by Anne Mather
It was hardly an ideal situation, but she was reluctant to confide that to Lucy. Besides, despite Jack’s behaviour, she wasn’t totally convinced he was guilty as charged. Okay, he’d known Karen for some time, and on at least one occasion he’d taken her to dinner and then spent the night at her house. But it could have been totally innocent. So why had he never mentioned the incident to her?
Of course he hadn’t known she was checking up on him. He hadn’t known that when he’d suggested buying the Plymouth apartment she’d become suspicious of his motives. With Lucy’s help she’d had a private investigator tail him for several weeks afterwards. The fact that he’d only been seen entering the apartment with Karen on one occasion was hardly conclusive. But she’d eventually terminated the investigation and assured Lucy that she would deal with it in her own way.
‘What’s wrong?’
Lucy had picked up on her drifting concentration, and Rachel made a gesture of apology. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I was miles away. What were you saying?’
Lucy frowned. ‘Well, I was suggesting that we could spend a couple of days in town,’ she said after a moment. ‘Why shouldn’t you have a break, too?’
The idea was attractive, but Rachel had already insisted she was too busy to go away. A fact she was sure Lucy was perfectly well aware of. ‘I wish I could,’ she said now, turning to the tray that Mrs Grady had set on the table beside her chair. ‘Iced tea? With lemon or without?’
‘With.’ Lucy tilted her face to the sun. They were sitting outside on the patio, and the early cloud cover was giving way to another hot day. ‘Mmm, this is nice, isn’t it? Who needs a holiday when you live here?’
It was another dig at Jack, but Rachel chose to ignore it. ‘I like it,’ she said instead. Then, forcing an optimism she didn’t feel, ‘So, why have you got to go to London? Are you staying overnight?’
‘Like I say, I may stay a few days,’ said Lucy, her tone saying she was aware of Rachel’s attempt at distracting her. ‘In any case, it’s just business.’ She glanced back at the big house. ‘Don’t you find it lonely here, all on your own?’
‘I have Mrs Grady,’ replied Rachel, lifting her glass of tea to her lips.
‘She’s your housekeeper!’ exclaimed Lucy. ‘She’s hardly a friend.’
‘Oh, Mrs Grady is good company,’ Rachel insisted. ‘She and I get on together really well.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘And you’re prepared to stay here, like the good little wife you are, until Jack chooses to come back, right?’
Rachel sighed. ‘It’s not like that, Lucy. If—if I wanted to go to Ireland I’d go. But I don’t.’
‘You are sure he’s gone on his own, I suppose?’
Rachel stared at her. ‘Of course.’
‘You only have his word for it, though, don’t you?’
‘Lucy, he’s gone to stay at his parents’ house. Don’t you think they’d have something to say if he took a—another woman there?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well…’ Lucy considered. ‘It’s possible that the Riordans wouldn’t have too many objections if Jack divorced you and married someone else.’
‘Lucy, the Riordans are staunch Catholics. One of Jack’s brothers is a priest. They don’t believe in divorce.’
‘Well, that’s their story.’ But Lucy didn’t sound convinced. ‘And if it meant that Jack could provide them with a handful of little Riordans…’
‘Don’t go there, Lucy.’ Rachel was on her feet before the other woman had finished speaking. Crossing the patio, she gripped the boundary wall with grim hands. Then, with her back to Lucy, she said, ‘I think you’d better go. Before I say something we’d both regret.’
‘Oh, Rachel.’ She heard Lucy get to her feet and cross the tiled expanse to join her. ‘That was tactless. And cruel, I know. I’m sorry. But I am only thinking of you. Surely you know that?’
‘Do I?’ Rachel stared out at the beauty of Foliot Cove, wondering why it gave her so little pleasure at this moment. ‘I think you intended to hurt me, Lucy—’
‘No!’
‘—and you did. Please go.’
‘Rachel.’ Lucy put tentative fingers on her shoulder. ‘Darling, don’t be like this. We’ve been friends for too long. Don’t let Jack Riordan come between us.’
