Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty (9 page)

Instinctively, she broke into a sprint. Whoever it was would most likely need help. She really should have brought her mobile with her but –

Her eyes grew wide as she drew nearer.

Surely it couldn't be …

But it was.

It was Jake Sinclair.

Instinctively her running pace slowed, as Lydia's “Jake and I …” speech slammed into her head, reigniting her previous anger. Hmm. She'd resolved to give him – and Lydia – a wide berth. It had been bad enough turning into a quivering disaster zone whenever Jake was around, but now that he was in cahoots with Lydia – discussing her life – it was … well … not very nice. She could hardly avoid him now though, could she? The man would not be lying in a heap at the roadside because he had nothing better to do. He must have had an accident. And she should help him. Which, of course, she would. Just not perhaps with the zest she would have employed had it been anyone else.

He raised his hand as she approached. And his mouth moved, as if he were trying to say something.

Annie determined not to notice that, courtesy of his running shorts, his legs were on display. That they were long and muscular completely passed her by. And she barely acknowledged the fact that his shorter hair displayed his cheekbones to even greater effect, and made his impossibly long eyelashes appear even longer. No, she would not be distracted by such trivialities. It was superficial packaging. Inside, Jake Sinclair was just another man; just another spoiled, rich friend of Jasper's; just another of Lydia Pembleton's conquests. And all three credentials combined did not an attractive package make.

His mouth moved, but again she couldn't hear a word he was saying. Duh! Of course she couldn't. Fleetwood Mac still blasted in her ears.

She flicked off the music and removed her earphones. ‘What happened?'

Jake's features twisted into an apologetic grimace. ‘Bit pathetic, I'm afraid. A pheasant startled me and I lost my footing in a pothole and fell into the ditch. I think I've broken my ankle.'

Annie rubbed a hand over her chin. Damn. Definitely no chance of leaving him there then. ‘I assume you can't stand,' she said, congratulating herself on her cool, no-nonsense approach.

‘I'm afraid not.'

Annie sighed, realising there was only one thing for it. ‘You'll have to go to hospital and have it X-rayed. I'll run home and get my car. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.'

‘Thanks,' he said, grinning. ‘It's a date.'

 

Honestly, fumed Annie as she ran back to the cottage. How could anybody look so gorgeous when they were lying in a ditch with a broken ankle? It wasn't natural. It wasn't right. It was … well, downright indecent. And what had he meant when he'd said ‘It's a date'? If he harboured any illusion that she wanted a date with him, then he was sorely mistaken. She didn't want a date with anyone, especially not him. And how could taking someone to the hospital be construed as
a date
anyway? That was beyond the realms of even the most vivid imagination. More to the point, why was she wasting time analysing the whole thing? She was doing no more for Jake Sinclair than she would have done for anyone in the same situation. And, even though she couldn't bear the sight of the man and would have preferred to have carried on running straight past him, she did feel some responsibility towards him. Although perhaps not as much responsibility as Lydia might feel, now the two of them were A Couple. Perhaps she should call Lydia and inform her of the latest events. But no, that would only add to the woman's already huge ego. Besides, Lydia in a crisis was about as much use as a handbrake on a canoe. How Jake had the energy to run now that he and Lydia were …

By the time Annie arrived back with her car, fifteen minutes later, her brain having raced at a speed her legs could only dream of matching, her bad mood had returned with a vengeance.

‘This is really good of you,' said Jake, heaving himself into the back seat. ‘I had visions of being there all night and being eaten alive by foxes.'

‘Unlikely,' sniped back Annie. ‘Yorkshire foxes are very discerning.'

Jake's shaky smile in the rear view mirror told her he didn't know if she was joking or not. She was not.

‘Where's Sophie?' he asked.

‘She was at a friend's for tea. I've called and told them what's happened and they're keeping her overnight.'

Jake grimaced. ‘I seem to be causing everyone a lot of trouble. Especially you.'

Ignoring the genuine remorse in his tone, Annie interjected as much ice as possible into her own. ‘I'd do the same for anybody,' she said tartly.

‘Right,' muttered Jake, looking slightly bemused. ‘Just so long as you know that I am really grateful.'

