Sheep bleated across the fields. She always heard sheep, never cows. What had happened to the cranky Charolais, the scourge of her childhood? Was it the result of mad cow disease, the foot-and-mouth culling, or had time robbed the landscape of the life she had known?
After all, the village school had been gutted and turned into a home by faceless Londoners; the High Street was now scarred by a pedestrian crossing no one used; the village green no longer buzzed with the Friday night chaos of the fish and chip van; and rumor had it the post office would close within the year. Bramwell Chase had become a commuter community, a place people passed through, a place Tilly no longer belonged. Everything around her felt unfamiliar, except for the stranger sitting beside her, squeezing her hand too tightly. The man she couldn’t fathom.
“Tilly, darling. Are you down there?” Mrs. Haddington’s voice boomed from her bedroom window. “Someone called Beth is on the phone. Oh, and Isaac says to tell you he just put up a hotel on Bond Street. Little rascal’s going to beat me!”
Beth was the buxom breast clinic nurse who had blatantly ogled James.
Isaac giggled in the distance, and Monty barked for attention. Tilly ground her teeth and wished, with everything she had, that she could transport herself to another time and place. Upstairs playing Monopoly with her mother and son would be good. Anywhere but stranded in one of those solitary moments in which the world kept turning, and you handled despair alone.
This time, however, she wasn’t alone.
“I’ll take it in the study. Thanks!” Tilly called back.
James shot up, shoving his chair aside. “Should I wait here?” His fingers wove through a sign language only he understood.
“No.” She reclaimed his hand. “Come with me.”
They walked through the French doors into the drawing room, but when they reached her father’s study, James let go, and she entered alone.
She stumbled over a hole singed into the carpet, and a memory flashed: her father seated in the leather desk chair when she blurted out, “David wants to marry me,” and the shock on his face as he dropped his cigar onto the Oriental carpet her mother adored. It was the only time she heard her father swear.
The study smelled, as it had that day, of overheated vacuum and musty law books, of cigars and lavender—her father loved lavender. Or was she imagining the cigars? She walked to her father’s desk and picked up the phone.
“Tilly?” Beth’s voice was brusque, ready for business. Good news, bad news, what?
“Can you wait a minute, please?” The crackling on the open line kept pace with the thumping in Tilly’s chest. “You can hang up now, Mum!” she yelled.
Fumbling came through the extension, as if someone—Isaac no doubt—had dropped the phone and was struggling to pick it up.
James closed the study door and hesitated, his hand gripping the crystal doorknob. As a child, Tilly had marveled at how the sun streamed through the window behind her and hit the doorknob, transforming it into a prism of color. But today there was no sun and no rainbow. The doorknob was buried in James’s hand; it revealed nothing.
The extension clicked into place on the cradle and James turned but stayed rooted by the door. No. Tilly shook her head. I need you closer. She reached for him across the blotter stained with ink from her father’s fountain pen, and James replied with a nod of understanding. When he was in place behind her, she clamped both hands on the phone and leaned into his chest.
His hands grazed her arms, then fell to his sides.
“Sorry,” Tilly said into the phone. “I’m ready now.” Her head moved to the beat of James’s shallow, quick breaths.
“It’s a C2, great news, Tilly.” Even though Beth spoke with quick efficiency, her timbre suggested a smile.
Tilly swiveled round to look up at James. His eyes were still, his gaze penetrating hers as if he would never lose sight of her. “It’s benign?” Tilly said.
“Yes. Seems your mother’s GP was right after all. A fibroadenoma. More common in younger women, but then again—” Beth gave a girly laugh “—you look about sixteen. What’s your secret?”
“Gin and gardening.” But Tilly was hardly listening, even to herself. She was watching James’s lips move as if he were reciting a silent prayer.
She relaxed against him. “What now? Leave it be?”
“In younger women we say watch and wait. Not do anything unless it becomes painful or larger. But since you’re over thirty-five, Dr. Parker recommends excisional biopsy.”
“In idiot terms?”
Beth gave another laugh, and Tilly felt as if they were friends with decades of shared experiences. She could even forgive Beth for eyeing James. “Have it surgically removed,” Beth said. “But it’s up to you.”
“Can I wait two weeks, until I can see my gynecologist back home?”
“Of course. But if it changes in size or becomes painful, contact us immediately. I’ll post you the paperwork.” The efficient voice had returned; Beth was ready to move on to her next patient. “Should I use the Bramwell Chase address?”
“Yes.” Tilly swallowed. “And thank you. Omigodthankyou.”
“You’re welcome. Safe journey home.” Beth paused. “And regards to your gorgeous bloke.”
Safe journey to where? Into a blank future that was hers to write, one that might contain the gorgeous bloke she was going to kiss right here in her father’s study, consequences be damned?
The dial tone buzzed and Tilly slotted the receiver back into place, relishing this new certainty. She turned, surprised to discover James had inched away from her.
“Don’t.” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Just don’t.”
Stretching up on tiptoe she yanked down, not caring if his shirt ripped. His forehead sank to hers, and she breathed in the scent of him—cedar and honey and a mystery element she could define only as James. Her mouth skimmed his cheek, pausing when his breath warmed her skin.
