by Paula Martin
“There’s no me and Jack, if that means what I think you mean.”
“No? So why are you blushing?”
Abbey ignored her hot cheeks and shook her head. “It’s not like that, Lou. I told you, he’s grieving for his fiancée.”
“But you like him, don’t you?”
Like was far too simple a word to describe her wide spectrum of feelings, but she was reluctant to open up about those. “Yes, of course I like him.”
“You hated him at one time.”
“No, I didn’t. I was—disappointed in him.”
“Yeah, you never told Ellie or me what happened the night you had your big fight with him.”
“Because it was private and personal.”
“He came on to you, didn’t he?”
The treacherous colour rose to Abbey’s face again, and Louise gave a satisfied nod. “I knew he’d pushed you too far.”
They reached the pub, chatted for a few minutes with Mike, and took their drinks to a corner table.
Abbey deliberated before deciding to tell Louise what had happened. “If you want the whole truth, he also blamed me for leading him on, even though I hadn’t behaved any differently at the party from any other time we were together. We joked and fooled around like we always did, so I’ve no idea why he thought I was being a tease.”
“I have. Ellie told me.”
“Told you what?”
“When you wouldn’t tell me why you’d fallen out with Jack, I asked Ellie, and she said she heard Helen Cardew laughing about it in the Sun Café the next day.”
“Helen Cardew? What do you mean?” Abbey thought back. Helen hadn’t been a special friend, but was one of their group of village teenagers. Long blonde hair, a figure to die for, and boy mad.
“From what Ellie overheard, Helen told Jack you’d said you were hot for him and would—how shall we put it?—not be averse to taking things further.”
Abbey gasped. “I never said that. Not to Helen or anyone. They all knew I wasn’t interested in casual sex, not like Helen or that friend of hers.”
“Exactly,” Louise replied. “And Helen knew you’d reject him if he tried anything with you.”
“But why—?” Her mouth dropped open as comprehension dawned. “You mean she thought she could move in on him?”
“Seems so. Ellie overheard her saying, The way’s clear for me now Miss Prim and Proper’s off the scene.”
“Oh.” The word escaped from Abbey more like an outlet of breath. “Oh wow! That explains why he tried it on with me.” She gave an exasperated grunt. “If I ever met Helen Cardew again, I’d tell her what a totally bitchy thing she did. If I was Miss Prim and Proper, she was Miss Throw Yourself At Any Man. But it still doesn’t explain—”
One of the kitchen assistants brought their tuna salads, and Abbey picked at hers while she tried to absorb what Louise had told her.
“What doesn’t it explain?” Louise asked eventually.
“Why he was so horrid to me, after I told him to take his hands off me. What he said shocked me even more than him trying to seduce me.”
The hurtful memories rushed into her mind again. Even now they still grated, and the old indignation and anger rose inside her.
“And I bet you gave as good as you got, Abbs.”
“I told him what I thought, yes.”
She heard the echo of her own scathing voice: I thought you were different, but you’re not. You’re the same as all men, only out for themselves and to hell with anyone else’s feelings. Cringing as she recalled her other acrimonious words, she gave Louise a rueful smile. “Looking back now, I suppose we were both as hurtful to each other.”
As soon as she said it, she realised it was the first time she’d genuinely accepted some of the blame.
“Did he ever apologise?” Louise asked.
“He sent me a letter a couple of weeks later, saying he was sorry. I tore it up.” She chewed her lower lip as she thought about Louise’s revelation. “If he’d told me about Helen Cardew’s lie, I might have understood why it happened.”
“Perhaps he never realised Helen had lied to him.”
“Could be.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“And say what? Oh, by the way, Helen Cardew lied because she wanted to get her claws into you? No point, Louise. It was ten years ago. We’ve both moved on. He got engaged and lived with Rachel for two years, and now he’s mourning her. End of story.”
“What’s happened since he came back to Rusthwaite? How do you feel about him now?”
Abbey wasn’t sure whether she wanted to keep her confused thoughts to herself or whether it would be a relief to talk about them. She and Louise, with only two years between them, had always been able to share confidences.
After she’d taken her last mouthful of salad, she gave a small shrug. “I’m not sure what I feel, Lou. He’s a very attractive man, and he’s so mature and self-possessed now, but he’s still the Jack I remember.”
“And you’ve fallen for him?”
“No.” Even to her own ears, her denial came out as unconvincing.
“Why not?”
“I told you, he’s grieving for Rachel.”
“That’s him. I’m asking about you.”
Abbey hesitated. “I—I don’t know. There’s a kind of attraction but that could simply be because he oozes confidence and charisma or—” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”
“Does your heart beat faster when you’re with him? When you think about him? Do you get a tingle deep down inside you, and start wondering what it would be like to go to bed with him?”
“Louise!”
“Well, do you?”
“No!” This time the denial came out too strongly, and she defended herself. “Even if I did, that would be lust. Not love.”
“Falling in love starts with being attracted to someone, for whatever reason. Then, as you get to know them, you find you’re drawn to their character and personality—or not, as the case may be. But you already know Jack’s interests and opinions.”
“That was when we were teens. We’re different people now.”
