by Alice Ross
‘And then she appointed herself my “nurse”,’ he continued, his tone turning scornful. ‘Which is utterly ridiculous. Not only do I not need a nurse, but prancing about the manor in high heels and very little else makes me nauseous and puts Lydia in grave danger of catching a cold.’
Despite her circumspection, Annie bit back a smile as she continued to monitor his expression. Not an easy task given the startlingly well laid-out features and dark twinkling eyes. Perhaps he was telling the truth. She might never trust another man but Lydia wasn’t exactly Veritas personified, was she?
Jake heaved a frustrated sigh. ‘If there was one place I could not imagine Lydia, it was the village fair.’
All at once, Lydia’s highlighted head appeared around the side of the shy. Annie, startled out of her cogitations, jumped slightly, an action which seemed to pass Lydia by, given that it was plainly not Annie she was stalking.
‘Thank goodness I’ve found you, Jake,’ she gushed. ‘But what on earth are you doing hiding around here?’ Two heavily-lined eyes peered first at Jake and then at Annie. Neither of them replied.
‘I wondered if I might have a private word, Jake.’ Her dramatically lowered tone implied a matter of great secrecy.
Jake screwed up his nose. ‘I doubt there’s any need for that. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Annie, surely.’
Lydia tossed a sour look at Annie.
‘All right,’ she huffed. ‘The thing is, darling, I hope you’re not too upset, but there’s been a crisis in Marbella. I have to fly out there later this afternoon.’
Annie’s eyes widened. She had a strong idea of the type of ‘crisis’ Lydia was referring to and it didn’t involve earthquakes, tsunamis or political coups. ‘Marbella? Don’t tell me Darren has been on the phone again.’
Lydia shook back her mane of hair. ‘Actually he has. He’s hit a low spot and has realised how much he needs me.’
Annie bit her tongue. A ‘low spot’ for Darren meant he was currently between topless model girlfriends and had called Lydia to temporarily plug the gap.
‘I know we’re divorced,’ she offered by way of explanation, ‘but after twenty months and six days of marriage, we still have a special little bond.’
Which seems to be elastic, Annie resisted adding. She would bet her life savings on Lydia being home within three weeks, but had long since concluded that the woman knew exactly what she was doing. Revelling in the attention of these ‘reconciliations’ and Darren’s six figure ‘consolation cheques’ seemed of far more import to Lydia than the maintenance of her pride.
‘Oh, and don’t be surprised if you see us on the front of the celebrity magazines next week,’ she chirruped. ‘I’ve given a couple of them a little tinkle to update them and they’re sending photographers over to the villa. Anyway, darling, I’m sure you’ll cope perfectly well without me. Little Annie here can look after you.’ She blew a kiss at Jake, tossed Annie a derisive smile and disappeared back around the shy.
‘Well,’ huffed Jake, a few seconds later. ‘Thank goodness she and I weren’t … Otherwise I might be a tad devastated by that news. Fortunately we weren’t and I’m not.’
Annie shook her head in disbelief. ‘Honestly, talk about fickle. I can’t wait to read the magazine spreads’
‘Many a sleepless night will ensue until I have copies in my hands,’ said Jake. ‘Remind me to pre-order at the newsagent.’
As they both burst out laughing, Sophie appeared.
‘What are you doing around here? And what are you laughing at?’
‘Um, nothing and nothing,’ said Annie, doing her best to keep a straight face. ‘Mr Sinclair and I were just … discussing something.’
‘Something funny?’
‘Boring grown-up stuff,’ replied Jake. ‘You wouldn’t find it funny at all. Now, what did Jessica think of your crown?’
‘It didn’t fit her. Her head’s too big,’ chuckled Sophie. ‘Please can we go and get our hot dogs now, Mum? I’m hungry.’
‘Of course,’ said Annie. She cast a sheepish look at Jake. ‘Would you, um, like to join us?’
Jake gazed directly into her eyes. ‘I’d love to.’
