by Liz Fielding
‘I’m sorry.’
That was the thing about learning to control your own feelings-you recognised the real thing when you saw it. When Jago said those two little words, he meant it. Not in a pitying way. But because he understood how much she had lost. Understood everything.
He’d saved her life, brought her from the darkness, given her back the simple joy of her body and with those two words she knew that it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with him.
It was time, in other words, to slip the mask back into place. Not to hide hurt. If she never saw him again after today it would be a cause for regret, but not for pain. He had given her more than he could ever know.
He had been compassionate, kind and, in giving her his own very special version of the kiss of life, he had, quite unknowingly, lifted that dark shadow from her life. The fear that her love was not good enough.
She had trusted him and he had not let her down and now she could trust herself. Trust the love she had been yearning to give and, instead of locking it away, scared of rejection, she would use it. First she’d reassure herself that the child they’d found-Rosie-was safe and happy. Do something for the other children out there, the ones whose thin and grubby little faces hadn’t made it into print.
She would wear her mask lightly, and only to protect him from any vestige of guilt for not loving her.
She’d been aware for some time of the sound of a helicopter quartering the ground nearby and she said, ‘Time to move, I think. If you’d deal with the buttons?’
‘We could just stay here,’ Jago replied, keeping a firm hold of her hand. ‘Live on nuts and wild berries.’
‘We could,’ she agreed. ‘But I have a documentary to produce and you have a book to write. The real story about the people who lived here.’
‘It won’t be a sex and sandals bestseller.’
‘It will be the truth. You owe them that and I promise I’ll be at the head of the line when you have your first book signing.’
‘That’s an incentive,’ he said and his smile formed deep lines down his cheeks. ‘Although academic authors tend not to make it out of their own university bookshop.’
‘Maybe the rubbish book will provoke interest.’
‘Maybe it will. I might sell three more copies.’
‘Just tell me where and I’ll bring everyone I know. We’ll have a party.’
‘If I do, will you invite me to the first screening of your documentary?’
She hesitated. ‘It’s about broken families, Nick. Adoption. The search for birth families. Reunion.’
‘Stories which don’t always have a happy-ever-after ending?’ he suggested. ‘Is that why you won’t follow up the little girl in your last documentary? In case her story doesn’t have a happy ending.’
‘I…’ She swallowed. ‘Yes.’ Then, meeting grey eyes that refused to accept anything less than total honesty, ‘I’ve let her down, haven’t I?’
‘You wanted to believe she was happy. When you’re afraid that reality might not live up to your dream, it’s tempting to stay where it’s safe.’
‘With the dream.’ She looked around at the perfect vision of paradise that surrounded them. It was lovely for a few hours stolen from life, but the scent that had at first seemed so sweet was now making her drowsy. Was that what the scent of the lilies did? Drug the senses…‘Maybe I’ve always been hung up on the dream, instead of accepting reality. Yearning for the fairy tale and missing what was in front of me.’
She turned to confront this man who’d given her back her life, both literally and emotionally.
‘Isn’t that what you’ve been doing too, Nick? Sticking with the dream of your perfect family, perfect parents. Unable to see your mother and father as just two ordinary people with ordinary frailties. Just like everyone else.’
She didn’t wait for him to answer. The question was rhetorical, something for him to think about. Instead, she removed her hand from his and, making a move for her shirt buttons, said, ‘It’s time to leave, Nick.’
As she fumbled awkwardly, he reached out and stopped her. ‘I said I’d do that.’
For a moment Jago thought Miranda was going to resist this final intimacy.
But then she smiled and let her hands drop to her lap. It was a simple gesture of trust and he fastened them carefully, without touching her, knowing that this simple act represented closure. An end to what had happened between them. On an impulse he said, ‘I’ve got an idea.’
She glanced up as a shadow passed over them, a blast of noise, a shower of leaves. The helicopter, directly overhead now. Beneath the canopy they were invisible from the air, but even so it would not be long before the world crashed in on them and, as soon as the beating of the rotor faded, he said, ‘Let’s come back here. A year from today. No matter what. You bring a packet of mints. I’ll bring a bottle of local brandy and we can pick berries. Have a feast. Maybe stay all night, gather lilies to put on a bonfire, give thanks for our deliverance.’
She smiled and for a moment he thought she was going to say that they should stay here now, for ever. But then she seemed to gather herself and, staggering to her feet, shook her head and said, ‘The lilies…Did you ever consider they might have some kind of narcotic effect?’
In other words, no.
‘Look, can we get out of here?’
She didn’t wait, but bundled her underwear, the bottle and sweet wrappers into her ruined bag and slung it over her shoulder and walked quickly up the slope to where, even now, he could hear people shouting her name. His name. Maybe he’d been a little hard on Felipe Dominez.
Leaving him and the glade as apparently untouched as before she’d burst into his life.
He dressed and followed her, reassured the searchers that there was no one left in the shattered building in which they’d spent the night. By the time he reached the clearing where he’d left his Land Rover-now lying on its side at the bottom of a gully, along with the remains of the tour bus-she had been swallowed up by her fellow tourists.