‘Jack Riordan is my husband.’ Rachel moved away from her hand and turned to face her. ‘I know you feel bitter because of the way Martin treated you, but Jack’s not like that.’
Lucy regarded her with guarded eyes. ‘You don’t think?’
‘I know,’ said Rachel, though she was lying even to herself. What did she really know—except that Karen Johnson was pregnant? Jack had insisted it wasn’t his baby, and she wanted to believe him. But he would deny it, wouldn’t he? Even if it was true. ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more.’
‘Then we won’t.’ Lucy saw a chance to redeem herself and took it. ‘Darling, come and sit down again. Let’s enjoy our tea together. Did I tell you I saw Claire Stanford last week? She’s put on such a lot of weight I hardly recognised her.’
In spite of her misgivings, Rachel let Lucy coax her back to the lounge chairs. She was probably a fool for giving in, she thought, but Lucy was her closest friend—and who else did she have to talk to? Besides, Lucy might be right. Maybe the Riordans would be prepared to compromise their beliefs if they thought it would make Jack happy. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, and she’d certainly never admit as much to her friend. But the seed had been sown and it took root.
It was so quiet.
Even after three weeks at Ballyryan, Jack still hadn’t got used to the absence of cars and traffic jams, of planes flying overhead, of raised voices and the constant sound of phones ringing somewhere in the building.
When he’d first arrived, he used to wake in the middle of the night with his heart hammering, his pulses racing, and his nerves as tight as violin strings. He’d spend the next half-hour straining to hear what had woken him. It had taken him a week to realise it was the silence, the absolute lack of any noise whatsoever, that had disturbed him. In its own way it was deafening, like the sudden pounding of a drum.
He was used to that now, though, used—most nights anyway—to sleeping eight or nine hours at a stretch. No one disturbed him. No one brought him early-morning cups of tea or coffee unless he asked for it. His parents went about their daily lives without asking him a lot of unnecessary questions. They were there if he needed them, but otherwise they gave him all the time and space he wished for.
Nor did they treat him like an invalid, even though Jack had been forced to tell them what his doctor had said. He doubted they’d even heard of arrhythmia until he’d described it to them, and, although his mother hadn’t been able to hide her anxiety at first, she was dealing with it.
A tug on the line Jack had extended into Lough Ryan alerted him to the fact that something was biting. His father was a keen fisherman, and in recent days Jack, too, had discovered the pleasures of just sitting on the bank of the small lake and letting time glide by. His parents’ cottage overlooked the lough, so he didn’t have far to go. Carrying a folded canvas chair and a striped umbrella—because County Wexford wasn’t so green by accident—he’d set himself up with his rod and a flask of iced water, and drift on the soft, scented air.
The catch proved to be too small to bother with and, releasing it, Jack let the quivering fish slide back into the water. It splashed for a moment in the reeds before gliding swiftly away, and Jack resumed his lazy contemplation of the shoreline opposite.
He wondered if fishing made Jude Riordan such a laid-back character. Yet, despite making light of his wife’s fears, his father had instigated a distinctly more in-depth discussion with his son when Maggie wasn’t around. In his opinion, Jack’s problem was a pain in the ass, no doubt about it. But, as the doctors had said, the solution was in his own hands.
&nbs
p; His actual words had been that Jack should stop mucking around before he did something really stupid like killing himself. And, although he was sure the Blessed Virgin would be pleased to see Jack, he’d prefer it if it wasn’t quite yet.
It was that kind of simple logic that Jack appreciated. The old man usually talked good sense, even if Jack didn’t always take his advice. And if Jude suspected Rachel might be partly to blame for some of the stress his son was suffering, he didn’t say it. And Jack was too proud to explain why his relationship with his wife was falling apart.
All the same, Jack had been relieved when he’d learned of the specialists’ findings. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with him that couldn’t be cured with drugs and a change in his lifestyle. Diet, a limited intake of caffeine, and no alcohol for starters, together with more exercise and food at regular times.
