Fragrance of Violets

by Paula Martin

  “Are you sure that isn’t an excuse, Abbey? Plenty of actors have successful relationships. Marriages, too.”

  “True, but so many show business marriages end in acrimonious divorces, and I’ve lived through the anguish that comes from the breakdown of a relationship. Especially my parents’, and Louise’s divorce from Stuart, too.”

  “Not all marriages break down.” Sally gave her a quick grin. “I hope mine doesn’t.”

  “Your marriage with Mike is one of the strongest I know. You’ve been lucky.”

  “It’s not luck. It’s love and trust, and compromise, too, sometimes.”

  Abbey thought for a moment. “Doesn’t it scare you? Surely everyone thinks their marriage will last, but many don’t.”

  “That could be because they don’t work hard enough at it. Relationships can’t run on auto-pilot. You have to make a commitment and do your best to get it right.”

  “And not cheat on you like Louise’s Stuart did? Or walk out on your family as my father did?” She gave a quick laugh. “How on earth did we get into all this?”

  “Because we were talking about you and Jack.”

  “Sally, there’s no me and Jack. Our friendship ended years ago and our lives have diverged. We’re strangers now.” The feathery quiver deep inside her told her she wasn’t being totally honest, but she needed to remember what had happened in the past, and not agonise about a fleeting physical attraction. “He said he was staying here,” she went on, “so I suppose I’ll have to get used to seeing him around for a while. I don’t think he’ll be back for good, though. He’s probably having a short break.” She clenched her fists momentarily, and then held up her hands. “Oh, let’s forget him and talk about something else. Did your little brother tell you about the drama festival?”

  “Yes, he’s so excited about it.”

  They continued to discuss the drama club until Mike put his head around the door. “Just called last orders, and there’s still quite a crowd in. Can you give me a hand, Sal?”

  Sally stood up. “Come on, Abbey, you can pull a few pints, too.”

  Abbey hesitated. “What if Jack’s still there?”

  “What did you say before? You’d have to get used to seeing him around? Now’s the time to start.”

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  Abbey tensed as she followed Sally along the short corridor to the bar. Her eyes darted around the lounge. It was still crowded, but she couldn’t see Jack. With an inner sigh of relief, she smiled at the waiting customers. “Who’s next?”

  She served the drinks, and chatted and laughed with the locals. As she turned from the cash till with Billy Neale’s change, the sight of Jack standing at the bar made her stiffen, and she dropped some of the coins.

  The heat rushed to her cheeks as she bent down to retrieve them. “Sorry,” she said to Billy, “I think I’ve picked them all up. Seven pounds, sixty-seven, wasn’t it? Two pounds thirty-three change. Yes, it’s all there.”

  After counting the coins into Billy’s hand, she forced herself to turn to Jack, who had deposited an empty glass on the bar counter. “Another pint of Hardman’s?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Her hand shook as she poured the beer.

  For heavens’ sake, Abbey, get a grip.

  She managed to put his glass on the counter without spilling it.

  “And have one yourself,” he said.

  She was about to refuse, but heard herself say, “Oh—okay. Thanks.”

  Damn it, why had she said that?

  “What do you drink these days?” he asked. “Some fancy cocktail?”

  Ignoring his gibe, she arched her brows. “In this pub? Mike would throw me out. I drink Hardman’s here.”

  Jack grinned, and something inside her turned a cartwheel.

  “Good for you,” he said, and she warmed to the comment. He went on, “Whenever I have a pint of Hardman’s, I always remember the rhyme we once made up for a competition.”

  She couldn’t help but smile as she poured a half pint for herself. “Lakes and fells and tarns and becks—”

  “But Lakeland’s best is Hardman’s X,” he finished off. “We didn’t win anything though, did we?”

  “I can’t even remember what the prize was.”

  “I can. Fifty-two pints of Hardman’s, one a week for a year.”

  “It’s as well we didn’t win, since we must have been about thirteen at the time.”

  Okay, this was easier than she expected. If they could keep their conversation on this banal level, she could handle it. Polite but cool, as she’d determined to be. Show him she wasn’t fazed by his unexpected reappearance. Make it very clear she’d put the past behind her and moved on.

  Jack stayed by the bar as he started to drink his beer, and Abbey looked around for someone else to serve.

  “Think we’re finished now,” Mike said.

  “I’ll go and collect some glasses.”

  “It’s okay, Abbey, Sally’s done most of them. Thanks for helping out. Stay here and finish your drink.”

  Abbey groaned inwardly, but couldn’t think of any excuse to move away. She took a quick sip of her drink and licked the froth from her upper lip.

  “You used to do that with the cans of shandy we shared by the lake,” Jack said.

  “Do what?”

  “Run your tongue along your lip to catch the froth.”

  “Did I?” There was no way she wanted any more reminiscences. “Thanks for the drink, but I need to help Mike wash the glasses now.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  He pointed to where Mike was washing glasses. “There’s only one machine so unless you’re going to shove Mike out of the way—”

  She gave a short laugh. “Oh, I’m fairly adept at shoving people out of my way when necessary.”

