The Flower Girls (3 page)

Jasmine wasn’t the easiest person to understand, or, Poppy conceded, to like. She’d come here because of loyalty. Family was all and Jasmine was all that was left of theirs. If her sister needed her, her conscience made her honor bound to come and try to help.

Slowly she stood; she quite fancied romping down into the valley, to get close to the river. Checking her watch, she saw she’d only been gone an hour, it was still quite early. The jet lag still sat on her, making her feel a little drowsy; the walk would do her good, chase away the bad air still circulating inside her.

It was a scramble down, some of the stones were loose half way down and she was regretting the attempt but she carried on. Several sheep were there, eating the grass contentedly, seeming to be oblivious to her. It was a longer walk to the river than she’d thought and she felt a little exhausted when she got there. She found a stone not covered in wet moss and sat on it. The river danced over stones, sending up spume. Catching some of it on her mouth, it tasted good.

A cloud or two came plodding across the sky. As they buried the sun it felt suddenly cold. Jumping up, she set off back, and by the time she’d reached the top the sun had broken free and felt hot against her back. What a strange wild land this was.

Poppy reached the road hearing a vehicle’s roar. Hugging the road, she kept back from the path of the car as much as possible. The car swept around the bend; it was a red and racy type. The brakes squealed as the driver pulled up, the wheels spinning noisily in the shrill air.

“You okay?” A dark man had wound down the window, and was looking back at her.

“I’m fine,” she confirmed, digging her hands into the pockets of the purple fleece.

He smiled. He was a very handsome man of about twenty-seven. He didn’t look dangerous but she was too used to predatory males and hesitated going closer.

“You’re not from the house?” He grinned. “I haven’t seen
you
around before.”

“Actually I am. I’m staying there for a couple of days.”

“Really? Poor you.” He had that clipped way of speaking that she remembered. Accent-less, well bred.

“I wouldn’t say that, it’s a beautiful house.”

He grinned. “If you say so. Can I give you a lift? I’m going by there.”

“I’m all right. I’m enjoying the walk.”

“Not a problem, I’m Edward Donnington by the way. Just come up from town to see my parents. They’ll know of me at the house.”

“I don’t know this area very well, just where
is
town?”

He laughed infectiously. “Not
the
town, town, London. God, I can’t stand this godforsaken place. The nearest big city is Leeds.”

“Oh.” She could think of nothing else to say.

“You sure I can’t give you a lift?”

“Positive.”

“I told you my name,” he said, grinning.

“Poppy. Poppy Lord. Mrs. Sanderson is my sister.”

“Mrs. Sanderson?” For a moment he looked puzzled. “Oh you mean Jasmine. Of course. The flower girls—I remember she laughed about that once.”

He knew Jasmine. Poppy edged closer to the car. He was friendly, it was sheer good luck. He might know something.

“You know Jasmine?”

“Slightly.”

Yet well enough for Jasmine to tell him about her and to reveal what she called them both. The flower girls, Poppy could imagine her sister telling someone, with that warm golden laugh Jasmine had.

“I don’t suppose you know where she went?”

“She’s not at home?” He frowned. Poppy shook her head. “And she knew you were coming?”

“Yes. It all seems rather odd.”

“Not really, gloomy house, gloomy man. Jas felt trapped here, you can’t blame her for taking off. Every girl needs a little fun.”

Two things stood out from his statement. He called Jasmine Jas. No one did that and got away with it! Secondly it was hardly normal for a sister to take off when she knew the person she’d invited was arriving. Deciding to say nothing, Poppy shrugged into her fleece.

“Must take off, I’m rather late. Sure I can’t drop you?”

“Yes, I don’t suppose you know why she needed to take off?”

“Sorry, you’ll have to ask her.”

He didn’t say anything else, settled back into his seat and started the car.

* * * *

The front door of the house was open; Poppy stepped over the threshold and listened.

Silence, no sound of music, or laughter. Edward Donnington was right, this was a gloomy house, oddly beautiful but there was something utterly miserable about the atmosphere.

“You’re back.”

