The Woodsman

by Blake North

  He let out a shuddering breath, head dropping forward. “You’re right,” he sighed. “I hope she’ll understand me. And I’ll break it to her slowly. I wanted to go and fetch her alone, so I can get her used to the idea. You think that’s good?”

  “I think that’s a very good idea,” I agreed firmly. “Now, where do we start?”

  He laughed as I swept my hand across the vast expanse of fragrant, green and dew-soaked garden.

  “We should start with the roses,” he smiled. “I have a big arbor here and I think you’ll like them.”

  “I love roses,” I agreed fervently. They were some of my favorite flowers.

  “Then you’ll love this garden,” he promised. “We have an extensive collection here…hybrids from everywhere, though mostly I love the classics myself. The cottage roses. We have lots of those as well, in the section over there…”

  “I love those best too,” I agreed.

  We headed, side-by-side, into the vast, rolling grounds of his estate.

  The morning passed quickly in that garden. I did love it. He had whole gardens of roses, the size of my cottage garden at home. The conifers were guardians of tranquil knot-gardens, long wandering paths or spaces of lawn, one brightened by a sparkling fountain. We sat there together, watching the water dance, the sunlight on the pond’s surface sparking and shattering as the drops touched the surface.

  “Hayley,” he said softly after a long moment. He paused. “I…It’s good to have you here.”

  I felt my heart melt. “It’s good to be here,” I said. I wanted to say, “with you”. I couldn’t quite get it out of my throat, though. I looked into his eyes, wanting to tell him that way.

  He swallowed. I could see a blood-vessel pulsing in his temple and his eyes were wide, pupils flared slightly. I sighed. His expression mirrored my own feelings. I was taut with desire for him. Each nerve tingled as we sat together by the pond.

  We kissed.

  I sighed, leaning against him. My body was soft in his firm clasp and he drew me to his chest, holding me there. His mouth was hungry on mine, his lips exploring my mouth with a passionate fury that set my own body burning up. I leaned into him and pressed against him, my arms holding him close.

  He drew back, blinking, sighing. “Hayley,” he murmured. “I…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  He moved a little, so our bodies were not touching. I felt a stabbing loss as his warm body withdrew from beside me. He stood.

  I looked up at him, so handsome, his shoulders broad, his body lithe with compressed action like a horse at the starting-line of a race. I felt my breath catch in my throat, just studying him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have done that. Shall we go in?”

  I sighed. “I shouldn’t have done that either,” I said softly.

  He frowned at me. “You didn’t do anything,” he said, sounding confused. “I did.”

  I wanted to say something, tell him I had loved every second and regretted nothing, but he looked so shattered, his brow creased in a frown, green eyes wide, that I couldn’t.

  “Let’s go in,” I said gently. “Your housekeeper showed me the library and I feel the need to look up some of these roses. I’m sure you have plant books up there?”

  He laughed. “You bet we do! One of the best collections in the state, or so I’ve been told. I inherited most of them from the previous owner, actually. But it is a good library. If you like reading, you’ll be happy here.”

  “I do like reading,” I said gently. “And I am happy here.”

  There. I said it. He looked at me, a slow smile spreading across his lean, carved features.

  “I am so glad,” he said lightly.

  His mood lifted, and mine, we walked together side by side toward the house.

  He stood back for me in the doorway. I thanked him. His gaze on me was soft.

  Something had changed between us, that time at the pond. I could feel it. I could see it in him, the way his eyes were gentle and he seemed pleased. But we were bound by our contract.

  It had stipulated no physical contact of an intimate nature. We were already breaching it. It still seemed to bind him and, I suppose, it bound me too.

  Sighing, I went up the stairs ahead of him, heading to the library.

  “Here it is,” he said, stepping back for me as I went in. “Enjoy.”

  “You have to work on Saturday?” I asked, seeing him hover in the door, already halfway, mentally, to whatever called.