“Tell me now if you don’t want to do this—” her lips slid over his “—because in a moment’s time…I won’t be able to stop.”
* * *
“Is this what you want, Tilly?” James removed her hand from his shirt. Not that he cared if she shredded it, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe when she touched him. And if they were to be together, he needed to confront the fear that she loved someone else.
“A kiss?” She raised her eyebrows and looked so confused, so vulnerable, he had to force himself not to kiss her. “Yes. I want to kiss you, live in the moment. Is that so wrong?”
He touched his bottom lip, moist with her saliva, and sadness gored him. He had hoped for, had wanted, so much more. Not a kiss, but a commitment.
“For me? Yes, it is.” He pinned her hand to his chest. “I can’t play at love, Tilly. I do all or nothing. I want all or nothing.” Was he facing his fear or reverting to the subtleties of obsession by seeking reassurance where there was none?
“Is that what you think of me? That I’m toying with you?” She tried to pry her hand free, but he held on.
“No, Tilly. I think you’re confused about what—and whom—you want. I’d like to tell you it’s me. But I can’t do that.” He paused. “Can I?” There was still a chance, still a chance, but even as she started to speak, he knew he’d botched it. Again.
You’re an eejit, James, a fucking eejit. Why didn’t you take what she offered you?
“James, my life has yo-yoed all over the place this summer, a
nd I’ve been hanging on, nothing more. But the ride has included you. And I know this is horribly selfish, but I want you to stay. I can’t give you reassurance—” she’d rumbled him, but he wouldn’t expect any less from her “—I can’t even explain it. I just don’t want you to leave. Please don’t go.”
She gave the saddest smile, and he wanted to kiss her. It would be so easy to kiss her. Why couldn’t he kiss her? Why couldn’t he take one non-premeditated risk? Because he was a guy who couldn’t think outside his obsessive-compulsive box.
James gave a deep sigh. “I see you with Sebastian. There’s still love between you.”
“If you know that, then you know more than I do.” Tilly’s huge opal eyes gazed at him.
He released her hand, but she flattened both her palms against his chest. Was she trying to push him away or keep him close?
“Not love then,” he said. “But a connection I can’t compete with.”
“So it’s better to walk away?”
“I have no interest in runner-up badges, Tilly.” How he loved the feel of her name on his tongue. Tilly—such a soft, beautiful name. The most beautiful name he had ever spoken. “I want to win, every time. I could offer to wait while you figure out which one of us you want, but I’m not capable of delayed gratification.” He stroked her cheek, then slid his fingers into her hair. “You were right to tell me not to hem you in. Cornering people with ultimatums is one of my talents. I can grind love down until it’s nothing but hate. I’ve done it before, but I won’t do it again, not with you. Never with you.”
He twisted the hair at the nape of her neck—tighter and tighter. She grimaced, and he let go. See? He could offer nothing but pain, and she should be showered with joy.
“If I stay, I won’t like the person I’ll become and neither will you. I have to walk away because I can’t, I won’t, take the risk that you’ll wake up one morning hating me.” As his father had done when he’d thrown James out. As Daniel had done after he’d been diagnosed with depression and James had been unable to offer more than a deal-with-it mentality. But neither of them had hated James more than he had hated himself.
“Can’t we be—”
“Please don’t say friends. I didn’t force myself to sit on a plane for eight hours battling images of fireballs in the sky, of plummeting into the Atlantic Ocean, of overshooting the runway and crashing into the control tower…I didn’t face my fears because I wanted a new friend.” He backed away from her and headed toward the door.
“No, you came because you wanted a garden.”
“The garden was the excuse, not the reason.”
A ray of sunlight burst across the room and the crystal doorknob became a kaleidoscope of refracted light.
“No?” Tilly said. “Then why did you come?”
His hand hovered above the doorknob, and the kid in him, the kid who had died with his mother, said, Touch the rainbow. He did, but merely snuffed it out.
“You.” James stared at his hand. “It was always you. You’re the reason I came, and you’re the reason I must leave.” He opened the door and a blast of noise rushed in, a scraping and a thudding from above.
“You’re in danger, Matilda Rose, of becoming my greatest obsession.”
Chapter 26
“Mommmyyyyy!” Isaac’s wail tore through her body. Where was he? Tilly ran to the study door and shoved James aside.
Crutches clunked on the floorboards above and paws scrabbled down the stairs, chased by the thunder of distraught child. That had to be good, right, had to mean Isaac wasn’t hurt? Tilly stumbled and grabbed the newel post as Monty shot between her legs and tore across the drawing room.
Isaac reached the bottom step and whispered, “Mommy,” but his gaze was fixed on the open French door; Tilly might have been a ghost. But she was there, her child needed her and she was there. She hadn’t prayed in years. Truth was, she had held on to her belief in God by her fingernails and had done so only for her child. But Tilly was light-headed with gratitude. Her child needed her and she was alive. Thank you, God. Thank you.
