The Accidental Bride (31 page)

‘Sort of …’ He sat up, golden hair all a-tousle. ‘I lay awake for a while, thinking about the day, and how well it went.’ He looked at her intently, even though his eyes were still a bit sleepy. ‘I was so nervous, love. So very nervous.’

How could that have been? He’d looked so assured, so cosmopolitan, the king of all he surveyed in his beautiful blue-grey summer suit, effortlessly charming her family and making them love him on sight, almost to a man or woman. ‘Nobody would have known,’ she said, kissing his cheek. ‘You looked as cool as a cucumber … although, also, incredibly hot.’

‘Years of practice. Years of practice.’ He sat up. ‘But I did spend some time reflecting on the day last night, and I thought I’d better slip away to my room and see if I could get some sleep. For the drive home, you know?’

Lizzie smiled at him. Sometime in the night … he’d come back. ‘So what happened?’

John ran his hand through his already untidy curls. ‘I couldn’t sleep there, either. So I came back, and about ten minutes later, I must have nodded off.’

‘That’s wonderful!’

‘We’re getting there,’ he said softly, reaching for her. And now, here at their al fresco breakfast table, he looked relaxed. Well rested. Being able to sleep together in a strange bed was good progress. Pretty soon, with luck and a bit of patience, his nocturnal phobias might become a thing of the past, and they’d sleep together the whole night through as a matter of course. The shade of prison after dark, and all the entrenched irrationalities and fear would be banished, or at least their hold on him would be minimal.

And if that issue could be conquered, so could her own uncertainties. Her concerns about ‘fitting in’ when John was reunited with his family, and the sense of awe she felt, contemplating a future she’d never in a million years have anticipated for herself.

And … that other pervasive, lingering worm of doubt that still gnawed at her. The woman-worm who bore the innocuous name of ‘Clara’.

I might have to meet her soon. She’s in England, and her mother says she’s set her cap at John again.

‘What’s wrong, love? You’re frowning?’

Lizzie looked up from her half-eaten croissant and discovered John watching her. Apparently his paper was not as absorbing as she’d thought. Should she dissemble? Say it was nothing?

‘I was just thinking about what Caroline said. About Clara being in the UK.’ She picked up a flake of croissant,
eating it without tasting it. ‘I … I guess she’ll be contacting you before long. Wanting to meet you.’

A shaft of pain, and what looked like guilt, darted across John’s face, as shadow across the sun. ‘She has phoned a couple of times. I should have told you. I meant to tell you.’ He threw aside his paper and the pages slithered and slid, falling on the floor. He made no move to pick them up. ‘But each time … you always seemed so happy, so relaxed. I didn’t want to spoil things.’ Rising gracefully, he came around from his side of the rustic table and sat down beside her on her bench. ‘She’s my past, Lizzie. Not a part of my life now, or ever again. I know that. You need to know that. Even if it might take her a while to accept it.’

Lizzie frowned at the idea of Clara’s phone calls. Would she have preferred to know about them? She had no idea. Was she upset with John for concealing them? Again, she didn’t know. Everything about him that she was sure of told her that any concealment on his part was to ensure her own happiness, an attempt to deal with an issue before it became an issue.

But did Clara see it that way? Gut feeling told her this woman she didn’t know had an agenda. A single-minded goal in life. She could understand that.

Knowing John, and loving him, she couldn’t give him up herself. And it stood to reason that Clara might feel the same way, even if her motivations were twisted, and perhaps more self-serving or self-deceiving.

We’re two women who want the same beautiful man. I should feel sympathy for her, not hatred.

‘You’re right to be angry with me for not being totally straight with you.’ John took her hand, folding it into both of his. ‘I’ll not conceal anything again.’

‘I’m not angry, love. I’m not even angry with her,’ said Lizzie, recognising a truth, ‘and if the roles were reversed, I might have kept quiet too, if I thought I could make a situation go away without spoiling things in the process.’ She gave him a fierce look, a look to show him her love. ‘Neither one of us is perfect, John. And it’d be unrealistic to expect that neither of us will screw up ever again. I mean … that’s life, isn’t it?’

Love side-swiped him. As it did, again and again and again. This woman he adored was amazing, and would never cease to be amazing, as drenched as she was in a wisdom and compassion far beyond her years, as lovely on the inside as she was on the outside.

‘I love you,’ he said, throwing his arms around her and hugging her to him, not caring that the action attracted the interest of other breakfasting residents at tables nearby. Nothing mattered but holding Lizzie, and loving her.