“I bet you’re not very different. Does he still look the same or is he fat and bald?”
Abbey laughed. “Of course he isn’t.” A picture of Jack came into her inner vision. “Actually, he hasn’t changed much. He still has those stunning blue eyes, of course, and sometimes you can read what he’s thinking, but other times they’re more guarded. And his hair’s darker than it used to be, it’s more golden than blond, but he has the same mannerism of pushing it back from his forehead and taking his hand right down to the back of his neck. And when he grins, he reminds me of teenage Jack. It’s a quirky grin that makes him seem younger. His shoulders are broader, and he looks great in jeans, too, because he has a real sexy walk—What?” She broke off as Louise grinned broadly. “What? You wanted to know whether he’s the same, and I’m telling you.”
“You’ve fallen for him.”
“Why on earth do you think that? I’m simply describing him.”
“If you were simply describing him, you’d say, oh, pretty much the same, but you’re aware of everything about him, aren’t you?”
Abbey hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am.” Jack set all her senses on fire, not only when she was with him, but whenever she thought about him.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Louise said with a knowing smile.
“There’s nowhere to get.”
“Getting you to admit you’ve fallen in love is one big place for you, Abbs.”
Abbey shook her head. “Falling in love isn’t on my agenda. It only opens you up to hurt and betrayal.”
“Sometimes, yes,” Louise conceded. “But it can be wonderful when it’s with the right person. You want him to be part of your life, and you want to be part of his.”
Abbey dismissed her sister’s words with a wave of her hand. “Louise, it’s irrelevant. Even i
f I was in love with Jack, it would be pointless. It’s far too soon for him.”
“And if it wasn’t, how would you feel?”
“I’m not into what ifs.”
“No, because you’re scared. Scared of being hurt, of being let down, betrayed, whatever it is you’re scared of. Abbey, you need to forget what Dad did.”
Abbey tensed. “I can’t ever forget that.”
“All right, but you need to stop thinking every man is like Dad. They’re not.”
“No? What about Stuart?”
“Stuart didn’t have a string of mistresses. He fell for Pitbull Pandora.”
She grinned at Louise’s epithet for her love rival. “Or for her Daddy’s millions?”
“Yeah, that too, but it’s all water under the bridge now.”
Abbey narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you bitter, Lou? I mean, he cheated on you, left you, and you had such a battle to get a decent settlement from him.”
Louise shrugged. “I’ve moved on.” After a moment’s hesitation, she went on, “By the way, I saw him again.”
“Who? Stuart?”
“No. Dad.”
Abbey stared at her. “When?”
“Last week. Farrell suggested it. He thought I might see him in a different light now I’m an adult and not a child. Not that I remember much about him. I was only seven when he left, remember? I’ve forgotten how many times I saw him after that, but it wasn’t many.”
“How did you find him?”
“Farrell knows several stockbrokers, and made some inquiries. Dad set up his own brokerage company, and has a house near Reigate in Surrey now.”
“With one of his bimbos?”
“He lives alone. I get the impression he’s a very lonely man, despite all his wealth.”
“I hope you’re not expecting me to feel sorry for him.”
“No, but he bitterly regrets what he did.”
“So he should.” Curiosity got the better of her. “What did he say?”
Louise gave a small laugh. “He compared himself with Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, searching for something over the rainbow. Unlike Dorothy, though, it was too late when he finally realised he had it all the time.”
“He only has himself to blame.”
“He knows that.”
“Did you see him in a different light?”
Louise wrinkled her forehead. “I think I always imagined an ideal father, strong but loving, someone who would protect me from all life’s problems and disappointments. Instead, the man I saw was weak and—well, selfish, I suppose. I’m quite glad he wasn’t around when we were growing up. We had Mum as our role model and somehow we’ve all inherited her strength of character. Even me,” she added with a small laugh, “now I’ve stopped looking for another father.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“Probably, but he’s in St. Bart’s this week. He’s lost a lot of weight recently, and he’s been having stomach pains, so they’re going to run some tests. He said he’ll call me when he’s home again.”
Abbey was silent for a few moments. “You know, I envy you, Louise. You seem to have everything worked out, whereas my mind’s a total jumble. I know you said I should straighten it out, but I don’t know how to do that.”
As they walked back to the shop, Abbey mused over everything Louise had told her.
If Helen Cardew had misled Jack, she couldn’t blame the whole thing on him—and today she’d admitted she hadn’t been entirely blameless, either. They’d both got things wrong, and one day they’d have to talk about it. They couldn’t push it behind a wall and ignore it forever.
Back at the shop, she went into the storeroom to brush her windswept hair. When her mind moved from Jack to her father, she paused and studied her reflection in the small mirror. Even she could see the resentment in the narrowed eyes that stared back at her.
Could she ever be as accepting as Louise seemed to be? Could she ever get past the distrust which was her father’s legacy to her? Could she learn real trust? Or would she always be waiting for, even expecting, disappointment or betrayal?
She pushed her hair back with her hand and let out a frustrated grunt. Her thoughts seemed to be as tangled as her hair. Too many questions and no answers.
