Fragrance of Violets

by Paula Martin

  “So straighten it out.”

  Abbey sighed. Why couldn’t she cope with her own life in the matter of fact way Louise dealt with hers?

  “Anyway,” Louise went on, “I was calling to tell you we’ll be coming up north this week. Farrell has several meetings with his authors in Lancaster and Kendal, and I’m coming with him. Not sure what day it’ll be, probably Thursday or Friday.”

  “Great. I’ll look forward to seeing you again, Lou.”

  After she clicked off her phone, Abbey gazed unseeingly across the children’s playground to the hills on the far side of the valley. Straighten it out, Louise had said. Easy to say, but much more difficult to do. The past would always stand between them. Jack had hurt her on so many levels.

  Why, then, had she felt such an electrifying response to him? Why did her heart beat faster, her nerves quiver, and her skin tingle at the sight of him? Ten years ago, she’d angrily rejected his advances when he wanted to take their friendship further. Why did everything seem different now?

  She eased herself off the wall and blew out a brief huff of breath.

  Today they’d managed to establish a cordial relationship but that was all it could ever be. For one thing, he was mourning his fiancée. For another, she wasn’t ready to let a man into her life—and definitely not Jack Tremayne.

  * * * * *

  The fine spring weather brought more tourists into the village during the next couple of days and kept Abbey busy in the shop, but while she helped them with their purchases, and suggested items in which they might be interested, Jack was never far from her thoughts. Heady excitement shimmered through her every time she thought about the drama club meeting.

  Tuesday afternoon dragged, and she kept glancing impatiently at her watch. It seemed an eternity before they finally closed the shop and went home, where she spent an agonising fifteen minutes deciding what to wear. Eventually she chose a pair of brown slacks and her cream shirt.

  She reached Fir Garth at about twenty past seven and saw Jack near the door of the barn, talking to one of the parents. He turned and raised his hand in greeting. Such a trivial gesture, but it still sent a small quiver through her. She reminded herself to act naturally.

  “Hi,” she said brightly. “It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?”

  They agreed with her, and Dan Morris, a member of the Parish Council and the father of two of the girls in the drama club, went on, “I was telling Jack how grateful we are. With the Old School out of action, there’s nowhere in the village for kids to meet.”

  “Is there any news about the roof repairs?” Abbey asked.

  “Bob Elliott came last Friday,” Dan replied. “We’re waiting for a definite quote, but it’s going to be expensive. A lot of the beams need replacing and, of course, the Planning Board will insist we use Lakeland slate which costs much more than normal roof tiles.”

  Abbey nodded. She was well aware of the strict planning regulations in the area.

  “Did Elliott give you any rough idea of the cost?” Jack asked.

  “About seventy thousand.”

  Abbey winced. “That’s a lot more than you have in the account, isn’t it?”

  “We do have a contingency fund for repairs to the Old School but nowhere near enough, so Tom’s investigating charitable grants. But don’t let me keep you, Abbey. At least Jack’s provided this place for you in the meantime. How long are you going to be here, Jack?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but you’re welcome to use the barn for as long as you need it. I’ll get more keys made so Abbey and the leaders of the other youth groups can use it even if I’m not here.”

  That sounded as if he didn’t intend to stay in Rusthwaite for long, and a sinking feeling hit her stomach, but Abbey smiled. “We’re all very grateful. Are you coming to the meeting?”

  “I’ll pop in later. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, whenever’s convenient for you.”

  She left the two men outside the barn and went in to greet the teenagers who had already arrived. Some red plastic chairs and tables had been brought from the Old School, and she wondered if Jack had organised that. At least no one could accuse him of not supporting the village on this occasion.

  By seven-thirty, the rest of the teenagers had arrived, and Abbey divided them into three groups of four. She gave each group a piece of paper and told them to write down their ideas for the festival play.

  “Anything at all?” asked Joanne Barnes, the fifteen year old daughter of one of the local farmers. Petite and pretty, with long dark hair, she knew how to flirt with the boys, and Abbey didn’t need to be psychic to know Joanne’s ideas would revolve around the opposite sex.

  “Anything at all, at least for the moment,” she said. “Once you’ve brainstormed your ideas, we’ll discuss them in more detail and try to reach an agreement.”

  “Abbey, I thought Jack was coming tonight,” Sam said.

  She nodded. “Yes, he said he’ll come later.”

  As each group started to talk among themselves, she opened her file which contained the application forms for the festival, and pretended to study them. Only half-listening to the babble of conversation, she was far more aware of the anticipation building inside her as she waited for Jack to arrive.

  She tried not to acknowledge the way her whole system seemed to be tied in knots as it stirred in response to a strong sensual attraction she’d never experienced before.

  Twenty minutes later, when Jack walked in, all her nerves jumped into overdrive.

  “Hi,” she said with careful nonchalance, and indicated the groups of teenagers. “They’re brainstorming ideas,” she went on, determined to keep this evening’s encounter casual and to ignore the treacherous responses of her body.

  “You’ve not given them any structure or guidelines?”

