The Story of Us (18 page)

I swung my legs out of the car, forcing him to straighten up and step back as I got out of the vehicle. ‘Just that I might have been accusing the wrong man of cheating.'

I'm not sure what reaction I was expecting from him. He was the first person who I had even voiced the suspicion to out loud, so maybe everyone was going to stare back at me in the way that made me feel as though I was a defendant on the stand, and he was the prosecutor.

‘Are you sure? Because Richard didn't exactly seem the type.'

‘He's a man, isn't he?' I said bitterly.

‘Ouch,' murmured Jack. ‘Not all men cheat, Emma. Some of us can be trusted.'

I sighed, and tried to remove the bitter edge to my words. ‘Well, right now I don't know
anything
, for sure,' I admitted.

‘So you've not spoken to him about it? You have no substantial evidence?'

This man had been watching way too many courtroom dramas.

‘No. We've not spoken yet. He's not back until tomorrow.'

‘Then hear him out,' Jack replied, far more reasonably than I was expecting. ‘Give him the chance to tell you
his
side of the story.' I nodded in reluctant agreement. It was what I had already decided to do.

His voice lightened, trying to bring some much needed light relief to the moment. ‘And then, if he
has
been fooling around, I'll give you some tips on how to get away with the perfect murder.'

‘
Bitter Revenge
again?'

He looked pleasantly surprised to learn I knew the plot of his debut novel.

‘You've read it?'

I nodded, and before he started thinking that I'd gone out and bought it because of the curious connection I felt towards him (which, of course was
exactly
what I had done), I added, ‘You get to read all sorts of strange things when you work in a bookshop.'

‘Again, ouch,' he replied with a mock wince. He paused for a moment, considering. ‘What are you doing now? This afternoon. Have you any plans?'

Torturing myself with the image of two of the people I trusted most betraying me
didn't seem a very admiral admission. ‘Going home,' I replied.

‘I was going to check out a location not far from here for research. Do you feel like coming with me and working out the best way to dispose of a body in a lake?' He must have read the hesitation on my face. ‘Could come in handy if you decide to embark on a career in homicide,' he pressed, with a definite twinkle in his eyes.

It was, without doubt, one of the craziest and most beguiling invitations I had ever received, and perhaps just the distraction I needed. ‘Okay, why not.'

He placed a strong guiding hand in the small of my back and led me over to where his car was parked in one of the empty bays. ‘I bet this is how dumb heroines get themselves murdered in your books,' I declared, climbing into the passenger seat, after he'd held open the door for me. He grinned, and pulled out a length of seat belt for me to clip into the holder. For a man who was happily discussing the best way of killing someone, he really was extremely safety-conscious.

As we drove to one of the lakes featured in the book I'd sold him, I scanned its thick glossy pages, more fascinated by the bold entries he had scribbled in the margins in thick black ink than the actual text. “Dismember? Rate of decomposition? Autopsy possibility?”
I quoted, shutting the book and leaving it resting on my knees. ‘Have you never thought of writing something a little more cheery?'

He laughed and took his eyes off the road for a moment to face me. ‘Death sells,' he said with a disarming shrug. I guessed he knew what he was talking about; his last three books had all ridden high on the bestseller list. ‘And sex, of course. That sells pretty well too.'

Unbelievably I blushed. I was a grown woman, who had happily surrendered her virginity more than a decade ago, yet I still turned a warm, rosy shade of pink just hearing him say the word
.

We found the lake easily enough and only had to stop once to ask directions in a tiny rural hamlet from an elderly man walking his dog. I could tell the man's thick regional accent had been largely indecipherable to Jack as he told us our best route, accompanied by energetic windmilling arm gesticulations. As we pulled away from the well meaning pensioner, Jack smiled and waved at him gratefully, saying softly in the privacy of his car, ‘Now that man needs subtitles. I have no idea what he just said. Was he even speaking English?' I laughed and without thinking about what I was doing, I reached over and patted his bronzed forearm where it was resting on the steering wheel.

