Tapestry (3 page)

Will gave a soft scoffing sound, but she detected that it was a rehearsed response. She saw in the way he dropped his gaze that he
wasn’t totally dismissive, and then he surprised her by admitting as much. ‘I don’t know. I don’t decide anything until my eyes see it or my research proves it, but I’m a great believer in staying open-minded. I love the notion that the spirit can show immeasurable strength, that faith in something can make one achieve what feels like the impossible … that magic just might exist.’

Jane frowned, surprised by this glimpse behind the rational façade that was the Will she knew. ‘And you don’t believe in coincidence?’

He smiled, raising his gaze from where he toyed with his last neat mouthful of egg on toast. ‘I didn’t think you were cynical,’ he remarked playfully.

‘I don’t think I am. I’d love to believe in magic. Wouldn’t everyone? The world needs it. But the reality is that no magic is going to stop wars or famine or death. If I could call on magic, I’d stop a lot of the bad stuff that happens in the world. I’d stop the culling of seals, I’d stop all the strikes, I’d stop the fighting in Northern Ireland and I’d find the Yorkshire Ripper.’ She smiled. ‘I’d certainly stop this ridiculously cold weather.’

‘You’d call on magic to do all of that because you like to take control, Jane.’

She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’ she replied, buying time.

He shrugged. ‘You’re someone who likes control, that’s all I’m saying. It’s not a bad quality,’ he continued. ‘I envy it, to be honest. It’s part of your charm.’

‘A controlling personality doesn’t sound especially charming,’ she challenged.

He grinned at her, and she felt him stroke her hand. She realised he used his affection like a weapon, and most women, including herself, were likely defenceless against it. ‘Because you’re hearing it as a criticism.’

‘An accusation, perhaps.’

Will shook his head. ‘I’m saying it’s a special quality. You don’t need magic. You’re someone who can make things happen
through sheer force of will.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘Let’s not get maudlin. I love you exactly as you are. We’re planning a wedding.’

Should they be, though?
‘Sorry.’

‘I think bed is the best place for you,’ he teased, and his deep blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

Jane felt a surge of something she hoped was love, but worried that it was, instead, plain sexual passion for this man who’d asked her to marry him just days earlier. She’d said ‘Yes’ immediately, caught up in the romance of his chosen setting — below the Statue of Eros in Piccadilly. People had whistled and clapped when Will lowered himself to one knee and cleared his throat, grinning unselfconsciously as he took his time digging into one of his pockets to withdraw a small, dark green velvet box. At his gesture a violinist had appeared and struck up a beautiful melody and then, on his nod, someone had pulled a string that unfurled a piece of red silk in the shape of a heart that hung from the end of Eros’s bow with their names embroidered on the silk. ‘I’ve never met anyone I’ve wanted to say this to until I met you, Jane. Marry me. Make me the happiest man on the planet. Be mine.’

People had roared with cheers and Japanese tourists had begun snapping photos. She remembered thinking that her face was registering shock, not melting with helpless adoration as it should have been.

‘Will …’ she’d croaked, looking around, embarrassed at the happy, encouraging expressions. ‘I’m speechless,’ was all she’d been able to say. She hadn’t been lying either.

He’d undone the box and the crowd, getting larger by the heartbeat, leaned in as one and sighed at how impressive that sparkling rock looked against its velvet cushion. It was an enormous single diamond surrounded by smaller baguette-shaped stones, and winking at her as though it needed no sunlight to show it off, defying her to resist it.

She could have. But it was Will’s tender look of love she couldn’t turn away from.

Men had fallen for her in the past. She’d never had to go on the hunt for companionship: her looks had always attracted them in the first instance and something about her had kept them interested, although she had finally pushed each suitor away. One — dear David — she’d broken his heart. He’d just assumed they would marry because he loved her so much and they’d been together for nearly a year. What had been in his head? She’d enjoyed his companionship, his lovemaking, his friendship, but couldn’t imagine a lifetime with him, although she had no idea what she
was
searching for.