According to Dr Moore, his condition wasn’t uncommon. Many men in his position never considered their health until it was too late. And the truth was, although he’d told Rachel he needed a month or six weeks’ break, he’d been advised to take six months away from the office. But then, Dr Moore thought his relationship with his wife was solid. He had no idea what was going on in Jack’s life.
‘Jack! Jack!’
The sound of his mother calling his name brought an abrupt return to reality. With definite reluctance, Jack secured the umbrella and got up from his chair. It was too early for lunch, and he couldn’t imagine what had put that note of urgency into her voice.
By the time he’d turned to climb the slight rise between the lakeshore and the cottage, Maggie Riordan was standing on the ridge looking down at him. A slim, attractive woman in her fifties, with hair that had once been as dark and glossy as her son’s, she had her arms wrapped around her waist and there was a definite look of concern on her face.
She held out a hand to help Jack up the steepest part of the climb, but her son just gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Yeah, make me feel like a real wuss, why don’t you?’ he muttered drily, taking a deep breath before making the final step to bring him level. ‘So—where’s the fire?’
Maggie balled a fist and pushed it playfully against his chest. ‘No fire,’ she said, looking up into his dark face with warm, loving eyes. She glanced back towards the cottage, as if to assure herself that she hadn’t been followed. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’
Jack’s heart raced and his stomach muscles tightened. For a crazy moment he wondered if it could be Rachel. He missed her so much. But common sense soon kicked in. For one thing his mother would have said that Rachel was here, not just that he had a visitor.
‘Who is it?’ he asked. Then his shoulders sagged as another thought occurred to him. ‘Not Father Patrick!’
‘No, it’s not Father Patrick,’ retorted his mother sharply. ‘Not that you wouldn’t do well to pay more attention to what he has to say. Just because you’ve been living in that heathen country all these years doesn’t mean you should neglect your faith, Jack.’
Faith! Jack grimaced. But all he said was, ‘England’s not a heathen country, Ma. You lived there long enough yourself. For pity’s sake, I was born there.’
‘You’re still of good Irish stock,’ Maggie declared firmly. ‘Now, before you go and greet your visitor, is there anything you’d like to tell me?’
Jack stared at her. ‘Like what?’
‘You’ve got nothing on your conscience, then?’
‘On my conscience?’ Despite the progress he’d made, Jack could feel his mother’s words getting to him. ‘What the hell is this all about?’
‘There’s no need for that language, Jack.’ Maggie looked offended. ‘Sure you’d better come and see for yourself. It isn’t fair to keep the young woman waiting. Not when she’s come such a long way to see you.’
‘Wait.’ Jack dug his heels into the soft turf and didn’t move. ‘Did you say “young woman”?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with your hearing, Jack.’ Maggie regarded him reprovingly. ‘Are you saying that’s jogged your memory?’
Jack scowled. ‘I don’t believe it!’
‘What don’t you believe?’ His mother frowned. ‘She’s here. You can believe that. And she’s quite obviously going to have a baby. You can believe that, too. Is it yours?’
‘No!’
Jack groaned. He told himself this couldn’t be happening, but it was. Karen was here. Somehow she’d found out where his parents lived and she’d followed him. It had taken her over three weeks, maybe, but he knew only too well how determined she could be.
‘All right.’ For now, at least, his mother had accepted his word, but how long would that last once Karen started spinning her lies? ‘Well, as I say,’ she continued, ‘best not keep her waiting, hmm?’
Jack pulled in a long breath, dragging much needed air into his lungs. He was trying not to let this psyche him, but the knowledge that Karen was actually here, in Ballyryan, was a bitter reality. What did she want here? What was she trying to do to him? She couldn’t prove it was his baby. But the damnable thing was he couldn’t prove that it wasn’t.
Not yet.
Karen was waiting for him in the neat whitewashed parlour of the cottage. Like many of their neighbours, the Riordans only used the parlour on special occasions, and it annoyed the hell out of Jack that Karen should be here, polluting the atmosphere of his parents’ home.
She rose to her feet as he came in, and the first thing he noticed was that the pregnancy was far more advanced than he’d expected. But then it was months since he’d seen her, and what did he know about it anyway?
