a bit longer,” she replied, pushing him away. “Don’t think I’m sleeping with you, Alex. Not tonight, tomorrow night, or the night after. Maybe doesn’t warrant that.”
“Oh,” he said, clearly pissed off, “what am I going to do with this, then?”
Refusing to look where his eyes indicated, she retorted, “You’re going to have to save it for another time.”
“Layla,” he whined, but she stopped him.
“Don’t, Alex. I mean it. I’m still angry with you for what you did. Just…give me time, that’s all.”
“Okay,” he replied, looking petulant, a little boy look of his that was not so endearing. “So where do I sleep tonight?”
“On the couch. It’s comfy; I’m always falling asleep on it. I’ll get you a blanket.”
“Fine,” he said, a heavy sigh indicating it was anything but.
She was about to turn away, to go and get a blanket and a pillow, when he started speaking again.
“Er, Layla, there’s one more thing we need to sort out whilst we’re at it,” he said, rather cautiously, she thought.
“Oh?” Layla tilted her head expectantly.
“Yeah, yeah, come and sit down for a minute. It’s just a small thing. We can chat about it over a cup of tea. It’s to do with FarScapes…”
Chapter Seventeen
JUST A SMALL THING, he had said, as though he really believed the potential demise of his empire was just a small thing. Layla had been furious. Not only with him for believing she could do such a thing, but with Penny for doing the bloody thing in the first place! Go easy, she had said to Penny that night they had crept back in the office and she’d emailed FarScapes. She should have known better. A bull in a china shop sometimes, Penny wasn’t renowned for taking things easy.
Layla was tired; she had barely slept, about an hour or two at most. It had taken Alex a while to calm her down, to appease her, again. Was she too easily appeased, she wondered? Perhaps, when it came to him.
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he had insisted. “All I’m saying is that if you didn’t do it, who the hell did?”
She could enlighten him, of course, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t drag Penny into this.
“Okay,” she had said finally, through gritted teeth. “It was me. I did do it. I never meant to cause any trouble, though.”
“I can tell you didn’t,” he had said, reaching out to smooth her hair, “but unfortunately it has caused serious trouble. Jack refuses to have anything more to do with me because of it. And I need him, Layla. I wish I didn’t, but I do. People just haven’t got the money they once had to spend on holidays; business is sliding. Talk to him, make him see sense.”
What had been in the email anyway? She’d have to phone Penny to find out, once she’d torn her off a strip or two. And why did Alex think anything she had to say to Jack would make a difference? She was, or had been at least, a lowly marketing executive. Jack wouldn’t take a blind bit of notice.
“But he will,” Alex had disagreed. “He liked you. I could tell. Please, Layla, help me.”
She had a sneaking suspicion he had just stopped himself from adding, It’s the least you can do, which was just as well. She would have lost it if he had, big time. But he had a point: it was the least she could do. She couldn’t let an entire company sink because of her, add to the already alarming number of people unemployed in this country. Many that worked for him had families too, kept photos of them on their desks. Often she’d stopped to admire beautiful Byron or darling Delphi. If it was in her power to ensure their parent’s livelihood, she had to do it.
“Just call him,” he had urged, “in the morning, first thing. Tell him that email had nothing to do with me.”
It had nothing to do with her either, but she had agreed to do so. And now it was morning, and she was exhausted. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what she was going to say to Jack Thomas.
She forced herself to push back the duvet, stood up, stretched, then hurried to the bathroom, showering quickly before scrubbing at her teeth. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she thought how dreadful she looked, her complexion too pale, her expression lifeless.
Is this what you want? To marry Alex? she asked herself. Of course she got no reply. Dead eyes just stared back at her, unnerving somehow.
It used to be what she wanted; whether it still was, she didn’t know, not really, not deep down. But did she have a choice? Life was hard nowadays. It wasn’t easy to get by on your own. Rents were enormous, and wages barely covered them. So many of her single friends struggled. She had struggled too. It was no joke. With Alex she had a shot at a decent life, a life she had once vividly imagined, but a life far removed from the one she lived now. A life without Hannah, without her newfound friends, without Joseph.