‘Don't worry. I've got it.' It should have been a perfectly inconsequential action, except something strange happened when my hand touched his arm. Every nerve ending went into sensory overload as his bare skin with the soft dark hair connected with my fingertips. It was a purely involuntary reaction, totally outside my control. Perhaps much like the almost-kiss the other night had been. I saw Jack's knuckles tighten reflexively on the wheel in reaction to my touch.

The lake was a local beauty spot, and actually far too pretty a place to ever dump a body. It was ringed by a thick forest of trees and undergrowth, except at one end where a plain of large flat rocks formed a gently sloping platform to the water's edge. Jack parked his car in a narrow track and we followed a trail of quaint hand-painted arrows which led us to the lake. A light breeze eddied around us as we emerged side by side from the track, and fell into step towards the gently rippling water. The moss-covered ground beneath our feet was soft and uneven, and I gratefully took the arm Jack held out in support when he saw me struggle in my heels.

‘Sorry,' I said, nodding down at my footwear, ‘I normally wear my other stilettos for rambling.'

‘No problem,' he said, glancing down and then frowning as he saw the heels of my shoes sinking into the earth, which was still waterlogged from the recent storm. He nodded towards the large flat expanse of rocks about twenty metres away. ‘Let's head over there, shall we?'

I plucked one foot from the earth, accompanied by a noise which resembled a squelching burp. ‘That was my shoe, not me,' I clarified.

His smile was gently teasing, making him suddenly look much younger than his thirty-six years. ‘Sure it was,' he replied.

We struggled on for a few metres, as I concentrated very hard on not pitching face forwards into the mud.

‘It would be easier if I carried you,' Jack offered, after I'd frantically grabbed hold of his arm as I lost my footing.

‘No way,' I said, looking up briefly from the muddy ground. ‘I can manage.'

Jack shook his head, ‘You're stubborn,' he observed, watching me struggle on.

‘It's been said,' I commented, thankfully placing my first foothold on to the solid rocks at the head of the lake.

‘I'm sorry, I hadn't thought about all the recent rain. Are they ruined?'

Before I could answer he dropped to a crouch before me and slid one hand around my ankle. ‘Take them off,' he requested, and was it my imagination, or did his voice sound a little deeper and huskier than usual? I did as he requested, resting my hands on his shoulders for support as he relieved me of the two muddied shoes.

He took them from me and went to the lake's edge and swirled the heels in the water, turning away from me as he undertook the task. By the time he had cleaned them and walked back to me, all vestiges of mud and intimacy were gone from my shoes and his face.

We stood shoulder to shoulder surveying the lake as the sun began to descend behind the trees, bringing a mysterious reddened glow to the water's surface. For a second it looked horribly like a sea of blood and I shuddered involuntarily at the image. Jack turned to me with a look of concern. ‘Are you cold?'

I shook my head. Although the breeze was strong enough to make every leaf speak in whispers to its neighbouring tree, there was no real chill to the air. ‘No. I'm fine.'

‘Do you want to go back to the car? I can always come here by myself on another day.'

‘No. Don't be silly. Besides, you can't speak “local”, so I doubt you'd ever find this place again.' He laughed, and the sound reverberated around the clearing like a welcoming echo. ‘You do whatever it is you have to do… I'm happy to just sit and wait.'

He looked like he might protest further, but the light was beginning to fade and that seemed to decide him. He left me for a few moments and returned carrying the type of camera used by people who are just one click away from being a professional photographer. In his other hand he carried a tartan blanket which he spread out flat on the rocky surface. It looked a little too much like a bed for my liking, so I ignored it.

‘I shouldn't be more than a few minutes,' he promised. ‘I just want to walk around the lake and take a few pictures.'

‘Careful you don't fall in,' I warned as he began to walk away. He stopped and looked back at me over his shoulder.

‘What would you do if I did?'

The answer sprang to my lips without conscious thought, tying me to him in ways I couldn't begin to understand. ‘Save you, of course. Just like you did me.'