  “I just have to make a call,” he said briefly. “Organize some things. And get Bellamy Carrington onto the phone,” he added with a smile.

  “Who?” I asked, intrigued.

  He laughed. “The lady who’ll make your wedding gown

  .”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – BECKETT

  Driving to the airport felt weird. I kept on glancing at the seat beside me, feeling a present absence. Hayley should be there.

  This is insane.

  I couldn’t understand how I felt about Hayley. I had only just met her three days ago, and I was already acting as if she was really my fiancé? I must be entirely mad. I swallowed, leaned back in the seat of my BMW i8 and concentrated on the road ahead.

  My phone in my pocket made a noise. I pulled over and checked it, half-hoping it was a message from Estella. I laughed.

  Come on, Beckett…she got on the flight at about seven am. - it takes almost five hours from Massachusetts!

  I checked the time. It was midday. I would be at the airport in plenty of time to fetch her.

  Good.

  I didn’t like leaving her hanging around in places like airports. I knew it was silly of me, perhaps. But that last message from my particular enemies had scared me: You love your daughter…remember that.

  Yes, I did. I loved my daughter to distraction, it was true. And it was that love that had led me to this crazy plan—this sham wedding. I had to do everything I could to make sure my enemies remained content, or they could bring my whole world down around my ears and harm Estella.

  I hate myself sometimes. I wish I had done differently in my youth. I set myself up for this.

  I sighed. There was no good to be had from recriminating myself. I had done what I did in ignorance and now I was being haunted by it. I switched the radio on, hoping to lift my gloomy outlook.

  The radio was playing a love song - “Lady in Red” by Chris de Burgh. I sighed. It had been the song that was playing when I met my first wife. Of all the things I didn’t need to hear, that topped my list.

  I am falling for Hayley. I don’t want to remember how sad I am about her—not right now.

  The thought stopped me in my tracks. I really was falling for Hayley, wasn’t I? In itself that was terrifying, though it also filled me with a tingling excitement, like a flame lit in my belly.

  I shouldn’t let myself get close to another woman, especially not this one. After all none of this is for real…she isn’t really my wife and I didn’t meet her three years ago—I hardly know her.

  These thoughts—melancholic and full of self-doubt—chased themselves round and round my head for most of the drive. As I neared the airport, my gloom lifted. I found that I was looking forward to seeing my daughter, though there was a certain amount of apprehension as well. She was the sunshine of my days and the thought of her being upset with me about this marriage was worrying.

  She is not going to take kindly to this.

  Her mother—my ex—and Estella were extremely close. A league of women, they tended to shut me out when they spent time together. I only saw Estella during her long holiday now that she was at school at Philips Academy. She spent weekends and term breaks with her mom, who lived close by.

  I reached the airport by midday, and settled down near the arrivals gate. We would do as we always did: have lunch together and then head home. I was excited about it.

  The hour-long wait passed by surprisingly quickly. I stood up, feeling my heart thud with excit
ement as the gate opened. I didn’t have to wait for long.

  “Daddy!”

  A tall, willowy blonde girl with cyan blue eyes ran into my chest. I embraced her, resisting the urge to lift her off her feet.

  “Baby!”

  She leaned back, looking up at me fondly. High cheekbones, slanting blue eyes and full lips, she was a beauty. I smiled into her eyes.

  “Oh, Dad,” she said fondly. “I’m not a baby anymore, you know.”

  “You’ll always be my baby,” I countered. She pulled a face at me and I took her luggage, then we walked slowly over to the restaurant to order our customary meals.

  “How was your flight?” I asked casually.

  “Great! I slept part of the way,” she added, laughing.

  “You have a talent for it,” I said, smiling at her. We always teased each other about that aspect of flying. She had the comfortable habit of falling asleep almost the minute she was in any kind of airplane, whereas I couldn’t sleep, even on long flights.

  She laughed. “I wish I could pass it on, but I don’t think you can catch it from me.”