At his name, she started. Of course it would be a life without Joseph. Even if she stayed, it would be a life without Joseph. She’d do well to remember that.
And what about her writing? As marketing manager of Easy Travel, there would be no time for literary pursuits. Any hopes of penning a novel would have to be shelved, permanently, most likely. Which was a shame. She loved writing, and finally she was getting somewhere. Mind you, a hundred pounds here, two hundred pounds there didn’t constitute a living wage—another thing worth remembering.
Pulling on her denim miniskirt and favorite dusky pink T-shirt, which had molded itself nicely to her frame over the two years she’d had it, she ventured downstairs, expecting to find Alex still asleep. He wasn’t. He was up, looking slightly rumpled but happy enough.
“Hey, babe,” he said, grabbing her by the waist as she passed by, “you look gorgeous. Fancy some breakfast?”
She quickly extricated herself. “Not really. Just a cup of tea, please.”
Whilst he searched for mugs and tea bags, she wandered over to the kitchen window to look at Gull Rock, a view she would miss when she left. And then it hit her. She was under no obligation to leave. Not straight away. She had said maybe, not yes, even if it was a maybe yes.
It was another six months before Lenny was due back. She could stay until then. She owed it to Lenny to stay. Although she’d never met him, he had rescued her in her hour of need, offered her a place to live when she needed one. She couldn’t just abandon their agreement. And staying would test how serious Alex was. If he could wait that long for her—celibately, of course—it would lend weight to his ardent words.
She looked at him frying several rashers of bacon, cracking an egg into the saucepan, cooking the full works. “Alex, I’m not coming back to Brighton with you. Not yet.”
Spatula in hand, he swung round. “What do you mean ‘not yet’?”
“Exactly that,” she replied determinedly. “I promised Lenny, who owns this cottage, I’d look after it until he returns in January, see that all running costs are paid, keep it neat and tidy, that sort of thing. I can’t break my side of the bargain. I won’t break my side of the bargain. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Laughing, as though with relief, Alex said, “Oh, don’t be silly, Layla. You’re under no obligation to this Lenny chap. I’ll leave enough money to settle the bills for the rest of the year and just get that friend of yours, Hannah or w
hatever she’s called, to look in every now and again. It’ll be fine.”
“No, Alex.” She could feel her anger rising. “You can’t just buy your way out of every situation. I said I’d look after his cottage whilst he was away, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not asking you to stay with me. I don’t want you to stay with me. I said last night I need time; well, I do, time and space. I want you to go back to Brighton and wait for me there.”
“Wait for you? But it’s such a long time.”
“It isn’t. It’s no time at all. You said you wanted to marry me, which means spending the rest of your life with me, up against which six months is a drop in the ocean. I’m sure you’ll manage it.”
“But I want you now,” he said, looking shell-shocked to say the least.
“It doesn’t matter what you want. It’s what I want that counts,” she replied. “If we’re going to get back together again, you’d better keep that in mind. I’m staying until Lenny returns, and sadly for you, I don’t think he’d be best pleased if I entertained houseguests.”
“Fine, terrific, have it your way,” he said at last, hardly bothering to conceal his anger. “But by Christmas, you’re mine, okay? Mine.”
We’ll see, she thought, before deliberately replying, “Maybe.”
“Here’s Jack’s number,” he said, snatching up a piece of paper he must have scrawled on earlier and almost throwing it at her. “That’s something that won’t wait, at least.”
Chapter Eighteen
“HE’S NOT IN, I’M AFRAID,” said a curt voice on the other end of the line—Jack’s secretary, she presumed. “Can I get him to call you back?”
“Er, yeah, that’ll be great. Thanks.”
“Damn,” said Alex. He stood over her, looking as if he were about to weep tears of frustration. “I can’t believe he’s not in.”
Layla rolled her eyes. “Well, he isn’t. We’ll just have to wait.”
“You’re right. There’s nothing we can do.” Looking at her lasciviously, he swiftly changed his mind. “Actually there is, there’s plenty we can do.”
The Runaway Year Page 14