“I’m here, my love.” Tilly swung around onto the stairs. “I’m here.”
“Mommy?” Isaac hiccuped a sob and threw himself at Tilly.
James moved swiftly and silently into position behind Isaac, helping her create a protective bumper, a parental bumper, around her child. Tilly shivered, and imagined James humming as he soothed a screaming baby, as he took that incredible focus of his and applied it to fatherhood. Instinctively, she began to rock Isaac, while James stroked his hair.
“Tell your mother what happened,” James said, his voice low. “So we can help.”
We. James had claimed her trauma and relabeled it ours. Once again, she had underestimated him. His words, spoken minutes earlier, returned: You’re the reason I came. But he hadn’t confessed the whole truth. Clearly, Isaac was part of that reason, too.
“Monty—” Isaac gulped. “He jumped on the bed while we were playing Monopoly and, and—” He jerked in his breath, then released a tsunami of tears. “He ran off with Bownba. I hate Monty. I hate him.”
When Isaac was little, Bownba was the fourth member of the family. An imaginary friend in teddy-bear form with his own place setting at the dinner table. To lose Bownba, or worse, see him mauled to shreds, was unthinkable.
Tilly pulled back to hold Isaac’s face, her thumbs wiping his damp cheeks. “Have I ever let you down, Angel Bug?” Isaac shook his head. “Then I need you to stay with James while I rescue Bownba.” She raised her chin with a sniff of bravado. “James, can you look after Isaac and help my mother downstairs?”
“Oh for goodness’ sake, Tilly.” Mrs. Haddington lowered herself onto the top stair. “I’m not an invalid. I can manage perfectly well by myself.” She hurled her crutches down the stairs, muttering, “Oopsy-daisy,” when they clattered into her grandmother’s spindle-legged table. “Go after the dog.” She waved Tilly off and then bumped down to the next step on her bottom. “Go!”
Isaac spun around and flung himself at James. And it took all Tilly’s self-control to not tug Isaac free. Four words stabbed at her: It should be me. But she couldn’t always be Isaac’s first line of defense, couldn’t always be the person to comfort him. She had tried to shut out others—fewer people, fewer chances for heartache—but she had simply been running away, dragging Isaac with her. Until James had blocked their path.
And now he was stepping into her role like a well-rehearsed understudy. James tucked the sobbing Isaac into his chest and resumed Tilly’s rocking. This was a keeper moment, one she wanted to squirrel away with the scene of Isaac and Sebastian playing cricket. But that had been a snapshot of happiness, an image she would have captured on film had she not stopped using her camera except to record Isaac’s birthdays. This, however, was a private tableau.
She kneaded her forehead. Think, woman, think. She used to be good at this. Handling crises had been her talent within the Haddington family.
Tilly jumped back, her mind blissfully clear. She ran into the kitchen, levered off her clogs—surely an Amazon faced battle barefooted—and turned the tap to cold. Water spluttered out, splashing slowly into the washing-up bowl. Tilly cursed and jabbed the tap with her elbow. Where was efficient American plumbing when you needed it?
At least that bastard dog couldn’t go far. The paddock gate was latched and the outer gates shut. Monty was trapped, his only bolt hole the place under the hedge where he dragged all hi
s kills. And if she had to worm in after him like a tunnel rat, she would.
The tap squeaked and juddered as she screwed it shut. Then, muttering every obscenity she could muster, Tilly hoisted the bowl from the sink and lurched out of the back door with her load. Monty was tearing around the lawn in circles, delighted with his new game. Keeping her eyes on his, she edged onto the lawn and crouched down. Icy water slopped onto her jeans, but she didn’t flinch. Balancing on the balls of her feet, Tilly anchored her toes in the cold grass.
“Monty.” She dropped her voice and rammed the ground with one finger. “Come. Here.” Then she reestablished her grip on the sides of the bowl.
Monty wagged his tail and spread his front legs, poised to spring.
Tilly narrowed her eyes. Do it, dirtbag.
As Monty bolted toward her, she knew he’d veer to the right. Damn, but he was predictable. She sprang up and threw the contents of the bowl at him. Monty skidded to a halt and dropped Bownba.
“Do that again—” Tilly reached out and drew Bownba toward her “—and I’ll give you to Rowena. Got it?”
Monty gave a whine and flopped onto his stomach.
“Bownba’s safe!” Tilly called out, and then collapsed onto her haunches. She was the victorious, all-conquering mom-heroine. I am mother, hear me roar.
Isaac catapulted into her. “You saved him, Mom! You saved Bownba!”
“Super Mom to the rescue.” Tilly hoisted the damp, slimy bear over her head and waited for James to claim it.
“That’s a nasty wound,” James said. “But I have no doubt Super Mom can fix it.”
Mrs. Haddington, who had hobbled onto the patio, bellowed with laughter.
“Mom doesn’t sew,” Isaac explained.
Tilly glanced up at James, but he was eyeing the teddy dangling from his pincer grip, disgust etched on his face. He really was the sexiest man she’d ever met, even though he wouldn’t kiss her.
The Unfinished Garden Page 26