They surrounded her, exclaiming over her, hugging her, treasuring her as someone who’d returned from the dead. Then, before he could join her, he heard his own name ring out.
‘Jago!’
And then he had his arms full of woman as Fliss flung herself at him.
‘You’re alive!’
‘Apparently,’ he said, putting her down, holding her off. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here again.’
She had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Felipe wanted photographs of me at the temple. And I wanted to explain about the book. You have heard about the book?’
‘Yes, I heard. I hope it’s listed under fiction.’
‘Jago…’ She looked at him, all big eyes and hot lips. There was no doubt about it, she was one hell of a female and despite what she’d done, he grinned.
‘What are you doing here, Fliss? Really?’
‘When the earthquake hit, everyone was running around like headless chickens. If you were outside the capital…’ She shrugged. ‘I told Felipe that if he didn’t do something I’d tell everyone the truth. That the book was cooked up by some ghost-writer-’
‘And then he realised that this place was full of tourists who had families and he actually gave a damn.’
‘Well, maybe. I’m sorry, Jago. About the book. Truly.’
‘Truly, Fliss, you’re not cut out to be an archaeologist and you saw an easy way to make some money. Get the celebrity lifestyle. It’s okay. I don’t care about the book.’
All he cared about was Miranda, already being ushered towards the waiting helicopter with the other women, some of the older men. He needed to get to her, to say something, tell her…
‘You forgive me?’ Fliss persisted.
‘Yes, yes…’ he said impatiently as, over her head, he saw Miranda look back and for a moment hold his gaze.
Manda had practically fled from the glade, afraid of what she might say. Knowing that a year from no
w they would be different people. That to try and recapture this precious, almost perfect moment would be a mistake.
She wasn’t running away from her feelings or protecting herself-she would never do that again. Just running towards real life. Hoping, maybe, that in his own good time he’d follow her. Might remember his promise to invite her to his first book signing.
But then, as she’d stumbled into the clearing, she’d been surrounded by the rest of the tour group, who’d apparently been sheltering in one of the buildings, waiting for rescue. Believing that she was dead.
Being bustled towards the waiting helicopter along with her fellow tourists. Knowing that to delay would be to hold them up when they were desperate for food, hot water and sleep.
Except she could step back, let one of the men take her place and, as the rest of the party pushed by her, eager to get aboard, she glanced back, seeking him out.
For a moment she couldn’t see Jago and took a step back. But then she caught a glimpse of his tousled black mop of hair as he lifted his head so that he was standing a little taller than everyone else, right on the edge of the group, and she realised that he’d been talking to someone.
The bus driver, perhaps. He probably knew everyone…
‘Miss, can you get in, please…’
On the point of surrendering her seat to someone else-there was a general movement as those remaining were ushered clear of the rotor blades-she saw the someone Nick was talking to. Not the driver, not a man, but the curvy blonde who she’d last seen poured into a clinging gown and flirting with a chat show host on the television. As she stood there Nick said something and then, as if feeling her eyes on him, he glanced up and for a moment held her gaze. Still held it as the woman-Fliss, she had a name-flung herself into his arms.
And, for one last time, she dug deep for the smile that had hidden her feelings for so long. Smiled, mouthed, ‘thank you’ before turning quickly and climbing aboard the helicopter. She was the last one to board and the door was immediately slammed behind her. It took off almost immediately.
Manda kept her eyes closed as it hovered above the clearing, resisting the temptation to look down, look back. Then, as it cleared the trees, banked and headed into the sun, she opened them and made a promise to herself.
This was a new beginning and from now on it was only forwards, only positive. There would still be dark moments, but she would never again wrap them around her like a cape, but work through them to the light, knowing it would, like the dawn, like spring, always return.
Then they neared the coast and her phone beeped to let her know that she had incoming messages. She flipped it open and read the urgent, desperate messages from Ivo, Belle, Daisy who had, no doubt, been contacted by the consul when the hotel had posted her amongst the missing.
And she hit send on the stored messages that she’d written in the dark, when survival had not been certain. Simple messages that told them how much she loved them.
And then, because it was too noisy to talk, she keyed in another to tell her brother that she was safe. That she was on her way home.
Jago disentangled himself from the embrace of Fliss Grant and watched the helicopter turn and head for the coast, taking Miranda away from him.
‘How did you get up here?’ he asked.
‘I drove up in that Jeep.’ She pointed out a Jeep with the Government insignia and a driver. ‘The road’s a bit torn up but it’s passable.’
‘And the village?’
‘Not much damage. A few minor injuries, that’s all.’
‘Good. I need to pick up my things and get to the coast.’
‘You’re leaving? You won’t get a flight. It’s chaos at the airport.’
That meant that Miranda couldn’t leave either. ‘Just drop me at the new resort.’
‘No problem. I’m staying there myself.’