So you should be
, Annie resisted saying. If she'd known the evening would turn out like this, she'd have super-glued herself to her original plan of a bath and a glass of wine, thereby delegating Jake Sinclair's drama to someone else to sort out. As she drove, she risked another glance at him through the mirror. He looked very pale and very … sad as he stared out of the window. No doubt the poor guy was in agony. Despite her anger, she experienced a pang of sympathy. She'd broken her arm when she was nine and could still remember the excruciating pain.

‘Are you okay?' she enquired, a little more grudgingly than she'd intended.

He managed a weak smile. ‘I think I'll live.'

‘Just as well,' she replied, without a trace of humour. ‘The parking outside the crematorium is terrible.'

Several hours, multiple X-rays, much examining, and a very long bandage later, the resulting diagnosis was a bad sprain with several torn ligaments.

‘Try not to put any veight on it for at least two veeks,' advised the German doctor, handing Jake a large pack of painkillers. ‘Take one of these when you need to, and get lots of rest. I'm sure your vife vill look after you very vell.'

Annie's brows shot to her hairline. So Jake had a wife had he? Well, he'd certainly kept that quiet. And, more to the point, if he had a wife, what was he doing messing about with Lydia? Not that she was surprised. After the filthy stunt Lance had pulled, there wasn't a man on the planet who could surprise her. They were all lying, deceitful –

All at once, she realised the doctor was still talking. To her. Realisation slapped her hard across the face.

‘Oh no. I'm not his wife,' she gasped, aware of colour flooding her cheeks. ‘I'm the, um, caretaker –'

The doctor looked bemused. ‘Then, if you are the caretaker, you vill take good care of him. He must go straight to the bed.'

‘Right,' mumbled Annie, wondering why the mere mention of ‘the bed' where Jake was concerned caused her temperature to soar and her heart to trip.

Evidently her discomfiture had not gone unnoticed.

‘Sorry about that,' said Jake, as they made their way out of the hospital, him hobbling alongside her on his crutches. ‘I didn't say anything to make him think we were, um, you know …'

‘I should hope not,' snapped Annie.

If Annie had found the drive
to
the hospital awkward, it was nothing compared to the drive back. This time, though, her anger had been replaced with mortification. Thankfully, Jake had chosen to sit in the back seat again. She couldn't have coped if he'd been right next to her. She stole another glance at him through the mirror. He was staring out of the window again. The look on his face reminded her of the first time he'd been in her kitchen. Pensive. Lost in thought. As though he were a million miles away. But he wasn't a million miles away. He was here. In her car. Which begged the question … what was she supposed to do with him now? A stream of images popped into her head, based around what she'd
like
to do with him now which, frankly, did not help matters at all. Honestly. Why couldn't she have continued being angry with him? At least then she had some control, had even managed a few sharp retorts. Now, as a result of that confusing conversation with the doctor, she could barely string two words together. Which was preposterous. She and Jake being A Couple had been a natural assumption for the man to make. They were of a similar age, they both had on their running kit, and she had accompanied him to the hospital. It was a perfectly logical conclusion for the doctor to reach. Satisfied with her reasoning, she re-focused on the issue of what to do with him. She couldn't just dump him back at the manor. She was ravenous, which meant he probably was too. The least she could do was offer him something to eat. She cleared her throat and, addressing the mirror, asked, ‘Would you like to come back to the cottage and I'll make us some supper?'

Her words visibly startled Jake out of his reverie. In fact, for one brief moment, he looked slightly panic-stricken.

‘That's, um, very kind, Annie, but I'm not hungry. Do you mind if I just go straight back to the house?'

‘As you like,' came back the reply.

By the time they arrived at the manor it was almost dark. Not wishing to cause Annie further trouble by trying to negotiate the stairs, Jake insisted on sleeping on the sofa in his writing room. Annie arranged bedding, towels for the downstairs shower room, and a cup of tea. The moment she left, Jake hobbled into the kitchen and dug out some cheese and crackers. Despite what he'd told Annie, he was starving but there was no way he could have accepted her supper invitation. No way he could have sat in her lovely homely kitchen, subjecting himself to another mental assault. So heightened were his emotions that the very thought had brought a surge of panic crashing over him. Anyway, his pathetic mood aside, Annie's tone had made it perfectly clear that she didn't want him sitting in her kitchen. Her relief at his refusal of the invitation had been almost palpable. But, for all her frostiness, he had to admire the competent way she'd handled the situation. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him that every time he was around Annie, he found something new to admire about her.