‘Hello, Jack,’ she said, the simpering tone of her voice really grating on him. She was wearing a pink-flowered halter-necked dress that was pulled taut over her full breasts and bulging stomach. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming here, but I really had to see you.’
‘Why?’ Ignoring his mother’s sudden intake of breath, Jack propped his shoulder against the doorjamb and regarded her with cold eyes. ‘What do you want?’
‘Jack!’
It was his mother who made the shocked exclamation, but Jack didn’t look at her. ‘Well?’ he said, still staring at Karen. ‘What do you want? I thought I made my position clear before I left England.’
‘Oh, Jack!’ Karen fumbled in her bag for a tissue. Then, simulating tears, she pressed the tissue to her eyes. ‘Don’t be like this. You know I love you.’
Jack turned angry eyes in his mother’s direction, not at all surprised to see the horror on her face. Karen could be so damn convincing. Didn’t he know it?
Struggling with a threatening sense of panic, Jack fought for control. ‘This isn’t going to work, Karen,’ he said grimly. ‘I suggest you stop wasting your time and mine and get the hell out of here.’
‘Oh, Jack.’ Once again Karen dissolved into tears, sinking back into the armchair where she’d been sitting and burying her face in her hands. ‘How can you be so cruel? After everything we’ve been to one another.’
Jack couldn’t take any more of this. Pushing past his mother, he groped his way outside, standing with his shoulders pressed against the walls of the cottage until his heartbeat slowed to a steadier beat.
He was still standing there, with his eyes closed against the pitiless glare of the sun, when he heard the approach of footsteps. For a moment he was disoriented, the sound was coming from the opposite direction than he’d expected. But it was definitely a woman’s footsteps, and when he opened his eyes he found Rachel was there, staring at him with a look of real anxiety on her face.
CHAPTER NINE
JACK WONDERED IF he should add hallucination to his list of ailments. Maybe the fact that the hot sun had been burning his eyelids was responsible for him seeing Rachel standing motionless now on the path that led up to the door. She couldn’t be here, not today of all days, not with Karen holding court in his mother’s parlour. However much he’d longed to see her, it had to be some kind of sick joke.
But then she
spoke, and Jack knew both his greatest wish and his greatest fear had collided.
‘Jack!’ she exclaimed, abandoning her stance and hurrying towards him. She laid a soft, cool hand on his forehead. ‘Jack, what’s wrong? You look—ill!’
And he did, Rachel thought, realising she’d dismissed his need for a break too casually. She should have known it wasn’t like him to abandon his responsibilities, to leave the running of the company to someone else, unless he had to. It was obvious he’d needed more than a holiday, and she hadn’t recognised that.
Jack closed his eyes for a moment, still half hoping he was imagining it. But when she squeezed his wrist he knew there was no escape. ‘I—I was a little hot, that’s all,’ he said, knowing that once Rachel found out that Karen was here she’d think she’d found the reason for his agitation. ‘Um…’ He swallowed. ‘How did you get here?’
‘The usual way.’ Right now, Rachel wasn’t interested in explaining the route she’d taken. ‘I flew to Dublin and caught a train to Wexford.’ She shrugged. ‘Does it matter? I’m here now.’ She looked up into his face with wide searching eyes. ‘Are you glad to see me?’
Jack groaned. ‘Yes.’
A relieved smile touched her lips. ‘I didn’t know if you would be,’ she confessed. ‘After the way I behaved before you left.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m such a fool sometimes.’
Jack wet his lips. ‘That makes two of us.’
‘So why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Tell you what?’ For a moment Jack thought Dr Moore had been talking, but then he realised it was more than the doctor’s job was worth to divulge a patient’s medical details—even to his wife. ‘If you mean the fact that I’ve been—feeling out of sorts, I did tell you.’
‘Yes, but I thought—’ She broke off. What had she thought? Rachel wondered unhappily. She been so strung up with this business over Karen Johnson she’d thought he was stringing her a line. ‘Anyway, it’s obvious it was more serious than I imagined.’
‘I look that bad, huh?’