CHAPTER 11
In the evening, Abbey drove to the hotel where Louise and Farrell were staying. They had an excellent meal in the restaurant, after which they relaxed in the comfortable lounge with its cream leather couches and low glass topped tables.
She liked Farrell. He was different from Louise’s previous boyfriends, most of whom had been considerably older. Farrell was thirty and pleasant looking with dark curly hair that reached the collar of his turtleneck sweater. He wasn’t particularly handsome but he was interesting as well as being self-deprecatory, and she loved his ability to laugh at himself. He told her he decided to launch his own literary agency after spending five years as an editor with a small publishing house.
“It was a gamble,” he admitted, “but I had some useful contacts and I persuaded a few established authors to come on board with me.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t believe the promises I made. I blush now when I think about how I bullshitted them! Fortunately I hit lucky and made a few six figure sales. Everything could have gone pear-shaped, of course, but instead my reputation soared. I’ve taken on a couple of partners, and we now have over a hundred published authors. I’m still wondering what will happen when they discover I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”
Abbey laughed. “I’m sure you’re being very modest, Farrell. You couldn’t build up a reputable literary agency on bullshit.”
Farrell grinned. “Oh, believe me, it’s quite possible. You tell them all the deals you can get for them and keep your fingers and toes crossed while you pull every string within your reach, and also the ones that aren’t.”
“He’s underrating himself, Abbey,” Louise said fondly. “What he’s not telling you is that he has an instinct for books which will sell. Four of his authors were in the UK bestseller list last month.”
Farrell shrugged. “Four out of ten, not bad. When I have ten out of ten, I might start to believe I’m not quite the fraud I consider myself.”
As they continued to chat, Abbey laughed at Farrell’s witty comments and also at the tales he told about some of his authors.
Louise was right that he treated her like a princess. It was clear he adored her, and Abbey hoped her sister wouldn’t dump him as unceremoniously as she seemed to do with most of her boyfriends after a few weeks.
When Farrell went to the bar to replenish their drinks, she smiled at Louise. “He’s nice, Lou.”
Louise nodded. “Yes, he is, isn’t he? He has an amazing reputation in the literary world, and yet it hasn’t gone to his head.”
“He’s so different.”
“You mean from what I normally go for? I was looking for the wrong type of man. I married Stuart because he was my replacement for Dad. Hardly surprising he strayed elsewhere. He wanted someone who was his equal, not a child wife, but I still didn’t learn. I carried on searching for a Daddy substitute. Until I met Farrell.”
“What changed?”
“Actually, I’ve known him for a couple of years. We first met at a book fair and we kept in touch with emails, and had lunch together occasionally, but there wasn’t anything—you know, special about him, until we went for dinner a few weeks ago and started talking about our families and childhood homes, and I ended up telling him about Dad.”
“And?”
“And he said, Once you forgive your father, you’ll be able to move on and take ownership of your life again. The more I thought about it, the more I realised he was right. The main thing is, he understands me. Me as a person and all the baggage I carry. No one’s ever done that before.”
“Does that mean you’ve forgiven Dad?”
“I’m not sure whether I’ve forgiven him, or decided what he did in the past isn’t going to affect the re
st of my life.”
Jack’s words came back to her: A life which isn’t dominated by what happened in the past.
When Farrell returned, Abbey’s mind was only half on the conversation. She wondered again if she’d ever be able to do what Louise seemed to have done. Put the past behind her and move on.
Overhearing a name jerked her back to the present.
“John Tyson?” she asked. “The author of The Rycroft Saga? Is he one of your authors?”
“Yes, he’s been with me right from the start. Said he always had faith in me although Lord knows why. I’m meeting him in Kendal tomorrow.”
“So he lives up here?” She nodded slowly. “I suppose I should have guessed because he has such a good grasp of Lakeland lifestyle and traditions, and he writes superb descriptions of the area.”
“Come to the Tithe Barn Restaurant at lunchtime tomorrow and you can meet him.”
It would be rude to say no way did she want to meet John Tyson. Farrell obviously had no idea she was the actress rejected by Tyson for the TV series. Louise must not have told him her stage name, and he hadn’t made the link between Abbey Seton and Abigail Barton.
She gave him what she hoped was a genuine smile. “I’d love to, but we have a shop to run and Friday’s usually a busy day.” She glanced at her watch. “And I must go home soon. I’ve had a lovely evening with you both, and it’s been a real pleasure to meet you, Farrell. How long are you staying up here?”
“We were intending to go back to London on Saturday, but I’ve hardly seen anything of Mum yet,” Louise replied. “She said she had another meeting tomorrow evening. Something about the Old School?”
“Yes, there’s a major row blowing up about getting the roof repaired.”
“I bet Dolly Garside’s in the middle of it.”
Abbey laughed. “How did you guess?”
“Anyway, we’re staying here till Sunday now. We’ll take Mum and you out for a meal on Saturday evening, but I’ll come up to Rusthwaite tomorrow and give you a hand in the shop.” Louise gave Farrell a pert grin. “That’ll be far more interesting than listening to you and your authors discussing serial rights and non-exclusive rights and other incomprehensible terms.”