Fragrance of Violets

by Paula Martin

  She tossed her hair back, and her voice took on a sharper edge. “Well, for one thing, you said you’d call me, but you didn’t.”

  “I called you earlier this evening. Your phone was switched off.”

  “Oh.” Flustered, she pulled her phone from the pocket of her fleece jacket and clicked it. “I had to turn it off when we were in the church.”

  He watched as she tapped the screen to retrieve her voicemail messages. “Okay,” she said eventually, “you rang me at seven-thirty. That was too late for me to tell you about the meeting, wasn’t it?”

  Her voice was so caustic that he suppressed a grin. She hadn’t changed. After her initial pleading, she’d turned it around and was back to her usual feisty self, exactly as she used to do when they were teenagers. Hitting back, defending her corner. He’d always admired the way she did that, but still wasn’t prepared to make it easy for her. “You’re saying it’s my fault?”

  “I didn’t mean that. I was going to call you this afternoon.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Partly because I didn’t know why you hadn’t called me.”

  “And the other part?”

  “Okay, I need to explain something.” She ran her fingers through her hair and cleared her throat. “I admit you were half right. I wasn’t sure what your opinion would be and, of course, you had every right to support the idea of a new building, but—”

  “But it wasn’t what you or your mum wanted.”

  “What we wanted was irrelevant, and it wasn’t the reason I didn’t tell you about the meeting. It was because—”

  She stopped, and Jack waited. A quick glance at her told him she was struggling.

  “Go on,” he said.

  She nodded a few times. “Okay, it was because I didn’t want people to start remembering your article in the Chronicle.”

  “Why should—?” he began, but she held up both hands in what he recognised as a typical Abbey gesture when she was trying to clarify her thoughts.

  “Hear me out and I’ll try to explain. You’ve offered the barn for meetings while the school can’t be used, and people are grateful. Not only me, but the other youth groups who can’t meet in the church because they need more space or because meeting there would inhibit the kids. The playgroup, for example, and the cubs and brownies. And I wanted them all to be grateful to you. I didn’t want them to be reminded of the article, which might have happened if you’d supported the idea of a new community centre.”

  * * * * *

  Jack was silent, and Abbey clenched her hands. Would he understand?

  He tilted his head to one side. “You’re saying you didn’t care whether I was in favour of the Old School or a new building?”

  “No, it wasn’t about that. Oh, I know Dolly thinks she’s right and everyone else is wrong, and there are others in the village who are the same, but most people aren’t. They might enjoy a good discussion, but they accept there are two sides to any argument, each equally valid. But—and I have to say it, Jack—a lot of people were incensed by your article. Even Jeannie Dixon, who’s probably the most open-minded and fair person I know, was angry at the time.”

  “Were you?”

  The question took her by surprise and she considered it for a few moments. “I was down in London, so I suppose I wasn’t as closely involved as the people here. I don’t think I was angry. More curious about your reasons for writing it.”

  “Which I explained to you.”

  “Yes, and you were right about this area needing tourists.” She gave him a tentative smile. “But not completely at the expense of the local people or the traditions and heritage of the Lake District.”

  “No, I told you I agree with you about that now.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and gave a small shrug. “I started to appreciate what my home meant to me once I moved away. Let’s leave it at that for the moment.” His eyes narrowed. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t want people to be reminded of my article.”

  “Because they might think your views were still the same as they were eight years ago. Old grudges could resurface, and I didn’t want that to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I think I’m falling in love with you.

  She rejected the thought in panic although her nerves continued to jangle. “I—I didn’t want people to be reminded.”

  “You were protecting me?”

  “No, I—yes, I suppose I was, in a sense.”

  “From Dolly Garside stirring up the village against me again?”

  “Yes, but—” Abbey had no idea what he was thinking.

  “You were protecting me.” He shook his head slowly, and she heard the note of disbelief in his voice. “Even after all I did and said that night?”

  She froze. “Jack, this had nothing to do with—”

  “But you’ve never forgiven me, have you?”

  “It’s all in the past.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s here in the present. It’s the brick wall between us.”

  Abbey breathed deeply. This was it. They’d both avoided it, but now they’d have to hit the brick wall head-on. She turned to him. “Yes, you’re right, and I need to ask you a question. Why didn’t you tell me what Helen Cardew said?”

  * * * * *

  Jack furrowed his brow. “Helen Cardew? What about her?”

  “Jack, can we go and sit down somewhere instead of doing this route march through the village?”

  So she was willing to talk about it all. An odd mixture of relief and apprehension shivered down his spine. Were they really going to deal with what had happened ten years earlier? Or would she retreat behind the wall again?

  “Want to go to the pub?” he asked.

  “No, everyone will be going there after the meeting, and they’ll all want to come and thank you and—oh, whatever. We won’t be able to talk there. How about the park?”

  “Okay.” His anger had subsided, replaced by both surprise and relief at her explanation of why she hadn’t told him about the meeting. She believed him, and had been more concerned about other people’s reactions. However, all that was far less important than the bigger issue they now faced. His mouth quirked in a small smile. “You mean like we did when we were kids? Sit on the swings and talk?”

  “Yes.”

  They reached the park at the end of the main street. The three-quarters moon high in the sky cast a silvery light over the children’s playground.

  He tried to push open the wrought iron gate but couldn’t. “It’s locked.”

  “Yes, Billy Neale still locks it at nine-thirty every night when he’s on his way to the pub, but when did that stop us?”

  The memory rushed back. “You think we can still vault the wall?”