As they drew apart, she didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. It was all there in her eyes, and the sweetness of it almost made his own eyes prickle.

‘At the risk of this getting boring, you’re the wisest woman I ever met, Lizzie. And I thought Caroline was smart.’

‘I take that as a high compliment, love,’ she said with a grin, ‘Caroline
is
smart. And she’s a lovely lady. I really like her.’

‘But not so much Clara,’ he said, giving her a wry look.

‘True. I don’t know her, but from what I do know of her, I can’t see me warming to her all that much. But I think I understand where she’s coming from, John.’
She shrugged, even the roll of her slim shoulders utterly graceful. He watched her straighten up, squaring herself, wise and ready to move on. She glanced at her watch. ‘Eek, I think maybe we ought to go and smarten ourselves up, ready for this early lunch/brunch type thing of Mother’s, eh?’ Touching his arm, she stood up. ‘We’ll have more time to discuss … um … other stuff, and how we might handle it, when we’re back home.’

Perfection. She was perfection. And knowing her, he felt a better man.

He rose to follow her, but the sound of his phone forestalled him. Tapping his pocket, he considered ignoring it, but almost on auto-pilot, he drew it out to answer it. The mobile number was unfamiliar, but still a chill of unease gripped him. He pressed ‘answer’.

‘John Smith.’

‘Oh, Jonathan, I’ll never get used to plain “John Smith”. It doesn’t really suit you at all. Too mundane, darling.’

‘Clara. Hello. How are you? I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon.’

He’d known. That premonition. It was uncanny. He took a deep breath, fighting his instincts. The urge to be curt and rude in a way that wasn’t his style. He mustn’t let her get to him. Especially with Lizzie staring at him, fighting her own fight and trying to look casual. She gave a little flip of her fingers, indicating she’d leave him alone.

He dived forward and grabbed her by the hand, even as Clara spoke.

‘I don’t know why you’d say that, Jonathan. I told you I’d be coming over to the UK soon and you said that we’d have to get together.’ Clara laughed, and John’s grip on Lizzie’s fingers tightened. He had a feeling he might be hurting her,
but she didn’t flinch, she just shrugged and stayed where she was. Frowning.

‘Indeed I did,’ he said, thinking fast. He didn’t want to see her again. He didn’t trust her, and he knew from their meeting in New York that for him there was probably no way back to just a harmless friendship. And that wasn’t even what Clara wanted. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be over here so soon. Where are you staying?’

‘You don’t sound awfully pleased, Jonathan.’ Her voice was warm, but delicately reproving. Flirtatious. Just as she’d once been, acting as if nothing had happened. Nothing at all. ‘I’m staying at Mother’s London house …’ A pause … Was it significant? ‘I’m with Charlie.’

‘Charlie?’ With a gentle pull on Lizzie’s hand, John resumed his seat, and she sat down next to him, watching his face.

‘My son, silly.’ Clara laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about him.’

What the hell do you mean? What are you trying to say?

‘Of course not. But doesn’t his father mind you traipsing him about the world?’ Charlie’s father was Robson Hertingstall, an American financier who Clara had been involved with, unbeknownst to John, even while they’d been having their own ‘reunion’ affair. Clara had been ‘punishing’ Robson with time apart, telling him she was unsure about marriage.

What a fucking idiot I was! I never saw it. Too blinded by hope and infatuation. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

‘No, not at all, Robson has been very generous and decent. Did I not mention that he’s paying for Charlie to be educated in England? So he doesn’t lose his heritage?’

The disquiet he’d felt moments ago surged in his gut. There was more to this. He was sure of it. Much more.

‘No, you never mentioned it, Clara. It isn’t as if we’ve had much contact lately. Our lives grew apart years ago.’ He tried not to sound too harsh. Or show his unease to Lizzie. Her keen eyes were monitoring him, reading him. She was attuned to his emotions in the way Clara never had been.

‘Well, we can rectify that now, can’t we? I’ve left Ernesto for good. I shall be living in the UK for the foreseeable future.’ There was no sadness, no distress in his former love’s voice. She sounded excited and confident. ‘There will be plenty of opportunities for us to become good friends again.’

Damn her! The way she said good friends sounded exactly like lovers.