His accompanying smile caused something warm and pleasant to course through Annie’s veins, and her legs to turn to cotton wool. Which was pathetic, she scolded herself. As was her relief at discovering he had not been carrying on with Lydia: He had been telling her the truth and now she felt guilty for doubting him; guilty that perhaps she’d been too hard on him all round.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Sorry sweetheart, but we’re all out of hot dogs’ informed the chubby vendor. ‘First time it’s ever happened. How about a nice burger instead?’
Sophie looked distraught. ‘I wanted a hot dog,’ she whimpered, two plump tears rolling down her cheeks.
Annie scooped her up. ‘Come on. It’s not that disastrous. And you like burgers.’
‘Not today, I don’t. And Pip wanted a hot dog too.’ She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a huge yawn.
‘That’s the problem, not the hot dogs,’ said Annie. ‘All this excitement has worn you out. How about we go home, you have a little nap and we’ll have a barbeque for tea?’
Sophie nuzzled her head into Annie’s neck for a few seconds, seemingly giving the matter a great deal of thought. ‘Can Mr Sinclair come too?’ she eventually asked.
Annie’s gaze shifted to Jake to discover, yet again, that he was looking at her. A strange mix of apprehension, excitement and dread washed over her. She really would have to have a word with her daughter about putting her on the spot like this. For now, though, she was right bang in the centre of the spot which meant she would have to say something – and soon. Did she want to invite Jake or not? Dare she risk making a fool of herself yet again, or would it be nice having some adult company for a change? Then there were Jake’s feelings to consider. The poor soul was, whether he liked it or not, squeezed right alongside her on the spot. Would he want to come? Or had he much more exciting things to do with his Saturday night, like a pile of friends descending on the manor for an enormous party? And why did that thought make her spirits plunge? She cleared her throat and said, ‘Mr Sinclair probably has plans for the rest of the day.’
‘Actually I don’t,’ replied Jake. ‘Unless, of course, you’d like me to.’
His reply caused an unexpected wave of relief to wash over Annie. Not that she’d been subconsciously holding her breath, she assured herself, but merely because she didn’t relish the idea of Jasper’s rowdy crowd treating the manor like a twenty-four hour rave venue.
‘Well,’ she said, unable to stop a smile spreading onto her face, ‘if you’d like to join us you’d be very welcome. It won’t be anything exciting. A few sausages and burgers –’
‘– and hot dogs,’ added Sophie.
‘Dipped in chocolate?’
Sophie burst into a fit of giggles.
As Annie drove them back to the cottage, Jake sat in the back of the car, Sophie’s sleeping head on his shoulder, a snoring Jack Russell on his lap. What was he doing? he asked himself. Having a great day, came back the reply. Lydia’s departure being the cherry on the cake. At least now he could breathe freely again, without inhaling a cloud of the woman’s noxious perfume, and without his every move being monitored. The real highlight of the day though, had been bumping into Annie and Sophie. He hadn’t planned that at all, although the thought had fleetingly crossed his mind – once or twice, or perhaps even five times – that they might be there. He’d had no idea what reception to expect from Annie. Having given the evening at the hospital a great deal of consideration, he’d concluded that it wasn’t just him being hyper-sensitive: she’d been very cool towards him. It suddenly occurred to him that it might have had something to do with Lydia. Lord only knew what she’d been saying. He really didn’t want to go there but, skirting around the edges, he had a fairly good idea. And supposedly fraternizing with the locals whe
n he had only been in the village for two minutes, did not a good impression make.