  “You make it sound like a rare illness,” I protested, laughing.

  She grinned and we sat down at the restaurant, perusing the menu. We always had the same thing, though, so the menu was just a formality. She had tuna steak, I had pizza. She teased me about being cheap, and I teased her about not eating the salad. It was a comfortable, familiar routine established over the last year and a half and it settled my nerves. For some reason I was apprehensive about telling her my news.

  “I got an A for the design course, Dad,” she said. She threw it into the conversation flippantly, just as we were discussing the weather, but I knew from the way her face went stiff that it was a big thing for her.

  “Awesome, sweetheart!” I said, saluting her with our sparkling water. She grinned.

  “Thanks, Dad.” she looked shyly proud and my heart swelled for her. I waited for whatever was on her mind. “Dad…”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “I was wondering if…No, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Wondering what, sweetheart?”

  “If I manage to get accepted, could I go to Milan? To study design?”

  I stared. Really? I had no idea Estella was interested in being a designer. And to want to travel all the way to Europe to study…that was a big plan.

  “Sure, sweetie,” I said, smiling. “If you want to, I can’t see why not. I’m glad you’ve found something you love.”

  The look on her face was worth everything to me. It lit up like a fire. “Daddy!” she said, loud enough to make the diners turn and look at us. She flushed, and lowed her voice. “Oh, Daddy! I love you so much! You’re wonderful.”

  Well, if that isn’t the best experience in the world, nothing is. I felt my heart melt and had to blink to keep the tears back. I chuckled to myself. I adored this daughter of mine with every fiber of me. She was my world.

  “I love you too, sweetie.”

  “I’m so excited! I’m going to study so hard. Mummy said she didn’t think you’d let me go.”

  “Oh?” I was surprised. “She said why?”

  Estella looked sheepish. “She said you wouldn’t trust me to go all that way on my own, that you’re always worried about me, she said.”

  I sighed. Lacey was right. I was over-protective of Estella, and it wasn’t surprising she took that as meaning I didn’t trust her or think she was responsible and mature. But I did. If she only knew why I was so worried! But I couldn’t tell her—ever. Hopefully she would never need that knowledge.

  “I do worry, sweetheart. But it’s not because I don’t trust you. I know you’re grown up and reliable. I just worry about…you know…what other people might do,” I ended lamely.

  “Oh, Daddy.”

  We finished our lunch and I kept on waiting for a convenient moment to mention my momentous plan. We were driving back home when it arrived. Sitting beside me in the passenger seat, long legs stretched out under the dashboard, leaning back with the breeze in her hair, she sighed.

  “So, Daddy. I haven’t asked you about you! How are you? What’s happening?”

  I sighed. “Well, sweetie, I do have news.”

  “Oh? Tell me! Is it exciting?”

  “Maybe.” I fidgeted, letting myself focus on my driving instead of on the conversation. A willful distraction. I sighed.

  “Tell me.”

  “Sweetie,” I said, drawing in a deep breath, “what would you say if I told you I was considering marriage again?”

  She stared at me. “Daddy! What?”

  I felt my soul cringe. She didn’t seem angry, but her surprise was evident. I drew in another sighing breath. “Well, I met this girl and…and I—you know, I get lonely. And I need someone to take to meetings and parties and events…so I thought, well, why not?”

  “Daddy,” she said, making a severe face. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Who is she?”

  “She’s…she was a dancer, and…”

  “Where did you meet? When? How long have you known her?”

  I sighed. This was going to test my acting skills. Which were, regrettably, just about invisible. I drew in a breath, glad I’d practiced beforehand.

  “Well, I met her at a party—a reception, actually. She danced on Broadway for a few years. We really got on, and we started dating. She left the theater two years ago, and we kept in touch. Suddenly, she reappeared in town about a fortnight ago and we started dating again and, well, this happened.” I looked sheepishly at her. That part was not acting. I really did feel nervous of my own daughter. I understood, perhaps first time, what it must have felt like for her to have to broach certain subjects with me. Asking for my permission, my approval. It was hard.