  Jack kept his gaze on her as he took another mouthful of beer. “May I ask you something?”

  “What?” She tried to keep her voice casual, but knew the word came out too curtly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so offhand.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you for being offhand with me, Abbey.”

  As his blue eyes rested on her, her skin became hot and tingly. She averted her gaze from his, and made her tone more conciliatory. “What did you want to ask?”

  “Why are you here in Rusthwaite? You’re dealing with the shop stock, you’re helping here in the bar, and tonight I overheard someone talking about a drama club you run in the village. I thought you lived in London now.”

  “Yes, I do. I have an apartment there, but I’ve been back here for about three months. I needed a break.”

  “So you haven’t abandoned your career?”

  “That’s what you expected me to do, isn’t it?” His hurtful words echoed in her mind, and her anger flared. “When you told me I’d end up working in seedy bars or restaurants while I went to hundreds of auditions with hundreds of other hopefuls.”

  “I only asked because I was concerned you might have decided to give up acting. However, since you’ve brought up something I said a long time ago, I think I was trying to protect you.”

  “From what?”

  “From disappointment, from building up your hopes only to have them knocked down again. Your head was full of crazy dreams. At least, that was what I thought at the time. I only knew the odds. Eighty percent or more of Equity registered actors out of work at any given time.”

  “I was well aware of the statistics, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t dream.” She took another sip of her beer and gave him a challenging glare. “You thought no one should follow their dreams in case they ended up being disappointed at not achieving them.”

  “That wasn’t what I thought. I was being realistic.”

  “But if all aspiring actors thought about all the out of work actors and listened to the so-called realists who keep telling them to find a proper job, the drama schools would be empty.”

  “No, they wouldn’
t. They’d be full of—correction, they are full of people like Abigail Seton who don’t listen to the realists but listen to their hearts.”

  “Are you saying that’s wrong?”

  “On the contrary. I followed a dream, too, if you remember.”

  “Yes, and we all know what that led to,” she snapped, and bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry, that was below the belt.” She took a deep breath before deciding to tackle at least one of the issues that stood between them. “But you did cause a huge problem here. People had to work hard for years to raise the funds to restore the gatehouse.”

  “I’m aware of that, and I know some people won’t forgive me.”

  “Why did you do it? Didn’t you realise the problems it would create? Or didn’t you care? Were you only interested in making a name for yourself by writing something controversial?”

  Jack’s blue eyes glinted, and she thought he was about to retaliate with a force that matched her own.

  Instead, he relaxed his facial muscles and spoke evenly. “You probably won’t believe me, but at the time I did think the Lake District needed to pour more money into tourism. If you recall, I also argued that we should create more parking areas. People howled in protest, both here and in other places, but you have to admit the big car park on the outskirts of the village has brought in more visitors, and shop owners like your mother have benefitted from the increase in trade.”

  Irritated by the way he’d turned the whole argument around and made it personal, she shrugged. “Many people here also think we shouldn’t lose sight of our heritage. That’s why there’s a thriving local history society.”

  Jack nodded. “We need to find a balance between the tourists and the residents, at the same time as preserving this area’s natural beauty and its history.”

  “Which your article didn’t address.”

  “I agree.”

  Her eyes widened. “You agree?” She took a mental step back from the argument in which they’d almost become embroiled. It reminded her vividly of when she and Jack discussed, and argued about, so many different topics. The echoes of the boy he’d been were still there, but the man she was talking to was different. More mature, more confident, more secure in everything he said.

  He lifted his glass to his mouth, took a quick drink, and nodded. “Yes, I agree with you. I didn’t address that balance in the article. I wrote what I felt as a twenty-two year old who’d grown up here, but I wouldn’t write the same today. Some of my views have changed in the last eight years. Anyway, how is your Mum?”

  Abbey realised he’d steered the conversation in a different direction to avoid the continuation of their argument. Satisfied that she’d held her own, she conceded it was better to keep to casual pleasantries. Relaxing slightly, she smiled. “She’s fine. The shop’s doing well, and she’s involved in several local groups, as well as the history society.”

  “And Louise and Ellie? Where are they now?”

  “Louise flits from job to job, and from boyfriend to boyfriend. She was married when she was twenty but divorced him three years later. Ellie finished university last year and is backpacking around the world.”

  “And your father?”

  Abbey stared at him. That wasn’t a casual pleasantry. Jack knew exactly how she felt about her father. “I haven’t seen him for years,” she said, averting her gaze from those penetrating blue eyes.

  “You haven’t made your peace with him?”

  “No.” Resolutely, she met his eyes again and forced a smile. “How are your parents?” She could steer a conversation equally as well as he could.

  His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he returned her smile. “They’re doing okay. They love life in France and will probably retire there eventually.”

  That put paid to her hope that he might have home temporarily to prepare the house for his parents’ return. “May I ask you the same question you asked me earlier?”