‘Yes. Friends. Of course.’ His tongue seemed frozen. He, the man who’d always been able to talk his way into any deal, out of any tight spot, and into any woman’s bed. He was devolved almost to stuttering adolescence. Hating, hating, hating his own feeling of weakness, and hating that Lizzie should see him floundering like this. Even though he knew her sympathy would be complete …

Or would it? She too was only human. All this kowtowing of his, to Clara, must be painful to the woman he loved.

‘Perhaps we could all meet up for dinner when I’m next down in London?’ he said, desperately pulling himself together. ‘Lizzie and I, you and Charlie, and Caroline and Ralph? I’m right in the midst of a variety of critical negotiations at the moment.’ He rolled his eyes at Lizzie, silently owning up to the fib. ‘But in a few weeks it would
be good to get together. Perhaps you could ask Charlie if there’s any special place he’d like to dine? We could make it a big treat for him.’

There was silence at the end of the line. He could imagine Clara trying to re-group, working out how to return the conversation to intimacy. He prepared to steel himself, buoyed up by a sudden gentle caress of Lizzie’s fingers around his.

‘Why yes, of course,’ said Clara, finally. He could tell she was juggling her emotions too. Was she disappointed? Or was she hiding an even greater determination? ‘I do know that you’re a busy man, Jonathan. And of course, with a new relationship …’ She let the words dangle. A challenge. John wondered whether to tell her he was engaged, but held back. His parents should know first, and he doubted Clara would keep it to herself. ‘We’ll get together in a few weeks. It’ll be fun! I’m dying for you to meet Charlie. I know you’ll adore him.’

Charlie again. This Anglo-American boy. There was such an odd note in Clara’s voice when she said the lad’s name. Almost gloating. Smug. John closed his eyes, pushing away thoughts. Lizzie’s fingers tightened around his.

‘I’m sure we will. I’m sure we will. But, I’m sorry, I do have to go now, Clara. I have an early lunch appointment with some friends. And a bit of a drive.’ More lies! ‘It’s been good to chat. We’ll talk again soon.’

‘Of course we will. And I’m so looking forward to it. Ciao! I’ll see you soon. It’ll be wonderful. Phone me!’

The line snapped dead. Just like that. It felt as if he’d almost imagined the whole conversation. He let out a long breath as if he’d been holding it. Perhaps he had?

The fingers of Lizzie’s free hand tingled, filled with the urge to reach out and smooth away the frown from his forehead. His eyes were dark with shadows. He looked torn and troubled. If Clara had been right there with them, Lizzie would have given her a damn good talking to. It was true what she’d said earlier, that she was more sorry for the woman than anything. But her primeval instinct was to nurture her man, and ease his troubles.

And right now, John obviously had troubles.

‘Golly, that was spooky,’ she said, keeping her voice light. No need to show him she was at least as rattled as she was. ‘Fancy us talking about Clara like that, and her actually ringing you at that very moment.’

‘Spooky, yes. But then, she always did have a knack for that.’ Lizzie watched him make a conscious effort to banish the frown from his face. He grinned. A quirky grin, but a start. ‘I think she’s probably a witch.’

Lizzie laughed. Nervously. ‘I think you’re right, love. Er … what did she want? I know it’s not really my business.’

John raised her hand to his lips and kissed it passionately. ‘My business is your business, Lizzie.’ He breathed deeply. ‘Caroline was right … I think Clara’s got it into her head that she wants me back. And I’m pretty sure she believes she can get me too.’

‘She’ll have to fight me for you first!’

‘I know, and you’re younger and stronger. If it came down to pure fisticuffs, you’d win, my love.’ He kissed her fingers again. ‘You’ll always win. You and I are it, together now. For good and all. You know that, don’t you?’

She did. In every normal circumstance, she had no doubt in him. Not a speck of it. But Clara was a wild card and the tension in John’s fine jaw suggested that he
suspected … something. Should she pry? Or let him work it out in his own time?

‘I do, John. I do.’ She hesitated. ‘But I do think we, or at least you, should meet her, and tell her that face to face, so she stops harbouring hopes. I think it’d be easier on everybody that way.’

‘You’re right, love,’ said John, his face relaxing, his eyes growing lighter. ‘That’s the only way. It won’t be easy, but I should probably meet her privately. A lunch. Somewhere. And lay down the way things are, once and for all.’ He gave her a very level look. ‘Will you be OK with that? With me meeting Clara? If you’re not, we’ll find some other way to handle it. But let’s get Montcalm out of the way first. Let’s make us totally official then I’ll speak to her.’