If you decide to leave, a little voice said inside her head.
Everything had seemed so clear-cut when the nasty letters arrived and she decided to leave. The hate mail was the first stage in a scenario she’d experienced before. The letters were usually followed up by verbal attacks. But as Imelda so succinctly pointed out earlier, nothing else had happened yet—though there was still the chance someone would tell Ryan about his father.
After exhausting the boys kicking around a ball in the heat of the afternoon, Jack was still around at dinnertime looking fresh and cool after a shower and change of clothes.
“Don’t you have a hotel to run?” she asked as he sat beside her at the dinner table and rested a negligent hand on the back of her chair.
He slanted her a grin, leaned closer and whispered, “You’re still frightened of me.”
Annoyance tensed her muscles and she told herself the heat spreading through her body was due to anger. She gave his hand on the back of her chair a pointed look and he raised his eyebrows but didn’t move it until the food was served.
Why couldn’t he sit at the opposite side of the table—anywhere but beside her, where she could smell the spicy fragrance of his soap?
Ryan was so exhausted by the day’s activities he started to nod sleepily over his dessert.
“Excuse me, Imelda.” Melanie placed her napkin on the table and looked at her son. “I think someone needs his bed.”
“You take him up, dear. He’s had a busy day.” Imelda reached over and stroked back the hair from Ryan’s forehead. “Off to bed with you, sleepyhead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ryan gave Imelda a sleepy smile and there was genuine affection in the look. Melanie suppressed a sigh. Her options were narrowing by the minute. Taking Ryan from one person he loved was distressing, taking him away from a whole surrogate family would be impossible. With a sinking feeling, Melanie realized this must have been Imelda’s plan all along.
Melanie walked Ryan upstairs, prepared him for bed and tucked him in. Jack appeared at the bedroom door and rested a hand on either side of the doorframe.
“This was my room when I was a boy.” He wandered in and gently ruffled Ryan’s hair. “I’m glad you didn’t take him away. I’d miss him more than you can imagine.”
She looked down at her sleeping son, suddenly ashamed. She’d thought about how much Ryan would miss Jack and how she could ease the parting for him. She hadn’t given Jack’s feelings for Ryan any consideration.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t think.”
“About me, you mean?” he said flatly. She moved closer to him, drawn against her will. But he turned his back and ambled around the room, touching the furniture, opening drawers, straightening a picture of the England football team that won the World Cup in 1966.
She moved up beside him to stare at the old black-and-white photo. “I’m sorry, Jack. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You didn’t even consider my feelings, did you? You didn’t even really consider Ryan’s.”
At her son’s name, her breath hitched. “Of course I did. He’s the most important thing—”
“You keep telling yourself that because you can’t face the fact that you’re the one running away, and you don’t even know what you’re running from anymore, do you?” He raised a hand towards her face, then curled his fingers into a fist and let it drop.
Melanie couldn’t bear his cold distance. He was normally so caring, holding her, touching her in casual ways she hadn’t even appreciated until he stopped. She reached for him and he stepped back, his expression bleak, his eyes angry. “No touching. I can’t do this anymore. One moment you want me, the next you don’t. If you want to touch me again, tell me the truth. What’re you running away from?”
“You know—”
He raised a hand. “The truth. Then we’ll talk again.”
He turned and walked away without looking back. Melanie swayed slightly as she stared after him, the burning heat in her chest unable to melt her frozen heart. After a couple of minutes, the front door slammed and she heard the roar of his car engine, then the spitting of gravel as he drove away.
Leaving him had hurt. Having him walk out on her was agony.
* * *
Jack didn’t visit the following day.
Melanie paced around the house, looking for something to clean, but the housekeeper kept the place immaculate. When she went to help with lunch the food was already prepared. She couldn’t even spend her time with Ryan, as he’d gone to Emily’s house to play with Sam and Matt.
Imelda went out after lunch without asking Melanie if she wanted to accompany her. Having nothing to do was unusual and disturbing. It left far too much time to think. She fetched her journal from the bedside-table drawer, where she always kept it wherever she stayed, and settled on the swing seat with the book in her lap. She looked at the shiny gray cover, unmarked, no title, nothing to give away the pain and anguish held between the covers.
When she was a child and did something wrong, her mother had made her write the offense in a book so she would remember her mistakes and not repeat them. Using that lesson, she’d kept a record of the troubles with Marcus so she would never forget those dark days.
Instead of reading her notes, she found her gaze drifting off towards the distant purple peaks of Dartmoor, where two buzzards glided in lazy circles against the blue sky. Imelda was right, nothing bad had happened to her since the poisonous letters arrived. She was planning to run away just in case things became uncomfortable. Viewed that way, her behavior sounded cowardly and stupid.