Will was different. Even Jane, despite her unclingy ways, knew this was not a man to let go carelessly. There was nothing about him that she could point to as being incompatible with her; she was sure every girl standing within arm’s length would not disagree that the tall, golden-haired, blue-eyed, all-American guy on his knees was a catch and a half. And, one more plus, Will Maxwell was obscenely wealthy, which was why the twinkling oblong stone she was being offered had to be three, maybe four, carats, and that was without the surrounding baguette-shaped diamonds. Dating a lovely Jewish guy from Hatton Garden’s diamond-sorting community two years earlier had given her a strong appreciation of sizes and quality of stones. This was a big stone of clearly exquisite quality, even to her relatively untrained eye.

Jane recalled how the women around had begun nudging her, urging her to accept.
Why was she hesitating?
someone asked.
Yes, why?
she asked herself. She
had
hesitated, that was true.

‘Don’t make me ask again,’ he’d whispered, almost as a joke, for she had seen in his gaze that he couldn’t imagine her turning him down.

And so she hadn’t. Reckless? Spontaneous? Defiant? Good or bad, those inherent traits of hers had formed an arrow shape
and sped to the target of her heart. Jane had looked around at the smiling faces and nodded almost helplessly, too unsure of her feelings to say anything at that moment. Her silence had not mattered to Will, because he had scooped her into his arms and kissed her feverishly. She had heard the girls nearby squealing sentimentally, more cameras clicking and then the violinist striking up a new and jolly tune.

‘I love you, Jane,’ he’d murmured.

‘I love you back,’ she’d replied, breathless with surprise and hoping with all her heart that she meant it — it felt as though she did. Besides, that was what he’d needed to hear, wasn’t it? It was what she’d needed to say to make everything feel right. She’d never told anyone, other than her parents, that she loved them. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d said it to either of them beyond school days when she went off on camps or excursions.

Now both sets of parents were in town, Jane thought with a slightly sinking feeling, as she swallowed the last chunks of the cake. The Maxwells had flown in three days ago for the small engagement celebration and her parents had done the same, hurtling down from Wales. It had happened so fast that Jane had felt as though she’d been caught up in a maelstrom with no control whatsoever.

Both mothers had put their heads together to plan a big summer wedding, just six months away. There would be the wedding itself in Wales, of course, and then another ceremony in Florida at Will’s parents’ beach house — if you could call a mansion that.

The fathers had made the sort of surface conversation that men who were still strangers did. Both slapped Will on the back and shook his hand. Will’s father had thawed somewhat after meeting Jane’s family and realising that Will was planning to settle down with a girl from what was clearly a good family that could match it financially with the Maxwells any day of
the week. Jane had felt unnecessary as the wedding machinery whirred into full action.

Now she watched Will flirting harmlessly with the girl at the counter as he paid. She remembered how he had ticked off the list of pluses on his fingers, doing a fair impersonation of the conversation he’d had with his father: ‘
Not a divorcée, no children, beautiful in my opinion, young, fit
—’

‘
Oh, these are all important qualities, Will
,’ he’d said, frowning as his father must have. ‘
Most importantly, comes from good stock
—
people like us
,’ he’d added in a deep voice, approximating his father’s. ‘
She won’t go mad with the money because she’s used to it
.’

Now that she’d met John Maxwell she had realised it wasn’t a half-bad impersonation.

The four parents were undoubtedly tentative that their beloved children seemed determined to hurry the important process of marriage. Yet it also appeared that Will had instantly won her parents’ hearts and in turn she had scored highly in the minds of the Maxwells. Champagne glasses had been raised and clinked, a silent deal done across the fizzing nectar.

Now, in the café, Jane became aware of Will’s tugging at her arm. ‘Where did you just go to?’ He grinned, deliberately allowing a sample of cake he’d accepted at the counter to squelch across his perfect teeth and make her laugh in spite of her mood.

‘Mm?’ She’d forgotten where they’d been in their conversation.

‘I said bed is the best place for us right now.’

She had to agree. ‘In bed with you is my safe place. Nothing can hurt us there.’

‘Hurt us? Oh, Jane. You
are
being maudlin.’

‘I thought I was being romantic.’ She laughed.

‘You have nothing in the world to fear.’