Jack was actually a good deal longer than just a few minutes, and eventually I did drop down on to the plaid blanket, as I watched his progress around the lake's perimeter. It was peaceful there, with only the rustle of nature and the call of the occasional bird to break the silence, but it was going to take more than a serene location to lift me out of my inner turmoil. I had a head full of unanswered questions on a spectrum which ranged from
Had my fiancé actually been sleeping with my best friend?
to
How is it possible to love one man and feel so mysteriously connected to another at the same time? Did I feel this way because Jack had saved my life?
In and among those knotty issues were scattered other little gems, like
Had Caroline suspected anything about Richard and Amy?
and
What the hell was I going to do if it's true?

Jack's reconnoitre of the lake was as thorough as an army manoeuvre. Despite the wet and slippery surface, he never once looked anything less than sure-footed as he athletically moved up and down the bank, working out something that I'm sure I would one day recognise within the pages of his next novel. Although he was too far away to talk to, I liked the way he would pause every so often and glance back at me, with a smile or a wave. Even when he wasn't beside me, he had a curious way of making me feel like he still was.

He took a great many photographs of the lake and the surrounding foliage, before coming back to the rocky plain and joining me on the rug.

‘Did you get what you wanted?' I asked. ‘Will you use this place in your book?'

‘Maybe. It depends, I'll have to see where the story takes me.'

‘Have you always wanted to be an author?' I gave a little laugh. ‘Does everyone asks you that one?'

He smiled. ‘Yes. That and “Am I going to be in your next book?”'

‘So? Am I?'

He laughed, and I liked the warm resonance in the sound. ‘You'll just have to wait and see.'

I shifted on the blanket, enjoying the feeling of the late afternoon sun on my face.

‘And what about
your
career hopes and dreams?' he asked, flipping my own question back to me.

‘Is this research for your plot, or are you genuinely interested?'

‘Genuinely interested, of course.'

And perhaps he was, because he sat and listened carefully as I spoke of my old job, of how it had taken me from London to Washington, how it had left me eager to travel more.

‘Do you miss it? Working in a bookshop must seem pretty quiet after that.'

I considered my answer carefully before replying. ‘Quiet, yes. But certainly not dull. Working with Monique could never be that.'

He laughed, and I saw the glint of amusement as he clearly remembered my eccentric employer. ‘Now
she
could definitely be a character in my book,' he said.

I smiled fondly. ‘I owe her a lot. She's been more like a mother than a boss to me this last year.'

Jack picked up a nearby stone and skilfully skimmed it across the lake, achieving an impressive five bounces before it disappeared beneath the glassy surface.

‘Did something specific happen to your mother to prompt you to move back?' he probed gently. ‘If you don't mind me asking.'

I was puzzled, I thought I had explained all that to him the other evening.

‘I understand about her illness, but couldn't you have stayed in London, kept your job? It seems like a lot of sacrifices to have made.'

Something bristled a little at his question, even though I know he didn't mean it unkindly.

‘I haven't left marketing for ever,' I said, although I could hear an inner voice echoing inside my head with the question
Really? It kind of feels like you have.
‘I just needed to be permanently based around here, more instantly on call, for now. Actually it was because of my dad rather than my mum. He's stubborn and proud and won't ask for help, not from me, Richard, or the medical profession. He even tried to keep her symptoms hidden from everyone for the longest time.' I gave a small laugh which held no humour. ‘Then, last year, it all got too much for him and he ended up in hospital.'

Jack's face was full of concerned sympathy.

‘We thought at first it was a heart attack, but thankfully it wasn't. But it so easily could have been. That happened on a Saturday. On the Monday morning I went into my boss's office and asked for a long term leave of absence.'

‘That was a brave thing to do.'

‘I don't feel brave,' I admitted, my voice small. ‘But I couldn't have lived with the consequences of staying in London if something had happened. To either of them. At least now, I can help on a daily basis, and Monique is pretty amazing about my hours. No job in London would let me be so flexible.'