The Accidental Mistress (33 page)

Lizzie glanced at John, beside her, still almost as unknown, in many ways, as the new lovers her two friends had found.

Does he really want to do this?

Outwardly he seemed serene. In high good humour, as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the 1980s
music pouring from the radio. A weird choice, she’d thought, until he pointed out to her that these were the sounds of his impressionable youth and, somehow, he’d never grown out of them.

Yet when she looked closer, she could see tension. A tightness in the immaculately shaven line of his jaw. The occasional hint of frown, which quickly dispersed as if he were exerting a conscious effort to appear untroubled.

He’d certainly responded calmly to her request, back in the kitchen.

‘Rose? How did you know about her?’ he’d said, and Lizzie had been forced to own up to her snooping.

‘I can’t blame you. I haven’t really told you anything much about my past, have I? I’m amazed you haven’t bombarded me with questions before now. Or found out whatever gory details are on Google.’

‘I don’t like to be nosy,’ Lizzie said, staring into her mug. ‘People don’t like being cross-questioned and checked up on. Especially men …’ She sipped her tea. Yuck, it was cold already. ‘But … well … I saw that name. And the repetition in your organiser, and I realised it was someone pretty important in your life.’

For a moment, John looked sad, vaguely shattered, his magnificent eyes full of pain. Then he turned to her, with a wry, complex little smile. ‘She
is
important in my life. Very much so … but not in the way you think, love. Not like that.’ There was still sadness in his eyes, but somehow, almost, wonder. ‘In an ironic twist of fate, she’s become one of my dearest friends, and I don’t have many of those.’

But he’d declined to elaborate. It had been late, very late, and despite her desperate curiosity, Lizzie had been exhausted. John had promised to tell her the full story, and
to take her to meet Rose in person on Sunday. Then he’d accompanied her to her bedroom door, kissed her very sweetly, but not followed her in.

And now it was Sunday, they were on their way, and they hadn’t had sex together since.

I should never have asked.

‘So … it’s about time I told all, isn’t it?’ said John suddenly, almost as if he’d been following the train of her thoughts. The way he seemed to do that sometimes was scary.

‘I suppose so. But I’m beginning to wish I’d never asked. I hate being a nosy parker, and I feel I’ve forced an issue sooner than I should have done.’ She fiddled with her seatbelt. Like everything in the Bentley, it was superbly comfortable, and probably designed by rocket scientists, but still it seemed to oppress her. ‘I mean, you never batter me with questions, do you?’

John laughed softly. ‘Maybe I will … but let’s do me first.’ He winked at her. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

‘OK, then … Who
is
Rose, this person who means a lot to you but not like that?’

The car sped on for a few moments, as John steered it assuredly through the Sunday stream of day trippers and others. Lizzie thought for a moment that he’d changed his mind, but then he began to speak.

‘Twenty-four years ago, the very year you were born, I was involved in a car crash, as you know. I was driving far too fast and I slammed into a car at a country junction at night, on the way home from a party.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘I got away without a scratch, but in the other car, a woman was killed and her ten-year-old daughter was seriously injured. As you’ll no doubt have guessed, I’d been drinking.’

‘Oh, John …’

The words had been so stark, so quiet, that she wondered if she’d almost imagined them. Yet they were out there and her mind was a jumble of reactions. Horror, mostly. Horror for the victims, and horror for John. He wasn’t an evil person, she was convinced of that, utterly, but in the year of her birth, he’d done a terrible, horrible, wicked thing.

‘Don’t say anything. You don’t have to. I know what I did. And I was punished, although not enough … not nearly enough.’ He was talking to her, yet she could tell that at the same time, he was totally focused on the road and the traffic. She felt perfectly safe. He’d learnt a hard lesson, and had it burnt into his psyche. ‘But … somehow … one good thing came out of that. Well, perhaps there are more things, but one major thing. Against all the odds, and after quite a few years, I gained a good friend. A wonderful, inspirational friend.’

Who?
And yet strangely, she already knew …

‘We’re going to meet that friend now, love. Her name is Rose, and I killed her mother.’

‘Omigod!’

