Jack

by Nancy Warren

  “Easy because you could walk away at the end of it with a few good memories?”

  “Don’t make it sound so…I don’t know, so …”

  “Cynical?”

  “But I’m not cynical. I’m practical.”

  “You, my dear, are terrified of love.”

  “Oh, just get over it.”

  “I hope I don’t have to. I believe that you and I may have found that rare and amazing thing. True love, the kind that lasts.”

  She scratched her leg. Maybe the hives weren’t visible, but she could feel them, beneath the skin. Emotional hives. Great. She’d invented a new mental illness.

  Chapter 10

  “Can we please talk about something else?”

  He should have kept his mouth shut. He’d known she wasn’t ready. Now all he could think about was that he loved her and she either didn’t love him back or couldn’t admit to loving him.

  For a number of reasons, he hoped the latter was true.

  He could conquer her fear, he was certain. Indifference was impossible to contemplate. Surely, after all this time, he ought to be able to tell when a woman really cared?

  Or was he projecting his own feelings onto her?

  He had so little personal experience of being in love that he was out of his depth. All he knew was that instead of having Rachel throw herself onto his chest and whisper those magic words of love back to him, as he’d more than half hoped she would, she was lying beside him, stiff as a board, staring up at the ceiling, in the same posture he was.

  “I met you a week ago,” she said, sounding aggrieved.

  “Look, I don’t say it makes sense. Only that it is.”

  “I thought this would be easy, uncomplicated.”

  “Do you want easy and uncomplicated?”

  “Yes!”

  “I’m sorry I offended you. I didn’t mean to. But I think you’re going to have to begin thinking of this in a new light.”

  “They warned me that you were the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. Which happens to be exactly what I’m looking for right now.”

  “If you pass up what we have, you’re more of a coward than I believed.”

  “Okay, I can’t do this right now. I simply cannot do this.” She rolled out of bed and unzipped her overnight case, dragging out the jeans and sweater she’d brought.

  He leapt off the bed and followed her. “Look, forget I said that. You’re not a coward. I’m a complete and total fuckwit. Where are you going?”

  “Home.” Irritation sluiced through her system. “No. Not home. Back to the castle where I will stay in my kitchen hiding behind the ashes whenever any Prince Charming comes near.”

  “But you’ve barely seen London. There are so many things I want to show you.”

  He was stalking up to her, naked, when she reminded him, “Chloe is here. She needs you.”

  “Rachel.”

  “Let me go now. I’ll call you.”

  For a long time he stared at her, his eyes full of concern. “All right. I’ll get dressed and drive you back to Hart House.”

  “No. I’ll take a cab to the station and get a train.”

  She was so panicked she barely knew herself. She knew she wasn’t being rational, or fair, or remotely mature, but the urge to flee was so strong she couldn’t resist it.

  She was dressed in seconds and within five minutes had brushed her teeth, dragged a brush through her hair and stuffed the tangle of curls into a clip, swiped lip gloss over her passion-swollen mouth and flicked the mascara brush over her lashes.

  When she returned to the bedroom, he wasn’t there.

  She packed her dress and Maxine’s Pashmina into her case and left the room.

  She found Jack in the kitchen with his sister. Chloe wore the most gorgeous silk robe and looked like a movie star from the twenties. Rachel almost expected her to light up a cigarette on a long holder.

  Jack wore a look on his face that tore at her heart. And that made her furious. They’d only known each other a week. This was ridiculous, unfair, manipulative. She was a recently divorced, unemployed mess. She didn’t have the mental or physical energy for a complicated love life.

  “Have some coffee,” Chloe said. She was messing around with a French press and it was obvious that somebody else usually made her coffee.

  “No. Thank you.” She looked at Jack. “If you could just call me a cab?”

  “I’ll drive you to the station.”

  “You should spend some time with your sister.” She paused, feeling like a total, miserable bitch. “All right. Maybe you could drive me to the station.”

  They were no sooner pulling out of his parking garage than he said, “Rachel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say those things. I wish I could take it all back.”

  “No. It’s me who is sorry. I didn’t expect, I didn’t know…” she heaved a sigh and tried again. “I would really like for you not to think I am a total loser.”

  He sent her a wry grin. “I’d like you not to think the same about me.”

  She laughed. “Agreed.”

  “How long do I have?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “When’s your return ticket home?”

  “Oh. It’s open.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad. I’ve got some time to convince you to stay.”

  She looked at him, truly curious. “So, if I said right now, yes. Let’s get married…”

  “I’d be driving straight back so I could cancel all my appointments tomorrow and we’d get married.”

  “How can you be so sure? No one’s ever wanted me like this.”

  He sent her a look that melted her heart. “Maybe no one’s ever loved you enough.”

  Wow. There was a zinger. And, as much as it hurt to admit it, she thought he was right. She couldn’t even remember now why she’d married Cal, only that he’d cheated on her. “I’ve failed so much in the last year. I don’t have much faith in my own judgment.”

  “Never mind. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take it as slowly as you like.” He turned to her in alarm. “You won’t stop shagging me, will you?”