This was a safe place for her son. No one had been offensive or threatened them, and if they did have trouble Jack was here to support them. She had no reason to leave and every reason to stay. She wanted Jack so much she ached for him, and she knew he wanted her. So why did she feel as though she didn’t deserve to be happy?
Chapter Eleven
Imelda arrived back shortly before dinner with shopping bags and a smile. “How’ve you been, dear? I thought you looked a bit peaky earlier,” Imelda said as she took her seat for dinner.
Melanie wished she hadn’t agreed that Ryan could stay over at Emily’s. Being alone with Jack’s mother and her perceptive looks made her uncomfortable. “I’m fine. Is Jack coming over for dinner?” Melanie assumed he’d been busy in the hotel that day, especially as she was absent from her job.
“Oh, no.” Imelda waved a hand. “Jack was invited for a day on one of those enormous yachts. Janelle Constantis invited him personally.”
A flash of unwelcome jealousy made Melanie pause as she pulled out her chair. “Who’s Janelle what’s-her-name?”
“He’s been angling for this yacht manufacturer to recommend Greyfriar House to their clients. Well, Janelle owns the company.” She winked at Melanie. “My Jack’s always been able to charm the ladies. He’ll have that recommendation in the bag by the time he finishes wining and dining her tonight.”
“Oh.” Melanie stared at Imelda’s smug smile as the woman flapped her napkin over her oyster linen skirt.
Much later, when the house was silent and Imelda had retired, Melanie stared out her bedroom window over the front garden, sleep evading her. Although Ryan wasn’t there and she’d missed helping him get ready for bed, all her thoughts were of Jack.
As she stared down the dark drive, headlights flashed through the rhododendrons. She clutched the windowsill, part of her longing to see Jack
, part terrified he’d give her the cold shoulder again.
The security light over the front door lit as his silver Mercedes swung around and parked. Melanie dropped the curtain back in place and watched through a small gap as he climbed out, locked the car and disappeared around the side of the house.
Melanie opened her bedroom door a crack and listened. The house was so big that from here, she couldn’t hear noises downstairs. She walked along the hall to the head of the stairs and heard the clatter of cutlery.
Maybe she should be honest with Jack and admit she didn’t understand why she was scared of grabbing her chance of happiness. She hesitated for a few seconds then descended, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. He had his back to her as she walked through the kitchen door. She stopped with the table between them. “Jack.”
He visibly started and liquid sloshed from the coffeepot he held. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “What’re you doing up?”
He still had his jacket on, but his tie hung loose around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Thinking about what I said to you?” he asked with a wry smile.
“You were right. Ryan and I are safe with your family.”
Jack brought his mug to the table and indicated she should sit opposite him. He sipped and compressed his lips before speaking. “I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said you don’t think about Ryan. That was unfair. I know you love him.”
“I try, but I’ve made so many mistakes.”
“You can only do your best.”
“Damned by faint praise.” Melanie met Jack’s eyes over the rim of his mug. “I’ve spent the day thinking about my future. I didn’t have much else to do, with your mother shopping and Ryan at Emily’s.”
She waited for Jack to mention where he’d been. The silence was deafening.
“Any conclusions?” he asked eventually.
“You’re still interested?” At his frown she added, “Imelda told me you’ve been wining and dining Janelle somebody-or-other who owns the yacht company.”
“Ah.” Jack gave a soft snort. “Presumably Mother didn’t think to mention that Janelle is nearly sixty and brought her husband along.”
“Oh.” Melanie felt foolish. She had known Imelda was stirring and still fallen prey to her insecurities.
“You don’t trust me?” he said, a weary disappointment in his voice.
“It’s not that. I just thought…you might be fed up with me after everything that’s happened.”
“What, you mean the way you want me, then you don’t, then you do again.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not the one planning to leave, Mel.”
“I do want you. It’s just something inside me can’t accept it.”
“I told you, you’re frightened of me.” At her noise of disagreement, he shrugged briefly. “Okay, maybe that’s not quite the right way of putting it. You’re frightened of your feelings for me. You don’t believe you deserve to be happy.”
She fisted her hands in frustration. “Why?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who’s been thinking all day.”
“And half the night!” Melanie stood and paced to the window. She stared at her own reflection in the dark mirror of the glass. “I don’t know, Jack. It doesn’t make any sense. I know I was avoiding men because I didn’t want to trust anyone after Marcus, but I got over that or I’d never have got involved with you.”
“Maybe it goes deeper.”
She turned to face him and wrapped her arms around herself. “Deeper how? Mum and Dad are still happily married. I haven’t got issues with that.” But even as she mentioned her parents, the familiar numbness crept through her, as her mother’s words from that terrible day five years ago came back. Words of accusation and blame that Melanie had tried so hard to forget. Words she could not deny because they were true.
