The Girl He'd Overlooked (5 page)

He looked at her closed, uninviting expression and scowled. She might have loosened up for a few minutes, but the bottom line was she wanted their relationship to remain on the safe, one-dimensional plane it had always occupied.

He thought back to that crossroads moment, when, four years ago, she had offered herself to him. Hell, he could still taste her mouth on his before he had gently pushed her away. In fact, thinking about it, he wondered whether he had ever really put it behind him.

‘Call it human nature,’ he gritted. ‘Is it a taboo subject? Am I getting too close to showing a perfectly normal interest in the person you are
now
?’

Jennifer couldn’t argue with that.
She
was the one at fault. It was only natural that he would want to exchange more than just polite pleasantries about their past or idle
chit-chat about their parents. It wasn’t his fault that she felt threatened whenever she thought about him getting too close and the reason she felt threatened was because she still had feelings for him. She didn’t know what exactly those feelings were, but they were defining the way she responded. It was crazy.

It was going to be very tiring if they continually veered between harmless small talk and bitter arguments. Worse, he would wonder why.

‘Patric isn’t a taboo subject. I just think that I already told you everything there is to know about him, and what I didn’t you probably gleaned from the Internet. He’s a big name in Europe. Or at least, he soon will be. His last exhibition was a huge success. Everything sold and he has a number of galleries vying to show his work.’

James had read all of that in the glowing article on the computer. They had not stinted in their praise.

‘You were never into art.’

‘I… I… never really thought that it would be something practical to do so I dropped it at school and really, around here… well, museums and art galleries aren’t a dime a dozen. I think I started realising how much I loved art when I went to university… so it was easy to fall in love with it in Paris where it’s all around you…’

‘And the French guy was all part and parcel of the falling-in-love process?’

Jennifer shrugged. ‘We were close friends first. Maybe I got caught up in his passion and enthusiasm over the years. I don’t know.’

‘And it didn’t work out in the end.’

‘No. It didn’t. Now, why don’t you start getting the rugs together and I’ll give you a hand? There’s a great wad of tarpaulin in the coal shed at the back of the cottage. If I
get that, then we can cover the rugs and hopefully they won’t get too wet when we lug them over.’

What little personal conversation she had submitted to was over. James was receiving that message loud and clear. He had never been one to encourage touching confidences from women. Events in his past had conspired to put a cynical spin on every relationship he had, although that was something he kept to himself. It was weird that he was now increasingly curious to find out more about Jennifer. It was almost as though he had suddenly discovered that his faithful pet could spout poetry and speak four languages.

He wondered whether his sudden interest was a result of being marooned with her by the snow, compounded by the fact that he hadn’t seen her in years. Had he met her at his mother’s house, would they have skirted over the same ground, played their usual roles and then parted company to meet again in three weeks’ time and repeat the process?

Hauling rugs into an outbuilding seemed an inadequate substitute to having his curiosity sated, but he dropped the subject and, for the next couple of hours, they worked alongside each other in amicable companionship, exchanging opinions on what would and wouldn’t need to be done to the cottage. It was an old place and prone to all the symptoms of old age. Things needed replacing on a frequent basis and an updating process was long overdue.

‘Right,’ Jennifer said, once they were back in the cottage. ‘You’re going to have to go now, James.’

The past couple of hours were a warning to her that she had to be careful around him. She had always found his charm, his wit, his intelligence, irresistible and time, it appeared, had not diminished his appeal in that area. He could still make her laugh, and wading through the fast-falling
snow was a great deal safer than sitting in a cosy kitchen where they had eye-to-eye contact.

What alarmed her were those casual touches, the brush of his gloved fingers against her arm, the feel of his thigh next to hers as they had manoeuvred the rug into the outbuilding, laughing and looking at the collection of junk they had had to shift to make room.