  She glanced at him, all crisp and clean and gorgeous, not a big overblown mess like she was. “I may be stupid, but I’m not crazy.”

  He pulled into the station. “You know, if I didn’t have Chloe waiting at home, I’d drive you down in spite of your protests.”

  “I know you would. But the train’s fun for me. And—”

  “Yes, all right. You need some time.”

  He’d stopped the car at a drop off point by the taxi rank, now he got out and retrieved her bag. He stood before her and she saw this tall, gorgeous, successful Londoner who loved her. Or at least who believed he did enough to say so.

  Suddenly, she threw her arms around him and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. “I had a really wonderful time. Thank you for last night. Thank you for everything.”

  “I’ll ring you.”

  “And be nice to Chloe.”

  “I’m always much nicer to Chloe than she deserves.”

  She chuckled. “She’s lucky to have you.”

  He gave her a quizzical glance.

  “No, really. She is. And,” she took a deep breath. “Thank you. For loving me.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Chapter 11

  “You’re back early,” said Max when she finally tracked her sister down in the long gallery.

  “Jack’s sister Chloe showed up.”

  “Ah, yes, the bride. Definitely puts a cramp in the affair to have little sis hanging around.”

  “Yeah, I need to talk to you about that.”

  “You don’t have to,” Max said. “Chloe rang. God, listen to me. She rang. I’m turning into a Brit. Anyway, she’s canceling the wedding. Can you believe it? Our big society wedding, the one that was going to put us on the map. Gone. Poof. And I already put a deposit on the tent.”

  She’d done a lot more than put a few pounds down on a t
ent, but she was obviously trying to stay cheerful, even though, the way things were going, she and George were going to be too old to get married before they ever dragged Hart House into profitability.

  “We’ll figure something out.” Jack’s words echoed unpleasantly in her mind. Was it possible that she was jealous of Maxine? She hadn’t exactly been super supportive of her sister and yet, look at her? She was glowing. “You’re really happy here, aren’t you?”

  Max laughed. “Amazing, isn’t it? I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but things keep getting better.”

  She knew Max had made up her mind not to marry George until they were in the black, and maybe it was stupid, but Maxine was not one to budge after she’d made up her mind. So, it was up to Rachel to help bring in the bucks. Already, she knew they’d made a sizable dent in the bank loan. What they needed was a big, splashy success.

  “Don’t cancel that tent. There must be a replacement couple who want a splashy wedding. Let’s brainstorm later. I’m going to shower.”

  “It’s not your problem, Rach.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I’m not being clear. In my subtle way I’m giving you my blessing. George is a wonderful man and you two belong together. I’ve been pretty whiny and self-involved recently so maybe I wasn’t as enthusiastic as I could have been, but I’m telling you right now that I’m going to do everything I can to help raise revenue. With the two of us on full throttle?” She grinned. “England doesn’t have a chance.”

  She patted her sister’s shoulder as she walked by. “Now, close your mouth and start thinking.”

  She’d contemplated Jack’s words all the way down on the train. First, she had to take in the astonishing fact that he’d said he loved her, and even more astonishing, that she believed him. Then she replayed the accusations he’d lobbed her way. She was scared, jealous, yearning for love. When she got past the sting, she thought maybe he wasn’t completely wrong.

  Even if he was right and she was too terrified to accept love for herself, she could at least be big enough to help her sister reach her happy ending.

  A little scary warmth stole through her every time she replayed the moment when he’d looked at her with his sexy eyes all serious and said he loved her. And what about her? Was he right? Was she so terrified of love that she’d turn it away?

  A person didn’t fall in love in a week, she told herself furiously. They didn’t!

  She showered, and then went into the kitchen and baked shortbread cookies with chunks of candied ginger, a lemon pound cake and thick, gooey espresso brownies. The baking soothed her and the scents coming from the oven lifted her mood. The kitchen was her place, where she felt in control and while she worked her mind was free to brainstorm money-making ideas for Hart House.

  “Rachel?” She heard George calling her and turned to find him striding into the kitchen. He was so impossibly cute. “I thought I’d find you here.” He stopped to breathe. “God, it smells fantastic in here.” He scoffed a shortbread cookie in a practiced fashion. “Can you come into the drawing room?”

  “I’ve still got one batch of cookies to bake.”

  “Oh, do come. I’m opening a rather nice bottle of bubbly.”

  “All right.” She felt more like being alone – a recluse, in fact. Having her meals sent to her on trays and writing in her journal. She’d have to buy a journal somewhere. What she needed was an elegant journal bound in leather that she could write her thoughts and feelings in with a fountain pen. She smiled to herself. She’d just bet that Chloe was at this very moment writing in her journal.

  Instead, she was going to have to play nice with two people she adored, but who were going to have her believing in love again if she wasn’t careful. Champagne was for celebrating. George couldn’t have picked a worse time to pop a cork.

  George seemed chattier than usual as they walked back to the great house. Given that Chloe had cancelled her extremely expensive and already planned wedding, she was surprised at how buoyant he seemed.