  “Nope, carte blanche. I was about to see what they’ve come up with.”

  He grinned. “Excellent. This should be interesting.”

  Abbey called them together, and they sat in a large circle. After introducing Jack, she asked each group for their ideas. She could have predicted some of their answers.

  “We want to do a romance,” Joanne Barnes said. “A modern Romeo and Juliet story.”

  “What’s that got to do with the Lake District?” one of the boys asked. “We thought we should find out more about the effects of foot and mouth disease around here a few years ago.”

  “We think it should be about someone famous who lived here. Beatrix Potter or Wordsworth or Catherine Parr,” said another of the girls.

  More ideas were suggested, and Abbey smiled as she watched Jack. He leant forward, with his elbow on his knee and his hand cupping his chin as he listened intently. She loved the way he gave the youngsters all his attention as he looked from one to the other when they spoke. Sometimes he nodded, other times his eyebrows shot up or his forehead creased at their suggestions, and a couple of times he joined in their laughter. It gave her a warm sense of pleasure to realise he was taking this seriously.

  Then Sam spoke. “Jack, the other night you and I were talking about the problems facing young people in the Lake District today, and you said we could feature those in our play. Do you think that would work?”

  “It depends—” Jack glanced around at her. “Okay for me to talk to them?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He sat upright. “It depends, firstly, on what problems you want to highlight and, secondly, how you think you can put them across in your play.”

  “What do you think we should highlight?” Sam asked.

  Jack shook his head. “That’s not for me to say. We’re talking about your ideas, not mine. So—” He opened his hands to them. “What are the problems for young people today?”

  “No chance to meet any different boys,” Joanne Barnes said with a giggle.

  Sam turned to her. “Shut up, Jo. We’re being serious here.”

  “So am I,” Joanne retorted. “Shut up yourself, Sam.”


  Abbey was about to intervene to stop their squabble when Jack spoke again. “Jo has a good point. Here you don’t have the opportunity to meet as many young people as the teenagers who live in cities.”

  “See!” Joanne stuck her tongue out at Sam.

  “On the other hand,” Jack went on, “having a smaller circle of friends gives you the opportunity to get to know them all better. Working together like this, for example.”

  He’s good, Abbey thought. He’d turned the small squabble into something positive, where neither Joanne nor Sam could lose face.

  “How about a play dealing with the good and bad points of living in the Lake District?” Sam asked.

  Jack nodded. “That’s possible. What other problems are there?”

  The answers came one after the other.

  “Finding jobs.”

  “Housing we can afford if we want to stay here.”

  “No entertainment. We’re too young for pubs and clubs, and there’s nothing for kids our age.”

  “Hardly any public transport. We have to rely on our parents to take us anywhere, especially in the evenings.”

  “Shopping. We have to go to Kendal or even further for any decent shops that cater for teenagers.”

  “Yes, you’re all right,” Jack said. “In fact, you’re listing similar things to those we complained about when we were your age. I remember Abbey going on about the lack of any shops with teenage fashions.”

  He winked at her, and Abbey grinned as she replied, “And I could tell them about the time you went all the way to Manchester to buy the designer trainers you wanted.”

  The youngsters laughed, and Jack’s blue eyes softened as he smiled at her. Like the previous Sunday, it was as if they’d stepped back in time, to the Jack and Abbey they used to be.

  But it wasn’t her memory of their teenage closeness which sent the heat rushing through her veins now. He hadn’t had this effect on her when they were kids.

  For the first time, she allowed herself to accept that she was attracted to him. Despite her immediate attempt to deny it, she forced herself to be honest. The attraction had been there when they first met outside the shop. Now it had taken root. Not only a physical attraction, but an even stronger pull to the man Jack had become. For a few moments, she struggled to equate what she felt now with what she’d felt ten years before, but pushed it to one side. It was something she’d have to work out later.

  She brought her mind back to what he was saying to the group. “Ten or fifteen years ago, our problems were similar to yours today, but do you think teenagers in the past faced the same problems?”

  The young people looked at each other, and Abbey was impressed again by the way he encouraged them to think.

  “How far in the past do you mean?”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise when Charlotte Morris asked the question. The shy fourteen year old rarely contributed to any discussion although Abbey had recognised her potential as an actress.

  Delight zinged through her at the interest which lit up the girl’s face. The same interest was reflected in faces of the others. It seemed she wasn’t the only one to be affected by Jack’s charisma.

  “However far in the past you want to go,” Jack said in answer to Charlotte. “You could find out, for example, what life was in your parents’ or grandparents’ time, and compare the problems they had when they were younger with your own issues today. You might go even further back, into the nineteenth century, and think about young people at that time. They faced a lot of similar problems, you know. Jobs? Yes, they were expected to continue family traditions—farming, slate quarrying, working in the copper mines, even blacksmiths and carpenters, but what if they didn’t want to do that? What other opportunities did they have?”