Her body had felt alive; her skin had tingled. She had been that twenty-one-year-old girl again, yearning to be touched. At least, it had felt like that. What if this whole unforeseen situation, trapped in the snow, made her do something regrettable? It was barely a thought that she allowed to cross her mind, but she knew that it was there, like an ugly monster shifting lazily underneath the defences she had laboured to pile on top of it. What if, on the spur of the moment, she let her hand linger just a little bit too long on his arm? What if she held his look for too long?

He was no longer the cardboard cut-out hero of her youth. She had moved on from blind infatuation and now, here, she was beginning to see the complex man who told her how tough it was moving from being a carefree student to a man who needed to run a company. He shared thoughts about his mother, getting older and living in a house that was too big for her, and she could see the worry etched on his face.

She didn’t like it or perhaps, scarily, she liked it too much. He was easy and relaxed with her because he still considered her a friend. She was wary with him and she had to be because, beyond any friendship, there were still feelings buried there and they frightened her.

So spending the afternoon in the cottage together, because
it made sense
, just wasn’t going to do.

‘I have some clothes I need to box up and also some work to do because, you’re right, it doesn’t look likely that
I’m going to make it back to London tomorrow. In fact, I’ll be lucky if I get out of here by the weekend. So…’

Neither of them had had a chance to change and her hair was damp from the falling snow. Dark tendrils curled around her face. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and the woollen hat she had put on was pulled down low, almost down to her eyes, huge and brown and staring purposefully at him. Unlike the babes he dated, she had a dramatic, intelligent face, a face he found he liked looking at.

‘I can’t think of the last time I was chucked out of a woman’s house,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Come to think of it, I can’t think of the last time I did anything manual with a woman.’

‘I doubt any of your girlfriends would be any good in conditions like these. Deep snow and kitten heels don’t go well together. And I’m not a woman, I’m a friend.’

‘Thanks for reminding me,’ James murmured. ‘I was in danger of forgetting…’

Jennifer drew in a shaky breath. What did that mean? No. She refused to waste time speculating on the things he said and reading meanings into throwaway remarks. She knew from experience that that was a road that led nowhere and, anyway, she
didn’t care about him.
She had spent
four years
putting him behind her!

‘Perhaps later this evening we can share a quick meal. Or I could come up to the house. It
does
seem silly for us to eat on our own when we could join rations.’

‘And I could cook for you.’ His voice was warm and amused. ‘Adding yet something else to the steadily growing list of things I don’t do with women but I do for you.’

Was he flirting with her? ‘You can if you want to,’ she countered sharply, ‘but if not you’re more than welcome to come here and have something with me or we could
just reconvene in the morning and take it from there. You have my mobile number, don’t you?’

‘I think it’s one of the things you omitted to give me when you left…’ Once upon a time his charm would have swept her off her feet. Now, it slid off her, leaving her unaffected. In fact, leaving her irritated.

‘Then let’s exchange mobile numbers now just in case there’s a change of plan. If I find that I’m behind with all the stuff I want to do, then I’ll contact you.’

‘And are you going to get in touch with John and let him know what’s happened?’

‘No.’ Tell her father? That she was holed up in the cottage in the middle of a snowstorm with James? His imagination would be on overdrive if she did that! He had been all too aware of her childish crush! She had been so young and disingenuous… incapable of hiding her emotions, wearing her heart on her sleeve like any impressionable teenager. He had never known about that disastrous final dinner she had had with James. At least, he had never known the details but he was as sharp as a tack. He had known that it hadn’t lived up to expectations because the following day she had been quiet, avoiding his questions. And then she had left for Paris and never seen James again. ‘No. You were right to get in touch with me and leave Dad out of this. He doesn’t get to see Anthony often and he looks forward to his three-week holiday up there. Anyway, the transport links are terrible at the moment. He would have a hard time returning and there’s nothing he can do here that I can’t manage.’

‘How does it feel?’ James asked softly and she stared at him with a perplexed frown.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘To be in charge.’