‘I know. Not quite what you were expecting, is it?’ said John, changing gears smoothly as they climbed the ramp to exit the motorway. ‘And for many years, she did hate me, and wanted nothing to do with me. I tried to offer as much financial support as I could, and fortunately her family accepted it because they felt, like me, that it was the least I could do.’ For a moment he was silent, as they fed into traffic on a roundabout. ‘It was a struggle at first. I was pretty broke. But I managed to persuade an aunt of mine who had a bit of money to let me have her bequest to me early, and then of course when Caroline and I got together, she was more than happy to supply all the funds I needed.’

For a moment, he looked grim again. The tale of this must be difficult for him. But there was something … something else. Lizzie couldn’t put her finger on it, but she sensed another story, some other angst, that was intertwined with this one, but which he wasn’t able – couldn’t bring himself – to explore.

‘But you did become friends?’ she prompted, almost afraid to.

‘Yes. I think after she’d had some counselling, with a new therapist, she had some kind of, I don’t know, catharsis … and she reached out to me.’ He heaved a sigh, and she could see him reliving the relief that must have been, despite the difficulties. ‘I started going to see her and we talked a lot. It was prickly at first, but eventually, it became something to look forward to … for her just as much as me, I realised.’

‘That’s great!’ It was. Miraculous, but great. Lizzie grinned at him, happy to see him quickly return the smile.

‘It is. I’m very thankful for it. And, of course, one of the benefits of being a stupidly wealthy man now, I can continue to provide for her financially.’ He sighed again, but just a little one this time. ‘Would to God I could give her back her mother, and the ability to walk … but not being an angel or having super powers, I just do the best I can.’

Not sure what else to say, Lizzie laid a hand carefully on his arm. He
was
a good man. He’d done something stupid in the past, and hurt people, but his heart was true.

In only a few more minutes, they were gliding down a country lane, flanked by some very nice renovated properties, an area much like the more rural end of Kissley Magna. At the end of the lane, however, there stood a modern bungalow. Clearly a unique design, it still managed to blend in with the surroundings, organic and harmonious. Lizzie could see a
long garden spreading out on either side, with lush flower beds set amongst broad paths of hard standing. Beneath a pretty loggia, a swimming pool glittered blue.

Even before the car had pulled fully to a halt, a handsome woman with eye-catchingly red hair propelled her wheelchair down the front door ramp, ready to greet them. Behind her another woman, dark-haired, slender and wiry, and younger by some years, followed in her wake. Both were grinning.

‘Eh up, John, you old devil. How are you doing? I hope you’re hungry. We’ve got tons and tons of lunch,’ said the redhead, reaching out to embrace John in a bear hug as he leaned down towards her, ‘enough to feed an army!’

A bit shy, Lizzie held back as John greeted the pair. The affection between them all was like a warm wave. They were so comfortable together.

‘Rose, this is Lizzie, who I’ve been telling you about.’ John drew her forward into the glow, his hand closing around hers, encouraging her. ‘Lizzie, this is Rose … and Hannah, who keeps her in line.’

‘With difficulty,’ said Hannah with a soft laugh.

‘Hi! Nice to meet you.’ Lizzie edged forward, nerves jingling. She wasn’t usually uptight about meeting new people, but these women probably knew John far better than she did, and had done for a much longer time. They had a bond with him. She offered her hand to Rose, but found herself pulled down into another of those powerful hugs.

‘Wow, you’re just as stunning as John said,’ Rose announced, looking Lizzie up and down with disturbing frankness, ‘and I’m really digging the “Bettie” vibe … awesome!’

‘Thanks … It’s just a “thing”, you know,’ Lizzie stammered. Rose obviously said exactly what she meant, and that was both attractive and a bit unnerving.

‘It’s fab. Where do you get your Capri pants? I really love them, but mostly all you can get nowadays is horrid shapeless cut-offs. I hate them.’

‘I made them. I make a lot of my own clothes … for the look, you know?’

‘Fantastic! John said you were a seamstress. You’ll have to make some of those for me, if you’ve time. I’ll pay top dollar for something that fits properly.’ She turned to Hannah. ‘They’d look good on you too, honey. How about it?’

Hannah smiled at Lizzie. ‘I bet they wouldn’t look nearly as sensational as they do on Lizzie. Why don’t we all go in, and eat, eh? I’m starving. Would you like to wash your hands first, Lizzie?’