‘I’ve never worried before,’ she admitted. ‘Until this moment, I’ve never had to consider anyone but myself, because I’ve
never got serious about anyone. I’ve never really worried about anything much at all.’ She pushed a hand through her dark blonde hair and held it there. ‘Mum and Dad are so strong and generous, and nothing bad has ever happened, if you get my drift.’ He nodded, but she still cast her gaze down. ‘I’ve always felt safe, even when I’ve been travelling the world alone. But suddenly now that I have you in my life, there are fears swirling that I’d never imagined.’

Was that it? Was she frightened that something might ruin these wonderful feelings of brightness and hope? Did the fear make it impossible for her to embrace those feelings? Or was she avoiding what she was trying to pretend wasn’t there — her reluctance to marry Will?

‘Jane,’ he began, full of appeal, ‘nothing’s going to happen to me, to us. We’re forever. Come on, let’s walk off breakfast.’

She let it go. ‘So, bore me some more about the ley lines. Never let it be said that I was a bad fiancée who didn’t listen attentively.’

Jane let him talk. He was passionate about his subject and she enjoyed watching his enthusiasm — the way he waved his long-fingered hands around. She blushed as she imagined those same fingers cupping her bottom when she moved above him. She liked his hair and its soft tickle against her naked skin — it was, in fact, the first characteristic she’d noticed about Will Maxwell, when he’d not seen her bending to tie a shoelace and had stumbled over her. His hair was thick and a rich golden colour, and fell in waves that did exactly as they pleased. He’d cut it to meet her parents, hoping to please her. Will preferred it longer and unruly until tufts flicked out behind his ears and around his beautiful oval face, which was currently unshaven and shadowed with dark prickles. She knew women watched him; even the café staff now watched them walk past.

It was Will’s voice she would choose as her favourite feature of him. Mellow, not pitched too deep and capable of
a deliciously sparkling laugh when she could provoke it. His American accent was addictive and contrasted with her Welsh lilt, which had been overshadowed, but not forgotten, by her years of attending a fine British public school. She could strengthen it as she chose, of course, but then she could also mimic Will’s southern American English, or adopt her cousins’ Cornish brogue with ease, because of a finely tuned ear for language.

‘… black lines of negative energy, Curry lines of natural radiation, Hartmann lines of magnetic energy …’ She let his soothing voice warm her, while she wondered which of the energies had aligned to bring him to her. She was twenty-seven, and had begun to believe her sister’s quip that she was a serial lover without the love.

Finishing her history degree — specialising in late eighteenth century social and cultural life — had been a milestone in her life. She had enjoyed drilling down to understand the social mores of the era, its language and developments. But what was the benefit in knowing that soup was placed at one end of the table and fish at the other, and that custards and vegetables were never placed centrally; or about the introduction of vaccination against smallpox; or that John Wesley founded the Methodists in the late 1730s, and that the Royal Academy of Arts was founded in 1768? She’d studied the paintings of Gainsborough and Reynolds but preferred the work of Hogarth, whose dark, satirical scenes of life she found more intriguing. She had liked the enrichment her studies provided but truly, what good could they do her, other than enabling her to teach history, perhaps? Or become a historian? Neither of these options appealed. She hardly needed the money.

She’d returned to Wales for the long summer break, but had rejected her parents’ suggestion to join them at their holiday cottage in Brittany in favour of taking up her cousin’s invitation to visit Cornwall and enjoy some summery days in
Penzance, where she could think and make decisions. It was there that she’d decided she would answer the nagging voice in her mind and set out on the journey that she’d not discussed with anyone yet: writing a novel. It was such an exciting notion it seemed truly all-consuming. She felt ready to sit down and write. It would be fiction, of course. Historical fiction? She wasn’t sure.

She hadn’t known what she wanted to do with her life four months earlier. Did she want a career? Did she want to remain in academia? Did she want to join the family retail business? Or did she just want to travel for a year? She could, for her allowance from her parents was generous, plus they’d offered to buy both their daughters a house or an apartment, whichever they preferred, in any city they liked. She was embarrassed that her life was so easy and had hesitated to go hunting for property, despite her father’s urgings.