Fortunately, Annie’s impressive flight over Pip’s lead had broken the ice. As that image popped into his head, laughter rose in his throat. He hastily disguised it as a cough as Annie’s emerald-green eyes shot him a questioning look through the rear view mirror. Those eyes really were incredible, he mused. Along with her legs – which looked longer than ever in her black shorts – they were to blame for that cheesy comment he’d blurted out after her spectacular trip. ‘Yes, you are,’ he’d muttered, in reply to her, ‘I’m fine’. Ugh. He cringed at the memory. And god only knew what Annie thought of it. He hadn’t meant to say it. The words had floated out before he could stop them. A faultless demonstration of just how out of practice he was with flirting. Not that he had been flirting. He had merely been admiring a beautiful woman, in the same way he might admire a priceless painting or a magnificent house. And just because one admired a priceless painting or a magnificent house, didn’t mean one actually desired them, did it? It was simple appreciation. Didn’t women admire fine male specimens in the same way? Surely they must. Look at all those Greek statues of naked men at –
His classical cogitations were broken by Sophie who shifted her head slightly on his shoulder and sighed wistfully. Looking down at her, something tugged in the area of Jake’s heart and all thoughts of naked Greek statues flew from his mind. She really was adorable – particularly in that ladybird outfit. And such good fun too. He had sincerely meant it when he’d said Annie should be proud. Sophie was a fantastic kid. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to have such a positive presence in one’s life, a tiny being to care for, to love, nurture, steer through life’s rocky road.
As he’d watched Sophie chattering with her friend earlier, he’d found himself imagining what his own daughter might have looked like, how much she would have enjoyed the fair. Fortunately, he’d managed to adroitly end his melancholy. Practice, as the old adage goes, makes perfect. And Jake had had more than enough practice over the years.
Back at the cottage, Annie bundled a sleeping Sophie from the car.
‘I’ll take her upstairs,’ she whispered to Jake. ‘Make yourself at home in the kitchen.’
Jake nodded his thanks and, accompanied by Pip, hobbled along the small path to the kitchen. Fortunately, in the car, alongside his scrutiny of the day’s events, he had mentally prepared himself for the effect the room had on him, and that effect was every bit as strong today, he concluded as he hovered in the doorway and breathed in the delicious aroma of currant buns. This was a home in the true sense of the word, a real family home. But this afternoon he had determined not to dwell on any of that. This afternoon he would relax and enjoy it. He hoped.
‘Not so much as a murmur out of her,’ said Annie, startling him out of his reverie as she entered the room a few minutes later. ‘She’s dead to the world and will hopefully stay that way for at least half an hour. If not, I recommend a hasty retreat. A crabby five year old is not a pleasant thing to have around.’
Jake swallowed hard, wishing he had personal experience of that one. Unfortunately he didn’t – another thing he had no wish to dwell on that afternoon. ‘I can’t imagine her being crabby,’ he said, managing a smile. ‘She always seems so happy.’
Annie snorted disbelievingly. ‘Have you had much to do with children?’
A flash of regret shot down his spine and his smile wavered. ‘Not much. No.’
‘I thought not.’ Annie bustled over to the fridge and yanked open the door. ‘Now, what would you like to drink? Beer or white wine?’
Welcoming the change of subject, Jake sucked in a deep breath before replying, ‘Wine would be great, thanks.’ He began hobbling towards the table.
‘Here, let me help.’ Without closing the fridge door, Annie scurried around the table and pulled out a chair for him. ‘How’s your ankle? Does it still hurt?’
‘The odd twinge now and again,’ he replied, lowering himself onto the chair and trying desperately not to notice that her smooth bare thighs were merely inches away from him. ‘Nothing like it was.’
‘That’s good. And at least it doesn’t affect your writing.’
Jake breathed a sigh of relief as she marched back around to the fridge.
‘How’s the book coming along?’
Somewhere in his psyche, the distant ringing of an alarm bell sounded. ‘Um, okay, I suppose,’ he muttered, starting as Pip jumped onto his lap.
‘Is it your first one?’
The bell rang a little louder. Jake shifted in his chair and tickled Pip under the chin. Damn. He really should have been prepared for this. But he wasn’t. Not at all. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him how few people had enquired about his personal life since Nina’s death. Naturally, his rare forays to anything remotely resembling a social occasion dramatically reduced the chances. And in Scotland, the few locals he did happen upon never asked him anything about himself. Whether from respect for his privacy or disinterest, he had no idea. Either way, it suited him fine. But what should he say to Annie now? He hated lying, but if he told her it wasn’t his first book, it would inevitably lead to a string of other questions. Questions he really couldn’t face right now. For all he’d congratulated himself on the efficient dealing of his many mawkish thoughts over the course of the day, he was aware he had merely swept them under a flimsy carpet. A carpet so thin, the slightest hint of a breeze would lift it, and out they would all drift again.