  “Well, you have known her a while. So you must have some idea about her…like, is she trustworthy and that,” Estelle said grudgingly.

  I nodded. “Oh, she’s trustworthy. We’re as if we signed on it: she gets security, I get someone to go around parties with. And you’re still set to inherit everything—you and Mom. This changes nothing,” I assured her quickly.

  “Oh, Daddy!” she rolled her eyes at me, looking shocked. “At a time like this, how can you even think I was thinking about that? Who gets what when you die? How morbid!”

  I laughed. I squeezed her hand. “I’m glad to hear it’s morbid.”

  She stared at me. “Of course it is! Daddy, don’t even talk about dying. All I care about is if she’ll hurt you? And what will Mom say?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “You mean, you haven’t told her?” she sounded incredulous and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. At least I had an answer on tap.

  “I wanted to let you know first. Get your opinion on it first. Then I’ll tell her. I promise.”

  Estella stared at me. “You asked me first.”

  “Yes,” I said. I would have anyway, as her opinion meant the world to me. I loved Lacey still, but whether or not I married had limited effect on her world. She would still inherit half of everything—we had signed on it years ago. Estella would have the other half.

  “Daddy.”

  “What?”

  She laughed. “I’m touched.”

  I smiled. Of all the responses I would have imagined, that was far and away the best. I couldn’t actually have hoped for more. Now all I had to do was introduce them. Explain what Hayley was doing in our house. And broach the topic of the wedding. I hoped I could do it all tactfully and with the minimum disruption.

  “Estella?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your holiday is a month, yes?”

  “Yeah!” she said enthusiastically. “This is the big summer holiday! Remember?”

  “I know,” I said. I waited for her to ask the next question.

  “Daddy, you know it’s my big holiday. Why did you ask that question?”

  “Well, I was thinking…I want to marry soon.”

  �
�What’s the rush? She’s not expecting a child or something, is she Dad?”

  I laughed, looking at the shocked look she was giving me. How did she even think of such a thing? Good heavens, but did my daughter think I was such a rogue? “No.”

  She relaxed visibly. “Okay, Dad,” she said weakly. “You’ve given me enough shocks today, alright?”

  I laughed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I promise there’s only one more.”

  “One more?”

  “The wedding is scheduled for a week from now.”

  “Daddy!” She looked astounded. She turned away from the road ahead and looked at me. Oddly, she was laughing.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You always get stuff done so fast. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. I can’t do much to change that. I have a question.”

  “What?”

  “What can I wear?”

  The worry and anxiety mixed together inside me and vanished, flowering into a jaw-dropping relief. I laughed aloud.

  “Well, that depends,” I said.

  “On what?” she asked, shooting me a sideways glance.

  “On you. You can wear whatever you want. Provided it’s not too shocking, that is,” I demurred.

  She laughed aloud. “Oh, Daddy!” she was chuckling helplessly. Then she turned to me, shaking her head. “Would I really wear something shocking to my daddy’s wedding? Truly?”

  “No,” I smiled. “No. I trust you, sweetheart.”

  Strangely, that made a difference. She blinked a few times, and I saw her mouth twist as if she forced herself not to cry. Then she turned to me.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she said, voice gruff. “That means the world to me.”

  “It means the world to me too, sweetie,” I said gently.

  We drove the last few miles to Sand Castle in silence. Every mile I spent in silent thanks for my daughter’s easygoing temperament. When we reached it, I got out and took her bags out of the trunk as she ran to the stairs, as lithe and energized as if she had never sat on a plane for five hours and awoken at five thirty in the morning. I shook my head, smiling.

  The day had settled to a soft summer afternoon, the sky pale with rainclouds, though the air was balmy and warm. She walked straight-backed up the stairs, the sun coloring her hair to a silvery pale, and met Mrs. Delange on the staircase, just at the front door.