She was unaware that anyone was about, and the voice startled her. Poppy visibly started. Seth Sanderson glowered over her. The misery emanated from him, she was sure of it.

“Sorry if I startled you.”

Poppy was sure he wasn’t. “Is there any news from Jasmine?”

“No.”

“Shouldn’t we do something? Call the police; she might have had an accident.”

“She does it all the time, take off I mean. What would be the point of telling the police? Besides she isn’t a child, she’s a grown woman, and one I might add well able to take care of herself.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help thinking it’s odd. Okay, you say she used to take off all the time, I can accept that, but I know she wouldn’t have done that knowing I was coming. It makes no sense.”

“She didn’t tell
me
you were coming. Would you say that makes any sense? Look, nothing that Jasmine did or does makes any sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said, Jasmine does her own thing, and she doesn’t consider anyone else.”

That was true, Poppy had always been well aware of that. Jasmine was all for Jasmine. She was the younger sister, the prettier, the one that was petted. Poppy wondered if she was resentful but then dismissed the thought. She had adored the little girl; it was only as Jasmine grew older that they’d grown apart. Poppy hadn’t approved of Jasmine’s careless attitude to life and Jasmine had resented her sister telling her so.

“I know Jasmine’s different but you had to know that too, otherwise you wouldn’t have married her.”

“You think so.”

“Are you going to say something different?”

But he didn’t answer and turned to go. He hesitated for a second, digging his hands into the pockets of his woolen jacket.

“If you’re worried I don’t object to your calling the police.”

“How kind of you.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he went on. “But if the police aren’t particularly interested then don’t be surprised. When she first disappeared, they had search parties out, even a helicopter, and they were not amused when she was discovered staying at a top hotel in Manchester.”

Poppy swallowed. Now she felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t just what he said but it was the way he looked at her directly, straight in the eye, an unflinching gaze that seemed to pin her down. His eyes were very green; she’d noticed that the first time she’d seen him. Those emerald-colored eyes really stood out against his tanned complexion.

“I have to say no one seems really bothered. I met an Edward Donnington on the road, he more or less said Jasmine disappeared from time to time…” His cynical smile and raised brow caused her to hesitate. “Er, but it just seems odd that she would do that when she knew I was coming here.”

“Listen, it might surprise you but I never even knew she had a sister.”

“What? But you must have, Edward Donnington knew…he even knew what she called us, the flower girls…you know from our names.”

“I get that,” he snapped. “And what my cousin knew or didn’t know is no concern of mine. I didn’t know and that’s all that is important to me.”

“
Your cousin?
He didn’t say you were cousins…I mean why wouldn’t he say that?”

“Indeed. He tells you he knows about you but he doesn’t introduce himself properly. Work it out. Excuse me, I have work to do.”

He’d been calm until she had mentioned Donnington, then he had changed. Was it surprising? After all, Donnington, it seemed, knew more about his wife than Seth did. Just what was Jasmine up to?

Needing to delay him, to clarify something between them, she said, “But you
do
believe I’m her sister—I mean you don’t think I’m just an imposter on the make.”

“I think you read too many thrillers,” he said, giving her a half-smile. “If you say you’re her sister, then I believe you. There’s no point in your lying but, apart from the golden hair, you’re not really alike.”

She blushed. The way he said “golden hair” when most people would say “blonde” was a little disturbing and in a not unpleasant way.

“No, we’re not physically alike,”
or mentally
, she wanted to say but held it in. He turned and swung away on his heels, marching through a door at the far side of the hall. He slammed it closed behind him.

Miserably, Poppy labored up the stairs to her room. Once there she threw herself on the bed. Walking had exhausted her and worry gnawed away. Jasmine had done some pretty wild things, silly things even, but this was totally beyond the pale. Her sister had known how happy she was in the States. Had even once talked of joining her—not that Poppy had been delighted at that prospect—then Jasmine had met Seth Sanderson and the world was a glitter ball clasped tightly in her hot little hand.