  When she walked into the parlor, Maxine was closing her cell phone. “Mum and Greg say hi,” she said.

  “You talked to them on Friday. Why are you--”

  Then Maxine looked up at her and she noticed the glow. She’d never seen her look so beautiful, or so happy.

  She glanced at George, who’d broken into the widest, most heartfelt grin she’d ever seen.

  “Oh, my God,” she squealed. “You’re not?”

  “I am. We are. We’re getting married.”

  The pair of them screamed like five year olds who’d drunk too much pop, and were suddenly hugging, laughing and crying and hugging some more.

  When she pulled away, she glanced at George who was looking a little shy but pleased. “I’m so happy for you both,” she said, and threw her arms around George, too. “I think you’ll be an excellent big brother. I always wanted one.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said simply, and she believed him with all her heart.

  “But, how did you get Maxine to agree? She’s got this thing about paying off the debt first.”

  “I managed to convince her that she was wrong. No one should postpone happiness for silly reasons.”

  The words sent an odd pang through her. Was she doing that? Pushing away happiness for stupid reasons? Like she’d decided never to love again because it had gone wrong once?

  George hugged her back and then extricated himself to open the champagne. The business of opening and pouring gave them all enough time to pull themselves together.

  He handed them each a flute of golden, bubbling wine. He’d obviously raided the family cellars for something fabulous.

  “I’d like to toast my future wife. The woman I’d almost ceased to believe existed. My countess. My love.”

  Rachel watched him, heard the sincerity of his words, but what struck her was the way he was looking at Maxine. It was so familiar, that look, and she realized it was the way Jack had looked at her this morning when he’d told her he loved her.

  Love. How could you avoid it when it hit you any more than you could hold onto it when it was gone?

  “I wish you every happiness,” she said, feeling emotion choke her. She turned to her sister. “And I don’t care if you do become a countess. I’m not curtsying to you.”

  “Throw her in the dungeon, Earl!”

  And by dint of being very silly they managed to bring the atmosphere down from its almost painful high to a more rollicking foolishness.

  “So, when did you decide to get married?”

  “We started talking about all the work we’ve already done for Chloe’s wedding. It wasn’t any old wedding, but a pretty big society deal. I told George what you’d said. That we should start working the phones for another society wedding to slot in its place.”

  She reached for his hand. “And he said that perhaps our wedding would do. He said, he’s not as rich as the guy Chloe’s going to marry, but his family is much older.”

  “You’re such a snob, George,” Rachel said.

  Maxine grinned at her. “And there’s bad news for you, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, I know. Even though I am fundamentally opposed to the entire, patriarchal institution, you’re going to make me cater your wedding.”

  “Worse. You’re a bridesmaid.”

  Chapter 12

  He didn’t ring her for a week. Jack cursed himself up and down for being such a stupid prat as to blurt out the fateful words that had made Rachel run from him. He decided a woman that petrified of love needed space and time to come to terms with the possibility that she was in it.

  Of course, she loved him. He was almost positive that she shared his feelings. He’d rushed things, that’s all. He, who’d somehow managed never to fall very hard in thirty-four years had gone arse over teakettle for a rather bad-tempered chef with violent tendencies almost the moment he met her.

  When he could stand it no longer, he rang and she sounded pleased to hear from him. Ph
ew, he thought. First hurdle passed. She hadn’t hung up and told him she never wanted to see him again. And she hadn’t gone back to America. He suggested a date for Friday night and she accepted.

  He took her into Salisbury, to an ancient pub he thought she’d like. The food was good and he didn’t think Los Angeles could boast many places as old. The spires of the cathedral rose in gray majesty and the day was perfect.

  With George and Max’s wedding as well as Chloe’s sudden and rather surprising decision to study painting in the south of France, there was plenty to talk about. None of it personal.

  He’d brought her a cookbook from the shop round the corner from him, the way he’d have brought another woman flowers. She was so pleased with her present she kept opening it and reading bits of recipes to him.

  After the pub lunch, they strolled the narrow streets of the medieval village and toured the cathedral. He wondered if it was a mistake to visit a cathedral, such a grand, solemn place and it rather reminded one of the serious ceremonies of life. Birth, death…marriage. But she seemed entranced by the cathedral and when the choir began to practice, she held his hand and stood, rapt.

  When he took her home, he was prepared to make do with a quick snog and drive back to London. She gave him her mischievous smile. “Why don’t I practice on you? I’ll cook something from my new book. For dinner tonight.” He helped her in the kitchen, finding pleasure and companionship in being her sous chef. They ate dinner with Max and George, and then she took him to her room, where they made love with quiet sweetness. Her mind might not be ready to face up to her love, but her body told him everything he’d hoped to hear. They ate breakfast on their own, rising much later than anyone else.

  After that it became a regular thing for them to spend Friday evenings, which turned into Saturdays, together. Sometimes they had the entire weekend, but she often did the catering for a small wedding, or an afternoon tea for the ladies of the straw hat society or some such thing. He regretted the hours they could have spent together, but not the way he could see her becoming more and more a part of the estate.