The Lone Wolfe

by Kate Hewitt

  ‘Show me?’

  ‘Outside.’

  Once they were both properly dressed, fortified with a quick breakfast of coffee and toast, Mollie led Jacob through the gardens. The world was bathed in fresh, lemony light, the leaves of every tree a vivid green, glittering with dew.

  ‘You’ve done a marvellous job,’ Jacob told her as they walked along the neat, repointed paths, the flower beds well weeded, the soil freshly turned and black. ‘It’s like a completely new place.’

  ‘It is a new place,’ Mollie said firmly, for what had come to her through working in the gardens—and being with Jacob—was that Wolfe Manor didn’t have to suffer as a prisoner of the past, just as Jacob didn’t. Just as she didn’t.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘The Rose Garden,’ Mollie told him. ‘Although it doesn’t have roses any more.’ Funny, how difficult it had been to let go of the roses. It had felt, a little bit, like letting go of her father.

  That garden had been so much a part of him, so dear to his heart, and yet Mollie knew he would have approved of what she’d done. Henry Parker had always believed in gardening from the heart, with both passion and purity. He would have agreed the roses had to go, even though his heart would have broken just a little bit. And she hoped—believed—he would have liked the changes she’d made. She only hoped Jacob liked them.

  ‘Here.’ She stopped at the entrance to the old Rose Garden, the hedges blocking what she’d done from Jacob’s view. She stood on her tiptoes to cover his eyes. ‘Don’t peek.’

  She felt his smile against her hand. ‘Certainly not.’

  Smiling back, her heart starting to beat just a bit faster, she led him to just inside the garden. ‘Okay.’ She took her hand from his eyes. ‘Look.’

  Silently Jacob surveyed the transformed space. Although the garden was still octagonal in shape, no remnant of what it had been remained. It was entirely new.

  Mollie watched him take in the hand-crafted stream that marked the perimeter of the garden, and the little wooden bridge—painted red for joy—that spanned it. Slowly he walked forward, over the bridge, coming into the garden itself.

  Nerves made Mollie speak, stumbling over the words. ‘I—I got the idea from you, you know.’

  ‘A Zen garden?’

  ‘Well, yes, but not just that. At the expo I read that one of the hallmarks of J Design is how each building reflects the spirit of the owner rather than the designer. And I wanted this garden to be like that—a reflection of you.’

  Jacob turned to her, startled. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mollie said, smiling at Jacob’s surprise; he looked as if he could hardly credit anything being about him. ‘You’re the owner of Wolfe Manor, Jacob. And you’re quite an amazing person, you know.’

  He caught her hand, his fingers twining with hers, and drew her to his side. ‘Show me what you did.’

  So Mollie did. She’d been nervous to over-explain all the choices she’d made in the garden, but with Jacob it was natural and easy to share her ideas: how she’d planted the plum trees as a symbol of resilience, since they flowered without leaf, and the pine tree as a symbol of strength. The wrought iron frog perched at a bend in the stream was a symbol of sudden enlightenment, and Jacob recognised it right away.

  ‘“Old pond, frog jumps in, splash.”’ He quoted the old Japanese haiku about sudden enlightenment softly, and Mollie grinned. ‘My epiphany came last night,’ he told her, drawing her close again, ‘thanks to you.’

  He paused as they came to the main showpiece of the garden. Slightly off-centre, in a bed of raked sand, Mollie had placed eight stones. She’d chosen them carefully, from the one with glittering gold flecks that reminded her of Nathaniel’s acting talent, to the smooth, grey oval whose seamless surface made her think of Annabelle’s cool, collected persona. Yet the stone that drew the eye to the centre of the arrangement was the tall pillar of rough-hewn granite that presided over them all, a guardian, a gatekeeper, strong, silent, there. Always. She felt Jacob’s hand tighten around hers as he silently counted the stones, his gaze sweeping over them and taking in the significance of the arrangement.