All right, it wasn’t a nice image,
Poppy told herself, but that’s what she’d thought. Handsome Seth Sanderson, the answer to every girl’s prayer according to Jasmine. But really there’d been nothing about how bleak his environment was, or how cynical and hard he was. Really he was the antithesis of the kind of man Poppy imagined Jasmine would finish up with. She could see they had little in common. The wild, wanton, and warm Jasmine and the chilling, albeit handsome, Seth Sanderson. But Poppy had thought it was just an affair, she’d had no idea she had actually married this man she boasted of going out with. But then again it wasn’t a marriage made in heaven but in the other place far below. Perhaps realizing her mistake quickly, she’d kept her marriage secret until it really disintegrated. Jasmine always pleased herself, she never considered anyone.

Rain battering itself against the windowpane woke Poppy from a disturbed sleep. The fire in the grate was very low. Dragging herself reluctantly from the warmth of the duvet, she went across and put coals on the low flickering flames. It wasn’t cold in the room, the background heating was comfortable but there was something marvelous about a real fire. Once the coals caught, long golden shadows flickered across the ceiling. It wasn’t quite dark and she trudged across to the window, to find the rain was hammering down. There was little to see. It was different from Florida rain, which would pour down but then would go away and the sun would come out. No chance of the sun coming out here, the day was grim and dark and it would be like that until the next day, or, depressingly, the day after. It made Poppy determined. If Jasmine wasn’t back by the weekend then she was going to leave. Jasmine was playing games. She decided to take Seth, and everyone else it seemed, at their word, Jasmine had headed for the bright lights and wouldn’t be back until she ran out of money, or ideas. Damn her.

Chapter 3

“I’ve decided to leave at the weekend.”

“I see.” Seth Sanderson had a closed expression. No emotion or even interest. “Where will you go?”

“I gave up my apartment in Florida. I thought I might settle in England.” Poppy shrugged. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“There’s no hurry for you to leave. Think about it.” Although he spoke without emotion, there was a kindness there. Ridiculously Poppy felt tears well up behind her eyes. This was stupid. She wasn’t a needy person. Stiffening her spine, she attempted a weak smile. “Thank you but I think it’s better that I leave.”

“If you’re sure, however no need to go on my account. I am not sure what you do?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your career, job?”

“I was in management. Lately I was free-lancing, p.a. work, secretarial, anything really, but I had a good round of clients. I’d run an employment agency over here but it wasn’t
my
business.”

Seeing as he said nothing but was looking at her, she went on. “I went to the States. I met someone.” Seth’s intense stare caused a nervous flutter to invade Poppy. She rubbed her hands together as if she were cold.

“It didn’t work out. I stayed. I liked it. I had a green card. The weather was…good and I had a nice place to live. People were warm and friendly…you know.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been in New York a few times.”

“Really?”

Poppy couldn’t see Seth Sanderson in New York. In a dark gray jersey, his cords pushed into green wellingtons, the uniform he always seemed to wear, he would have been incongruous in Manhattan.

They were sitting in the kitchen. Mrs. Carrington had gone shopping. Seth had come in alone for coffee and a slice of toast. He brought the cold and damp in with him. Globules of rain clung to the sweater, shining like little pearls. He made a pot of coffee and asked her to join him. She’d had her breakfast but thought it would be rude not to do so. Yesterday he’d been absent and she’d eaten on her own in the morning room where Mrs. Carrington had set her a place. She had thought to ask if she could eat in the kitchen but the expression of fierceness in the woman’s face intimidated her too much for her to try to forge some kind of relationship.

“You must imagine we’re a weird lot,” he said and he smiled. It was almost like the sun coming out. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the smile showed a flash of strong white teeth. He was, she realized, and not for the first time, very attractive. His dark hair had just a tint of auburn; those wonderful green eyes could very easily mesmerize her if she wasn’t on her guard. It wasn’t difficult to see his attraction for Jasmine, but what was the attraction Jasmine had that had made him marry so unsuitable a woman?

“A little,” she said, chancing a smile back.

“We do tend to be somewhat insular.”

“It’s like something out of
Wuthering Heights
.”