The overwhelming guilt she’d pushed to the depths of her mind and locked away flooded through her.
As if he’d read her mind, Jack said, “There’s something you haven’t told me, isn’t there?”
Melanie closed her eyes and shook her head as if that would deny it.
“You’re never going to move on unless you let it all go. Tell me what it is. Please.”
Tears swam in her eyes and she sawed her teeth over her lip. Jack shifted his chair. For a moment she thought he would get up and put his arms around her, but he stayed seated.
“It was my fault.” Melanie stopped and swallowed. This was so hard.
“Tell me,” Jack said softly.
“My grandfather lived in Littlechurch. Mum’s dad. He died a few weeks after Ryan was born. It happened so suddenly. One day he was all right and the next Marcus said he only had a few weeks to live.” All the blood drained out of Melanie’s head, and her ears hummed. She stared at her bare toes. She couldn’t look at Jack. “I think he was Marcus’s first victim.”
“Oh, Mel.” Jack was up and across the room in a few strides, pulling her into his arms.
She felt cold, so cold. Even Jack’s warmth didn’t chase away the chill that seeped through her body.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Jack circled a reassuring hand on her back and kissed her temple.
“It was.” Melanie pressed her face into his shoulder and sucked in a catchy breath. “Granddad told me he was going to leave me most of his money. I told Marcus. That’s why Marcus killed him.”
“Melanie.” Jack tipped up her chin so he could see her face. “You didn’t make your husband kill your grandfather. It’s not your fault.”
She pushed her face back into his shoulder. “The rest of the deaths are.”
“Why?”
“I’d asked Granddad to put the money in trust for Ryan, so Marcus couldn’t touch it. I’ve never seen Marcus so angry. If he’d had Granddad’s money, he wouldn’t have killed the other old folks to get their savings. I made him do it.”
“You’ve no way of knowing that. A man who does what your husband did is not rational. Rational people don’t kill, Mel.”
“Mum thinks it’s my fault. She was furious Granddad left me his money.”
“Perhaps your mum realizes she was unfair. She wants to make up now, doesn’t she?”
“How do you know?”
“Your grandmother called the hotel when she couldn’t reach you at your flat. I had a long chat with her.”
Melanie released a shuddering breath. “I don’t think I can do that, Jack.”
“Come over here.” He led her back to the table and sat, pulling her onto his lap. “I don’t remember reading this in your journal.”
“It’s all there.”
“Christ, Mel. Every time you read those notes you relive the experience. No wonder it still haunts you.”
“I mustn’t forget. It’s a lesson.” She rubbed the tears off her cheeks.
“A lesson in what?”
“Not to let it happen again.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, what your husband did was not your fault?” Jack said.
“But if I’d let him have Granddad’s money—”
“No!” Jack cupped her cheek in his hand. “No,” he repeated more gently. “The only thing you have any control over is how you live your own life. You can’t control anyone else.” He stroked her hair while she cried against his shoulder. “I won’t let what that bastard did keep us apart. You’re not going to keep
running away from the past. You’re staying here with me.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear and made her look at him. “You need to let this go and stop punishing yourself. You can’t love me if you don’t love yourself.” He kissed her nose and her lips. “You need to forgive Marcus and your mum and dad. And most of all yourself.”
* * *
Jack tucked Melanie into her bed, then he lay on the covers beside her, an arm around her, stroking her hair as she went to sleep.
He loved her hair, so thick and glossy. Not touching her over the past couple of days had nearly killed him.
Part of him felt guilty for upsetting her so much, but he’d known there was more to the story than she’d let on. At least now he’d dragged it out of her, she could deal with it.
The next stage wouldn’t be any easier. She had to let go of the guilt and burn the bloody gray journal. Only then would she really leave the past behind.
Her soft, even breathing told him she’d fallen asleep. He’d intended to go to his own bed once she slept, but he kept stroking her hair. He traced her slender fingers where they lay on the comforter and wished she would put on his ring again. But she had to agree to burn the book first.
* * *
Melanie took refuge in the garden to avoid Imelda’s questions and Jack’s distracting presence. She needed to think and she couldn’t do it inside. She hid behind a screen of rosebushes, admiring the rolling purple hills of Dartmoor in the morning sunlight. Although intellectually she understood she was not to blame for Marcus’s crimes, it didn’t change the horrible self-loathing she felt inside.
Whatever Jack said, she knew withholding the money had contributed to pushing Marcus over the edge, turning him into a murderer. She’d been raised to take responsibility for her actions, but she couldn’t let Marcus ruin the rest of her life. Melanie fisted her hands and huffed out a breath in frustration.
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