  The stream that surrounded the garden came to its source at the top of the little rock garden, where a gradated slope turned it into a waterfall, allowing the water to spray over the rocks, bestowing them with diamond drops, before gathering in a basin below that funnelled it back to the stream bed.

  Water, Mollie knew, was the symbol of rebirth, of both life and healing, and every rock was bathed by it. Jacob stretched out his hand and let the water wash over his fingers in his own silent baptism.

  Then he turned to Mollie and said in a voice low with heartfelt sincerity, ‘Thank you.’

  They strolled through the rest of the gardens then, their hands clasped, fingers entwined, and Mollie showed him all that she had done, loving how easy it was talk to him, to point out the challenges and difficulties of each part of the project, the plants she’d worked hard to save and the ones she’d had to let go. She shook her head mournfully at the ragged stump of a huge oak tree.

  ‘I left the stump to commemorate it,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘No tree that old should just be forgotten, the stump removed like it never even was.’

  ‘No indeed,’ Jacob agreed. ‘That’s where we had our tree house, you know.’

  ‘I don’t remember—’

  ‘No, my father tore it down in one of his rages.’ Mollie found herself tensing slightly at the mention of William Wolfe, as if even now he held some power over Jacob, and his—their—future happiness. But Jacob just squeezed her hand and shook his head. ‘It’s over,’ he said softly.

  ‘I only feel sorrow now, for the man he was, and the man he could have been. The father we could have had.’ He stopped, gazing at the manor, the sunlight touching its roof in gold. ‘I’ve lived so much of my life in the shadow of what happened that night,’ he said quietly. ‘And not just that night, but everything that came before. Everything that led up to it.’ He sighed, the sound soft, sad and accepting. ‘I know I’ll always regret the kind of childhood we suffered, but you’ve shown me that it doesn’t have to cripple me. That moment doesn’t have to define me.’ He smiled at her, and Mollie saw that the shadows from his eyes were gone.

  The night was cool and damp as Jacob rose from the bed. He left Mollie curled on her side, her hand tucked under her cheek, a smile curving her lips even in sleep. Jacob smiled at the sight of her before he pulled on a pair of drawstring trousers and a T-shirt and left the room.

  He’d become accustomed to walking the manor and its grounds by night, the only respite from the hell of his nightmares. Yet tonight he’d had no dreams; he hadn’t had one for nearly a week, since his ghosts had been exorcised and he’d felt the healing balm of forgiveness. He forgave himself, which seemed an incredible and amazing achievement, to seek something from within that he had not thought he’d been capable of possessing in the first place.

  In the past week he’d found himself walking through the rooms of the house with a different, sweeter set of memories than he’d had before. This is where Sebastian took his first steps. This is where Jack sledged down the back stairs on a baking tray and blacked both his eyes. This is where Lucas and I stole a batch of biscuits from Maggie and ate them until we were sick.

  He paused at the foot of the grand staircase. This is where I saved Annabelle.

  Annabelle had rung him several weeks ago, needing his forgiveness, feeling guilty for her own sorry part in the events of that terrible night, believing herself to be responsible for driving him away. And Jacob had given it freely, without reservation or regret, for he’d never once thought she had anything to be guilty for. Yet all the while he’d held onto his own guilt, let it burn into his soul like the most corrosive acid. It was only with Mollie’s help that the scars were now healing over, fading away.

  He was thankful now, in a new, quiet way, for his own hand in the events of that night. It was strange,
to feel gratitude after living with the souldestroying guilt and fear for so long.

  Strange to let them go, and letting something cleaner and stronger take their place.

  As dawn broke over the gardens, Jacob knew he had one more place to visit before the night was truly over.

  Mollie woke alone. She sat up in bed, saw the first pink streaks of dawn slant through the window and illuminate the room in pale morning light, touching everything with gold. Jacob wasn’t in bed; he wasn’t in the room.

  She slipped out of bed and quickly dressed. He was probably just working, she told herself, or perhaps just enjoying some early-morning solitude.