A few minutes later they all sat down to dine on a lovely patio overlooking the garden and the pool. On pins at first, Lizzie soon found it easy to relax. The two women drew her into their circle as easily as they did John, asking her about her sewing, and New Again, and about Dalethwaite in particular; but the questions weren’t too probing, or intrusive. No third degree about the unorthodox way she and John had met, or what their plans might be for the future.

In turn, the conversation drifted on to Rose and Hannah’s life. They were both active in the affairs of the nearby village, and Hannah was a part-time journalist on a local newspaper. Rose’s passion was art, which stood to reason, given the entry Lizzie had seen in John’s organiser. The redhead was both a connoisseur of English watercolours and an exponent of them herself.

‘You should exhibit, Rose,’ said John, toying with his mineral water glass. The three of them were drinking wine, but Lizzie noted that without anything being said about it, he didn’t touch alcohol. A lesson learnt hard, long ago, now
always adhered to. ‘You know I’d finance a show for you. You just have to say the word.’

‘I might … I’m thinking about it. But I’m not sure I’m ready yet,’ said Rose, her expression firm. She was obviously not the type to be pushed into anything before she was ready. The best way to be, where John was involved.

‘Well, if you won’t exhibit, will you at least let me buy the canvas I saw last time I was here … that clifftop view?’

Rose named a wild price. John called her a robber, but in the end agreed.

‘Shall I help you wash up?’ he said to Hannah when the pleasant meal was done, and the dark-haired girl began gathering the plates and stacking them on a tray.

‘I’ll help,’ said Lizzie, jumping up.

‘No, you stay here and help me finish this bottle,’ cut in Rose, splitting the last inch or two of white wine between their glasses. ‘Let’s go into the shade over there.’ She pointed to the loggia beside the pool. ‘It’s getting a bit hot out in the sun.’

When the others had gone, she manoeuvred her wheelchair close up against Lizzie’s lounger. ‘This is when he’ll be grilling her about my health, and getting her report. He tries to be subtle about it, bless him, but I know what he’s up to.’ She took a sip from her glass, and fixed Lizzie with a penetrating stare.

It was good to be out of the sun. A niggle of a headache had been building up behind Lizzie’s temple during the meal, despite the fact that she’d quickly been able to relax with Rose and Hannah. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with something … or maybe it was just an autonomic reaction to the other woman’s benign scrutiny?

‘You’re curious, aren’t you?’ went on Rose, with a wink.

‘Er … about what?’ Lizzie sipped her wine, wondering if it was a good idea, given her head and the fact it might make her say something daft.

‘About Hannah and me. You can’t work out whether she’s my carer, my friend … or something else.’

Crikey, she was sharp. Lizzie
had
been wondering, but had tried not to make any assumptions.

‘Well … she
was
just my carer at first. Now she’s “something else”. We’re a couple, Lizzie. We have been for a few years now.’

‘Oh … right. That’s fantastic. Hannah is lovely. She’s obviously crazy about you.’

Rose beamed. ‘And I am about her! We’ve been toying with the idea of doing the civil partnership thing. But we’ve decided we’ll hang on for the legislation, and get married instead!’ She reached out and patted Lizzie’s arm. ‘You and John will be top of the guest list, natch.’

‘Thanks … I love weddings.’

Rose gave her a long, impish look. Lizzie wasn’t sure what to expect next, a question about her own longer term plans? But instead Rose said:

‘And in case you’re wondering … yes, we
do
have sex. And yes, it’s very, very good!’ She winked broadly. ‘My legs might be knackered, but certain other, very important bits are still working just fine!’

Lizzie burst out laughing, her headache temporarily forgotten. Rose was a caution. A lovely, good-humoured woman, someone who could grow to be a friend and ally. About as far from the threat, or feared rival for John’s affection, as she could possibly be.

‘Awesome! That’s brilliant!’ she said, reaching forward to clink her glass to Rose’s. ‘I’ll drink to that!’

Rose gave her a sly look. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for details of
your
sex life. Although with a gorgeous, charismatic bloke like John, I’d imagine it’s a riot. Obviously, I’m into women, basically, but that doesn’t stop me admiring beauty in either sex.’

‘I … I’ve never met anyone quite like him,’ said Lizzie. It was the truth, but so inadequate. Could she tell this woman she’d known for barely an hour what she really felt? ‘I think I love him … I think it was pretty much love at first sight, stupid as that sounds.’