‘I’m not in charge of anything,’ Jennifer mumbled,
dipping her head. She wondered whether it was a compliment to be seen as a woman
in charge.
Maybe from someone else it would have been, but from James…? ‘Well, maybe I
am
in charge,’ she amended, refusing to be drawn into thinking that there was something wrong with not being a helpless feeble woman incapable of doing anything useful in case a nail got chipped. ‘Dad’s not getting any younger. He’s going to be sixty-eight on his next birthday and he’s been complaining about tiring more easily. He jokes about it, but I can tell from when we’ve been walking around Paris that he’s not as spritely as he used to be.’

‘And where does that leave you, I wonder?’

‘I’m not saying that Dad has suddenly become old and feeble!’

‘I’m curious as to how long you intend to work in Paris…’

‘That’s a big subject for us to suddenly start discussing,’ Jennifer said, fighting the irresistible temptation to confide. Patric might be a wonderful friend and a sympathetic confidant, but he wasn’t James. James who had known her for most of her life and who knew her father better than anyone else.

‘Is it?’ He shrugged and shot her a crooked smile. ‘Am I stepping too close to something personal?’

‘Of course not,’ Jennifer said uncomfortably, hating the way he found it so easy to return to their familiarity while she continued to fight against it tooth and nail because in her head it represented a retrograde step. ‘I… yes, I’ve been thinking about that, wondering whether it might not be time to return to England…’

‘But you’re worried that you’ve settled into a lifestyle that agrees with you and you might just get back here and have difficulty slotting back in. This isn’t Paris.’

‘I’ve made a lot of friends,’ Jennifer said defensively.
‘I know the work and I’m very well paid… I don’t even know whether I’d be able to find a similar job over here! I keep abreast of the news. There are no jobs!’

‘Plus you hate change and the biggest thing you’ve ever done is go to Paris and reinvent yourself…’

‘Stop trying to shove me back in time. I’m not that person any more.’ But yes, she had never liked change even though she had never had a problem adapting to different circumstances. Secondary school had been a challenge, but she had done it and it had been fine. University, likewise. However, she had had no choice in either of those. Paris, as he had said, had been her big step. Returning to England would be another.

‘No, you’re not,’ James said quietly, while she continued to glare at him. ‘I would have no problem giving you a job, Jennifer. There are a lot of opportunities in my company for someone fluent in French with the level of experience you’ve had. In fact, I have access to a number of company apartments. It would be an easy matter for me to sort one of them out for you…’

‘No, thank you!’ Jennifer could think of nothing worse than breaking out of her comfort zone only to be reduced to handouts from James Rocchi. In Paris, she had been her own person. She shuddered to think how it would be if she were to be working in his company and renting one of his apartments. Would he be dropping in every two minutes with one of his blonde Barbies on his arm to check up on her and make sure that she was okay? Nosing into her private life and expressing surprise if she happened to be dating someone? Maybe looking up this, as yet, fictitious someone on the Internet so that he could check for himself that she wasn’t dating someone unsuitable? Or maybe just checking out of curiosity, the way he had with Patric?

‘I mean,’ she amended hurriedly, ‘that’s a generous
offer but I haven’t made any decisions as to whether or not I’ll be returning just yet, anyway. And when I
do
decide to return… well, I would want to find my own way. I’m sure my boss in Paris will supply me with excellent references…’

James tried not to scowl as she smiled brightly at him, a big, glassy smile that set his teeth on edge. He was so used to her malleability! Now, in receipt of this polite dismissal, he felt strangely impotent and piqued.

‘I’m sure he would.’

‘And I’ve managed to save quite a bit while I’ve been over there. I stayed in a company flat and they kindly let me carry on there at a very subsidised rate after my one-year secondment was at an end. In fact, I would probably be able to put down a deposit on a small place of my own after a while. Not in London, of course. I would have to travel in. But definitely in Kent somewhere. I could work in London, because that’s where the jobs are, and commute like most people have to do. So… thanks for the offer of one of your company flats, but there’s no need to feel duty-bound to be charitable.’