  The discussion went on as the teenagers compared and contrasted their own lives with what they’d heard from their parents or grandparents about life forty or sixty years ago. The atmosphere became charged with a buzz of excitement, and Abbey realised they’d hit on something that could work. A portrayal of life for young people in Lakeland, past and present.

  She let Jack lead the discussion, which he did with confident ease, until she checked her watch and saw with surprise that it was nearly nine-thirty.

  “Okay, time to finish. Jack’s given you lots to think about. During this coming week, how about doing some research on life in the past for people your age?”

  “Concentrate on three or four aspects,” Jack said. “Ask your parents and grandparents or other older people, and see if you can find out about the nineteenth century, too, because I guarantee you’ll discover that young people faced very similar issues.”

  Abbey nodded. “Next week, we’ll try to create scenes that highlight comparisons and contrasts.”

  The young people tidied the barn and said their farewells. Some were walking in groups to homes in the village, others were picked up by parents from farms and homes further away. When they’d all left, Abbey’s nerves tightened again. Being alone with Jack filled her with too many conflicting emotions.

  “Thanks for coming. Your ideas were great.”

  “I enjoyed it.” He flicked off the lights and held the door for her. “Hopefully it’s given them something to think about, and after all that talking, I need a drink. How about you? Want to go to the White Lion?”

  Part of her wanted to run away from Fir Garth, to escape home where she could examine her muddled thoughts in private. The other part longed to sit next to him in the pub, feel his arm brushing against hers, let her eyes connect with his, talk and laugh like they used to do.

  It didn’t make sense that she could be attracted to him and yet resent him at the same time. Besides, he was grieving for his fiancée. She was in danger of making a complete fool of herself.

  She shook her head. “Not tonight, thanks. I need to go home now, but thanks again for the use of the barn and for talking to the kids.”

  She set off toward the gate.

  “Abbey, wait.”

  She didn’t want to wait, or turn around, or talk to him any longer, or feel the hot rush of desire she didn’t understand, or deal with the battle between her head and her heart.

  How could she maintain a casual friendship with him when everything inside her was on fire? She desperately wanted to distance herself from him, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

  Instead she stopped, and reluctantly turned to face him.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jack breathed again. He knew he’d have to tread carefully if he was to break through the barrier she’d erected around herself. It was probably more like a solid wall than a flimsy curtain, but he needed to find out.

  She didn’t say anything, but tilted her chin slightly as she looked at him. Her green eyes were defensive and challenging at the same time.

  He stayed a few feet away from her. “I haven’t a clue what’s going on in your head right now. Sometimes I think we’re fine, other times we—you—well, I’m not sure what to think.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it does. At least to me, which is why I think we should talk.”

  “I don’t want to—”

  He held up his hands. “I don’t mean about the past. I hoped we could get to know each other again.”

  “Oh.”

  Her face relaxed but he sensed her uncertainty. “I’d also like to know more about the kids in the group.” Perhaps that would open a channel of communication between them.

  “Oh, I see.”

  There was still wariness in her voice but he decided to take a chance. “How about coming into the house for coffee, or something stronger, if you prefer?”

  “Coffee would be fine.”

  “Good.” He led the way into the house, and to the kitchen, glad he’d made a jug of coffee earlier and left it on the hot-plate.

  Abbey glanced around. “This is different.”

  “Yeah, Dad organised it a few years ago. Had some guys in to give the p
lace a makeover.”

  “You sound very American at times, you know. Saying things like some guys. At one time, you’d have said blokes or fellas.”

  He shrugged. “I lived there for two years. Sometimes I forget what’s British and what’s American.”

  “Tell me about Los Angeles.”

  “Crazy place. Too much traffic, fumes, smog. All the emphasis on money, and the pressure to be seen in the right places, going to the right functions, meeting the right people. You must have experienced some of that, too?”

  She nodded. “I hated having to go to parties or publicity events because the producer or sponsor insisted. My agent once told me I should always go out looking like a glossy celebrity photo, but I can’t play that game. Instead, I tie my hair back and wear casual clothes and hope no one will recognise me. Underneath, I’ll always be Abbey Seton, not Abigail Barton.”

  “Yes, that’s the girl I remember. Determined to do it your own way, no matter what anyone else says.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  He suppressed a sigh. She was so brittle and defensive, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. “Nothing’s wrong. On the contrary, I have the greatest respect for people who refuse to play the game, as you put it. It means you retain your own individuality rather than simply doing what others expect you to do.” He finished pouring the coffee and picked up the two mugs. “Come on, let’s go into the lounge instead of standing here in the kitchen.”

  As he followed her across the hallway to the lounge, his chest tightened in panic. His laptop was on the coffee-table and he’d left open the document with the first chapter of his fourth Rycroft Saga book. With relief, he saw it had gone into screensaver mode.

  This was definitely not the right time to tell her he was the author. Not until he’d had an update from Farrell who said he would contact the casting director. Farrell wasn’t certain they could withdraw the contract which had been offered to another actress, but hopefully everything would be resolved by the end of the week. Until he was sure, he couldn’t raise Abbey’s hopes, or risk giving her another disappointment.