  Yet that same fear that had been eating at her contentment all week now rose again inside of her, like a hunger that could never be satisfied. This week had been wonderful, so unbearably sweet, yet even so a pall of uncertainty hung over it. Neither she nor Jacob had talked about the future, and Mollie wondered when—or if—they would, or what kind of future they could even have. Jacob still seemed set on selling Wolfe Manor, and travelling who-knew-where.

  Still, she was not about to go in search of Jacob this early in the morning and ask questions or demand answers. Instead she slipped on a pair of boots and headed out the back door, to the garden.

  She left the ordered gardens behind, heading to the distant areas that had been outside her domain: the smooth, unrippled expanse of the lake, the copse of birches that was beautiful in its unexpected wildness, all the parts of the estate that were lovely without being landscaped. She loved this place, she thought with a pang of sorrow. She would be sorry to see it sold, and not just for what it might mean for her and Jacob.

  She paused, coming out of the shadow of the trees, for on a hill above the woods she could see a lone figure standing in the family’s private cemetery. Mollie had almost forgotten about the little graveyard on the far corner of the estate, its iron fence rusted, the gate nearly falling off its broken hinge. Her own father was buried in the local churchyard in Wolfestone. All the Wolfes, however, were buried here. Slowly she walked up the hill and slipped through the half-open gate to where Jacob was standing.

  Most of the headstones in the family plot were mossy and falling down, their engraved dates worn clear away by time and weather. A few more recent headstones were in the far corner, where Jacob stood. She passed by William’s wives: first Amber, then Penelope, whom she knew was Jacob’s mother. She joined Jacob in front of William’s grave.

  Neither of them spoke. Mollie glanced at the headstone; besides the dates of William’s birth and death there was a simple epitaph: Have Mercy.

  Silently she slid her hand into Jacob’s.

  ‘It was all I could think of,’ he said quietly. ‘The epitaph. My father made such a mess of his life.’

  Mollie said nothing. She was humbled by Jacob’s selflessness, his willingness to plead for his father even while he denied himself that same mercy.

  ‘I’ve been angry for so long,’ he continued, his fingers tightening on hers. ‘And I’m not any more. It’s such a strange feeling, a lightness, not to carry that burden around. I spoke to Lucas this morning, on the telephone, and even he could tell something was different. Better.’ He paused, his gaze still fixed on William’s headstone. ‘I only feel pity for him now. Pity and love for the man he sometimes was, the man I know he wanted to be.’

  ‘And it’s good you remember that,’ Mollie told him. ‘His life wasn’t an utter waste, if you can hold onto that.’

  The sun was breaking through the morning clouds, and the day was turning hot. Jacob turned to smile at Mollie. ‘I want to show you something,’ he told her. ‘Something new.’

  Several hours later, dressed and showered, Mollie followed Jacob out of the manor and stopped in surprise at the car parked in the drive. The little red convertible.

  ‘You brought it back from London?’

  ‘I had it driven.’ Jacob went round to open her door. ‘It’s a beautiful day. We can ride with the top down.’

  Mollie slipped into the car and Jacob closed the door. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked as they drove down the sweeping lane and then through the estate’s wrought iron gates.

  Jacob gave her a teasing, glinting smile. ‘You’ll see.’

  She still wasn’t prepared when, a half-hour later, they arrived at a private airstrip, a jet waiting on the tarmac. Mollie turned to him, her eyes wide.

  ‘Jacob.?’

  ‘Come on.’ He parked and opened the door, and disbelievingly Mollie followed him towards the plane.

  ‘A jet? But where …? I don’t have anything …’ She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, thinking he’d meant to show her something on the estate. At least she’d brushed her teeth and put on a dab of makeup, but other than that …

  ‘I’ve taken care of it all,’ Jacob assured her. His eyes glinted as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘Everything.’

  Mollie gave a little laugh. This was so out of her realm, she was spinning. She decided to go with it. ‘Okay,’ she said, and headed up the stairs to the waiting plane.