‘Fliss, the book I can forgive, but, as for the rest, I’d advise you to stick to Felipe. He’s your kind of man.’ With that, he swung himself into the Jeep and said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Manda showered, changed and, less than an hour after leaving the temple site, she was boarding a helicopter that Ivo had chartered to pick her up from the resort and fly her to a nearby island where he had a private jet waiting.
He might have stepped back a little from the twenty-four/seven world he’d once occupied, but her brother still knew how to make things happen.
The village might not have been badly hit, but the people still needed help. This had been his home for the best part of five years and Jago couldn’t just walk away.
It was a week before he finally made it on to a jet that would take him home. And the first person he saw when he walked through to arrivals was his father.
Older, a little thinner, a lot greyer. For a moment they just stood and looked at one another.
Then his father said, ‘Ivo Grenville called me. Passed on your message. Your mother…’ He stopped, unable to speak.
‘Where is she?’ he asked. Then, fear seizing him by the throat, ‘Is she ill?’
‘No, son. She stayed in the car. She knew she’d cry and she remembers how much you hate that.’
If he’d had any doubts about his promise to Miranda, they were shattered in that moment when he thought he might have left it too late.
‘My first day at school. I was telling someone about that only the other day. Miranda. Ivo Grenville’s sister.’
‘You were trapped with her, Ivo said. I met her once. She’s was a tremendous help with one of my projects.’
‘She didn’t say.’ He thought he understood why. ‘Will you call Ivo, ask him to thank her for me? For sending the message.’
His father regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I think maybe you should do that yourself.’
‘I will. Soon. But if you call, she’ll know I’ve kept my word.’
He nodded. Then, ‘Shall we go and brave the waterworks?’
‘I think perhaps I’ve finally grown up enough to handle a few tears,’ He said. And he flung an arm around his father and hugged him.
It had taken the best part of two months to finish the filming of the new documentary and it was finally in the can. Finished.
Manda sat at her desk tapping the phone with her pen. She’d promised to invite Nick to the private screening. Was it a good idea?
What they’d shared had been no more than a moment in time. A life-changing moment, a moment to cherish, but to try and carry it into everyday life…
She knew he’d seen his parents. His father had called Ivo, asked him to pass on his thanks to her, but he hadn’t called her himself even though he was back in London, no doubt working on his book. But then she hadn’t called him.
Of course she’d been busy. She’d driven all over the country with Belle and Daisy, putting the adoption documentary together.
No doubt Nick was busy, too. And presumably Fliss Grant was keeping him fully occupied out of working hours. She’d certainly dropped out of the celebrity gossip mag circuit.
Actually, despite the enthusiastic welcome Fliss had received from Nick when she’d turned up with the rescue team, Manda was a little surprised by that.
For a man who held truth in such high regard, it seemed out of character for him to forgive that kind of betrayal.
She dragged her mind back from the memory of the magical moments they’d spent at the forest pool. Maybe that was the lesson Nick had learned in those long hours they’d spent together in the dark. That life is too short. That you had to grab it with both hands, take what it offered. Move on. Looking forward, never back.
Something she was doing herself. Mostly. Not forgetting, she would never forget Nick Jago. He had given her back her life, was part of every waking moment. He always would be; it was something that made her smile rather than cry.
‘I’m leaving now, Manda,’ Daisy said, wheeling in the stroller containing her sleeping baby. ‘We’ll be at Wardour Street at eight.’
It took her a mo
ment to readjust to the present. ‘Eight? Oh, right. What’s the final headcount?’
‘I think we’ve just about got a full house.’
‘Well, that’s great. Thank you. You’ve done a great job.’ And, glad of an excuse to put off making a decision about whether to call Nick, she dropped the pen on her desk and bent to croon over her sleeping godson.
‘Hi, Jude. You just get more gorgeous every day.’
‘Manda…’
She looked up, saw trouble. ‘What’s up?’
‘This is a bad time to tell you, but there’s never going to be a good one.’
‘What?’ Then, because she knew the answer, ‘It’s Rosie, isn’t it?’
‘You asked me to find out what happened to her.’
‘And?’
‘It’s not good, I’m afraid. You know that she was being held in a care home for assessment while they found a family who would be able to cope? Most of the couples who wanted her didn’t have the first clue about what they’d be taking on.’
None of that was relevant and she dismissed it with an impatient gesture. ‘She’s gone, hasn’t she? How long?’
‘Months.’
‘And they didn’t bother to tell us?’
‘Manda…’
‘I know, I know,’ she said, waving away the jargon. She’d heard it all since she’d joined up with Belle to help raise the profile of her causes. ‘It’s none of our business. No doubt there are laws. Privacy. All that stuff…’
‘Yes, there are, but I think the real problem was that they were afraid you’d go to the press. Make them look bad. You can be a bit…well…intimidating.’
‘Really?’ She combed her hair back with her fingers. ‘I don’t mean to be. I just don’t-’
‘-suffer fools gladly. I know. If it helps, you never scared me.’
That was a fact. But then Daisy had been little more than a street brat herself. Full of lip. Terrified beneath all that front. They were total opposites and yet there had been a kind of recognition…