‘Er, yes. Yes, it is,’ he lied, trying not to cringe as the words left his mouth.
‘It must be great writing a book,’ mused Annie, plonking a bottle of white wine on the table. ‘Wonderful seeing pages and pages filled with your own words. Not to mention your name on the cover.’
At the mention of names on covers, Jake gulped. ‘Yes,’ he muttered, with another pang of guilt. ‘Yes, it must.’
‘Will you use your own name or a nom de plume?’ she continued, producing a corkscrew from a drawer.
The ringing of one alarm bell was joined by a dozen others. What was this? The Yorkshire Inquisition? He had envisaged enjoying a lovely, relaxing afternoon in Annie’s wonderful company. But this was torture. Purgatory with a big fat capital P. Perhaps he should make some excuse and go. An evening on his own with a slice of dry toast would be preferable to this barrage of questions. He watched Annie as she turned the corkscrew, a look of concentration on her beautiful face. No, he was being unfair. Her questions were perfectly reasonable. It wasn’t her fault every word that came out of his mouth was a lie. He couldn’t blame her for the deep hole he was digging himself. But now that he’d started, he had to finish.
‘I, um, really haven’t thought that far ahead.’ He jumped as the cork parted company from the bottle with a resounding pop.
Fortunately, Annie appeared oblivious to his jittering nerves. ‘I think I’d have to use my own name,’ she said, setting down the bottle and whipping two large wine glasses from a shelf. ‘As proof that I actually wrote it.’
Jake gave a shaky smile. ‘Good idea,’ he mumbled.
‘So, what did you do before?’ She tipped the wine into the glasses and pushed one over to him, before sitting down opposite him.
Oh god. Could this get any worse? Jake snatched up his glass and knocked back a very large slug of wine.
‘Before what?’ he blurted out, aware he was stalling for time.
The bemused look Annie shot him suggested she may be noticing something of his odd behaviour after all. ‘Before you started writing, of course.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Jake attempted a self-deprecating roll of the eyes. In hindsight, he suspected it made him look like he was having some kind of fit. ‘I, um, worked in finance.’
‘In the stock market?’
Lord. Was there no end to it? He gulped down another mouthful of wine, before concluding that a dramatic change of subject was needed. Quickly.
‘Something boring like that
.’ He plastered a grin onto his face. ‘So how’s the running going?’
To his relief, her mouth stretched into a wide grin.
‘I’m loving it. It’s hard work and even harder finding time to fit it in. Mrs Mackenzie has been a complete star as usual. She looks after the shop for me a couple of times a week so I can fit in a run in the afternoons. It’s a bit of a juggling act, but I’m so glad I started. It’s amazing the progress you make in such a short time.’
‘So you’d never ran before then?’
‘Never. It was Portia’s idea. Well, not really Portia’s idea. She found this silly list of things to do before you’re forty, and “Run a marathon” was on there. That’s my ultimate goal.’
‘Really? I wouldn’t mind having a look at that list, given that I’m not that far away myself. Hey, that’s not it there, is it?’ Amidst all the paraphernalia on the fridge door, his eyes landed on a list with several things encircled in red. ‘Could I have a look at it?’
To his dismay, Annie flushed scarlet. ‘It’s just silly things really,’ she muttered, standing up to unclip the list and hand it to him. ‘And the red circles were Portia’s idea, not mine.’
Jake was intrigued. His eyes ran down the list taking in the circled items: stand on your head, learn the merengue, put the bin out in your undies, run a marathon, have a screaming orgasm, fall madly in love. He stopped there. No wonder Annie looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up. He pushed the list to one side and blurted out the first thing that came into his head. ‘I can’t believe you’re anywhere near forty.’ He prayed that didn’t sound as naff to Annie as it did to him.
Fortunately, it appeared not to but then again, he mused, judging by her obvious embarrassment, she would probably have welcomed a topic about dust mites – anything to steer the conversation away from that list.