  “What question was that?”

  “Why have you come back to Rusthwaite after all these years?”

  Jack swirled his drink and took another long mouthful before he replied. “My fiancée was killed two months ago, in a pile-up on the freeway in Los Angeles.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Abbey stared at him until she finally found her voice. “Oh God, Jack, I’m so sorry.” All the other issues between them seemed unimportant in the face of such a heart-breaking loss. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Possibly someday, but not now.”

  “Okay.” Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm which rested on the bar and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Jack,” she said again.

  He nodded and gulped some more beer. “What about you?” He glanced down at her hand, and self-consciously she removed it from his arm. “No rings, so you’re not engaged or married?”

  “No way.”

  “No special man in your life?”

  “No.” The word came out like a bullet, and she met his gaze with a stony glare, defying him to ask any more.

  “Okay, we won’t go there.” He paused. “Tell me about your drama club.”

  She relaxed again, relieved he’d opened another topic of conversation. “It’s quite small, about twelve teenagers. Remember Sally’s little brother, Sam? He’s fifteen now, and last Christmas he was complaining there was nothing for kids here to do over the winter. I suggested a drama club and he asked his friends. That’s how it started.”

  “What do you do with them?”

  “Mainly improvisation and role play. Some of them are good actors.”

  “What happens to them when you go back to London?”

  “I’ve no plans to do that at the moment.”

  “Really? I thought you’d be in constant demand.”

  Abbey feigned nonchalance. She didn’t intend to admit that her last audition had been unsuccessful. “Lulls happen in the business when you’re waiting for the right part to come up, so I decided to come back here for a while.” She peered around the lounge. “Nearly everyone’s left, and I ought to go home now.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Jack drained his pint and put it on the counter. “Mind if I walk with you?”

  “Oh!” She didn’t want to prolong their conversation, but it would be churlish to refuse. “Okay.”

  Her nerves tightened as she moved around the bar to join him, and watched him reach across the counter to shake Mike’s hand. His boyish good looks had matured into a rugged handsomeness that caused her pulse to quicken.

  As he held the door open for her, he gave her the quirky grin which reminded her of the teenage Jack, but this wasn’t the same boy. He was a stranger, a different person, and so was she. No longer the naïve trusting little soul she’d once been.

  They set off along the main street and she kept her distance from him, walking a few feet away and listening to the echo of their footsteps. The darkness was illuminated only by the dim streetlights and the lights from some of the shop windows on both sides of the narrow street. The same street where they’d walked and run as kids, laughed together, bought drinks and crisps at the village grocery, stood talking outside the post office.

  “What are—?” he started.

  “I never thought—” she said at the same time.

  They looked at each other.

  “You first,” he said.

  “I was thinking about how strange this is. Yesterday, if anyone had told me I would be walking through the village with you, I’d have—actually, I don’t know what I’d have done. Laughed? Told them they were crazy? I don’t know. That’s what I mean. It’s kind of surreal.”

  “True. I had no idea you were here, you know. I assumed you’d be in London, or filming somewhere.”

  Oh, if wishing made it so, she was tempted to reply, but held onto her pride. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being able to say he’d been right. “I’m enjoying life here at the moment.”

  Even as she said it, she wondered what life would be like with Ja
ck back in the village. Before today, it had been predictable and placid, but now?

  As they walked, she was intensely aware of his physical nearness and his masculine scent, both of which were doing weird things to her. Part of her wanted to reach out and catch hold of his hand, as she used to do when they were kids. She often linked her arm through his when they strolled along the lake shore, or grabbed his arm to draw his attention to something, and even buried her head against his shoulder during a scary film at the cinema or on TV. But that was then and this was now, and she needed to suppress the inexplicable yearning that was both uncomfortable and disquieting.

  “How long are you intending to be here?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.

  “I’m not sure.”

  In the dim light, she could see his lips had tightened and he was looking straight ahead of him. She matched his pace as they continued to walk.

  “You told me earlier that I wasn’t welcome,” he said eventually. “And I understand the reason, but—”

  “But what? Do you expect everyone to forgive and forget?”

  “No. I realise why some people here won’t forgive me. Most of all you.”

  She stiffened at the way he’d turned their conversation into their own personal issue. Determined to keep control of the situation, she gave a dismissive shrug. “That’s all in the past. A lifetime ago.”

  “Is it? Good. So you’ve realised not all men are like your father?”

  Irritation quickened her pulse. “Don’t bring my father into this. It’s nothing to do with him.”

  “No? You’ve never forgiven him either, have you?”

  “With good reason. He abandoned my mother with three young kids because he preferred his glamorous bimbos, and I lost count of how many times he let us down and lied to us.” She tossed back her hair. “No, I can’t ever forgive or forget what he did.”

  “And you think men are all the same.”

  “No, I don’t. I have a lot of men friends.”

  “Yeah? And do you hold them all at arm’s length? Is friendship all you want? Not a relationship or any commitment, because you assume all men will behave in the same way as your father?”