It had also occurred to him, as he'd sat in her car, how very alone he felt. Despite Annie's cool demeanour, it had been weird having her look after him – weird in a nice way. It brought back memories of being A Couple. Memories of how nice it was having someone care for you. Not that he imagined for one moment that Annie cared for him. He was probably the bane of her life – what with his unexpected arrival, the drama with the boiler, the bizarre effect he had on her dog, and now this fiasco with his ankle. Her feelings had been summed up perfectly when the doctor had assumed they were a couple. The overriding sentiment Jake had observed on her face had been one of complete and utter revulsion.

CHAPTER SIX

From: LanceTunstall

To: AnnieRichards

Subject: Hello

Hi Annie

Hope you well there. Looking forward to seeing you and Sophie soon.

Lance

The following morning Annie read and re-read the email, her brain whirring. Lance never emailed. Which meant he was up to something. Having neither the energy, nor the inclination to think about what it might be, Annie pressed the delete key.

The very best thing about living in Buttersley, Annie concluded, was her fabulous support network. Alison Stevens had been brilliant when Annie had called her from the hospital the previous evening. She'd insisted Sophie stay over for the night – a change of plan which had delighted Sophie and Bethany. Unsettled by Lance's email, though, Annie had a burning desire to see her daughter that morning. She therefore made a detour to the school gate on her way to work.

Sophie, walking hand-in-hand down the street with Alison, didn't notice her at first, which allowed Annie a rare opportunity to observe her daughter from afar. In her little gingham dress and ankle socks, her hair in two fat bunches, she looked so unbelievably cute that Annie experienced a rush of overpowering love.

‘Mum!' she squealed, upon spotting Annie. ‘Did you miss me?'

‘Maybe just a bit,' said Annie, picking up her daughter and swinging her around. ‘Did you miss me?'

‘Loads,' replied Sophie, planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘But I didn't cry. Not even when I had to go to bed.'

‘That's very grown up. I'm very proud of you.'

Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Well, I am nearly six. Please can you put me down now. We're learning about dinosaurs today and I don't want to be late.'

‘Goodness, no. You can't be late for that. You run along and have a good time. I'll pick you up later.'

As she waved her daughter off, Alison Stevens came to stand alongside her.

‘Thank you so much for letting her stay,' said Annie. ‘I hope she wasn't too much trouble.'

‘None at all,' chuckled Alison. ‘She was as good as gold and as entertaining as ever. We all had to sing a song and Sophie marked us out of ten.'

Annie pulled an apologetic face. ‘Sorry. It's a phase she's going through.'

‘Don't apologise. It was hilarious. Anyway, how did you get on at the hospital? Any broken bones?'

‘Just a bad strain, thankfully. Dispatched, four hours later, with a bucket-load of painkillers, a pair of crutches and strict orders to rest.'

‘Hmm. The mind boggles at the possibilities there. I don't suppose you're taking names for bed-bath volunteers?'

‘Definitely not,' said Annie, immediately banishing the image that suggestion stirred up.

‘Well, if any such help is required, please bear me in mind,' tittered Alison, before scurrying off down the street.

Annie heaved an exasperated sigh. What was it about Jake Sinclair that had every female in Buttersley salivating? Admittedly, he was good-looking. But there were lots of good-looking guys around. Well, perhaps not lots. And perhaps she'd never actually seen one quite as good-looking in all her thirty-five years on the planet. But looks were superficial. Shallow. A product of genes. Not of achievement. Or skill. Or hard work. No, Jake Sinclair was nothing more than a pleasant arrangement of DNA. Not, in Annie's book, an attribute worthy of respect. Even so, she'd found it difficult to maintain her anger at him last night. He had at times – particularly in her car – looked incredibly vulnerable, like a little boy lost. She'd even begun to wonder if she'd got him all wrong. That there was more to Jake Sinclair than she'd first thought. Thank goodness, though, he had declined her supper invitation. The awkwardness in the car had been bad enough. If she'd had to sit across the table from him it would have been excruciating.