  A few minutes later the jet taxied down the airstrip and then took off into a cloudless blue sky. Across from her Jacob was grinning like a little boy with a secret. The interior of the jet was upholstered in luxurious white leather, with a mahogany coffee table between the sofas. It felt like a living room in the sky. A steward silently came forward with a bottle of sparkling cider and two flutes.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Mollie said as Jacob handed her a glass. He raised his in a toast, and she did the same.

  ‘To amazing surprises.’

  They both drank, and Mollie felt the bubbles from the cider fizz low in her belly at Jacob’s heavy-lidded look. She loved everything about him, from the way his eyes glinted darkly to the low note of languor in his voice as he said, ‘Come here.’

  Mollie didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Jacob, the steward—’

  ‘He knows not to come back.’

  She glanced around the little cabin, the door closed to the staff quarters on one end and the cockpit on the other. They were completely alone.

  ‘All right,’ Jacob said easily, ‘if you won’t come here, then I’ll come to you.’

  He rose from his seat with easy grace, and even after a week of exploring and learning every inch of his body Mollie’s heart began to thud with expectation as he closed the space between them, sitting next to her on the sofa before pulling her onto his lap, her legs sliding across his, her breasts grazing his chest. Even now the contact felt so good, made the breath dry in her throat and the thoughts evaporate from her brain like bubbles.

  Bubbles. She was filled with bubbles, light, airy, wondrous. They were miracles, really.

  How did they float? How did they not pop?

  Jacob smiled, his hands sliding through the silk of her hair, down to her shoulders, his thumbs coming round to brush the already aching sides of her breasts.

  ‘Jacob …’ she said, but it was only a half-hearted protest as she felt the hardness of his thighs against her, and her hands came up to flatten against the wall of his chest, then slid up of their own accord to his shoulders, to draw him even closer still. He was very close now, so she could smell the woodsy tang of his aftershave and see the glint of dark stubble on his chin. If she leaned forward just an inch she’d feel his lashes brush her own cheek. He was still smiling faintly, and all Mollie could think about was how much she loved him … and how much she wanted to touch him now.

  He dipped his head lower to hers and nipped at the corner of her mouth, his teeth gently scraping the softness of her lips, playful, provocative. With a groan she closed the space between their mouths and Jacob claimed her for his own in a deeper kiss, one hand coming up to fist in her hair and angle her head closer to his, the other spanning her hips and moving her so she sat straddled him, the juncture of her thighs so achingly snug against his.

  ‘Jacob …’ she said again, breathlessly, half protest, half plea.
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  He smiled and reached for the zip of her jeans.

  Mollie gasped at the feel of his fingers sliding against her skin, dipping under the elastic band of her underwear. She moved even closer so she felt the hardness of his erection pressing into her most sensitive place, and she buried her head in his shoulder, shifting her body as if that alone could ease the building ache inside of her.

  Jacob eased her jeans over her hips, pushing aside his own clothing so nothing prevented their perfect joining. His hands clasped her hips as he entered her, and his lips grazed her jaw, nudging her to look at him. She lifted her head and met his gaze straight on, amazed at both the pleasure and the power of their united bodies, the deep sense of satisfaction that was as emotional as it was physical, the feeling of completeness that overwhelmed her so she was robbed of words or even thoughts save one.

  Home. This was home.

  An hour later they were in Paris. Mollie had ducked back into the bathroom to rearrange her clothing and hair, wryly noting her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Her eyes glowed with an inner light, and she knew nothing could disguise what had just happened. She looked like a woman who had been loved.

  A limousine was waiting for them as they left the airport, and within minutes they were speeding away towards the centre of the city.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Mollie asked, and Jacob just smiled. Mollie shook her head. ‘All these secrets.’

  ‘No, no secrets,’ he told her. ‘Just surprises.’

  He took her to an exclusive hotel, and a concierge led them up to the executive suite, with its acres of plush cream carpet and a king-size bed piled high with silk pillows that Mollie knew they would put to good use.

  As the concierge quietly closed the door, she spun to face Jacob, her hands on her hips.

  ‘I’m wearing jeans.’

  He just smiled, jangling the keys in his pocket. ‘I told you I took care of everything.’