  “I wouldn’t attempt it if I was wearing a skirt and high heels, but since I’m wearing trousers—” She giggled. “Go on, you go first, and you can catch me if I don’t make it.”

  “Might need you to catch me. I haven’t done this for years.”

  He took a short run, put both hands on top of the uneven stones, and lifted his legs easily over the three foot dry-stone wall.

  Abbey clapped her hands a couple of times. “Nice one, Tremayne.”

  “Sure you can do it?”

  She smirked. “Are you doubting me?”

  “Of course not.” He grinned, but still held his breath as she ran at the wall and attempted the same manoeuvre.

  As she landed on the other side, she stumbled slightly. Automatically he put out his hands to catch her and gripped her arms to stop her from falling.

  The laugh she started to give died as she looked up at him.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  For several seconds, they stared at each other. Jack’s heart pounded, and he didn’t even want to think about the other way his body reacted. He had to force himself not to l
ean forward to kiss her tempting mouth. Instead he pulled his hands away from her arms and peered around at the line of six swings.

  “Isn’t there an age limit on these things? Or a weight limit?”

  “You want to try the see-saw?”

  He laughed. “Let’s risk the bench instead, shall we?”

  They sat on the wooden bench at the side of the park, and he steadied himself. “What did you mean about Helen Cardew?”

  “I didn’t know until yesterday. Louise told me what Helen said to you.”

  “How did she know?”

  “Because Ellie heard Helen in the café the next day, laughing about it and saying the way was open for her now.”

  He thumped the arm of the bench with his fist. “Goddamit!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He turned back to her. “Because she made me promise, and I don’t break promises. She told me you wanted more, Abbey, and I believed her. I wanted more, too. I was in love with you.”

  “But all the other things you said—”

  “I’ve never forgiven myself. I was a crass moron that night. I wanted you and I was frustrated and—oh God, if only you knew how much I’ve regretted it ever since.”

  She moistened her lips. “I said some pretty horrible things, too, didn’t I?”

  “I’m not blaming you, Abbey. The whole thing was my fault.”

  “It seems to me a lot of it was Helen Cardew’s fault.”

  “Maybe to start with, but what happened afterwards was my stupidity.”

  “I was stupid, too, for letting it destroy our friendship. What you said that night hurt, but I’ve realised how much I hurt you, too, with all the things I said.”

  * * * * *

  Abbey exhaled. She’d finally admitted it had been her fault as much as Jack’s, and a wave of relief washed through her.

  “I’m so sorry, Jack. I ruined everything.”

  “I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know.” His face was serious until he gave the grin that made her heart leap. “Can we kiss and make up?”

  A tremor ran through her, but she smiled. “Why not?”

  She watched, mesmerised, as he leant forward until his mouth met hers. The gentle kiss sent heat coursing through her veins.

  He moved away, but they still gazed at each other. When his eyes softened with what she recognised as desire, instinct told her she should move back or turn her head away, anything to stop the irrevocable step they were about to take. But her body refused to accept the warnings from her brain. She wanted his kiss.

  When it came, full on her mouth, a kiss from searching, insistent lips, panic gripped her, and she tensed. Only when his tongue gently teased her lower lip did she begin to relax. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she opened her mouth to him as she surrendered, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders. His arms went around her, pressing her to him, and her heightened awareness thrilled to the strength and sexuality of his body.

  Her own body blazed with a maelstrom of desires that were made even stronger by all her conflicting emotions. She wanted him, but she was scared. Scared by the depth of her feelings, scared she was about to commit herself to a situation she didn’t know how to handle.

  Jack’s tongue found hers and fondled it tenderly, and deep inside her a dam burst, flooding her with a desperate, intense, hungry need for him. Her hands tightened, one moving to the nape of his neck, the other grasping his thick hair. A low, helpless sound escaped from her throat as she ached for him to make love to her. The thought stunned even the mush of a brain she still possessed.

  As abruptly as he began the kiss, he broke away.

  “Oh God,” he said, staring down at her with eyes that held—what? Lust, anguish, triumph, regret? “Oh God,” he said again.

  He stood and took a few steps away from the bench.

  “Jack, it’s okay.” She started to stand, too. “It’s okay.”

  He turned. “Dammit, Abbey, it’s not okay. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  A chill ran through her, and she sank down on the bench again. Of course it shouldn’t. Not when his fiancée had been killed only two months ago.

  “I understand,” she said quietly. She felt his guilt as if it was her own, and her own guilt, too, about wanting his kiss to go on forever.

  “Do you? Another two minutes and history would have repeated itself, and I’d spend the next ten years regretting it, in the same way as I’ve spent the last ten years regretting what I destroyed between us.”

  Abbey stared at him. “But—but Rachel—?”

  “This isn’t anything to do with Rachel. This is you and me.”

  “Oh.” She tried to get her mind around what he meant.

  “I came back here because of you, you know.”

  “Oh,” she said again, even more bewildered now.

  He studied her for a moment, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “I seem to be creating that reaction a lot from you. Just oh. Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Why not?”

  The tangled thoughts twisted through her mind. The magnetic attraction she’d tried to deny when she realised she could easily fall for the man Jack had become. Her acceptance that she’d said as many hurtful things to him as he had to her. The long-standing resentment which should have been directed toward Helen Cardew. And now some instinct that she shouldn’t even think of intruding on his grief at losing Rachel.

  “I’m confused,” she admitted. “About you. About myself. I’m not quite sure where we are.”

  “I’m not sure either.” He gave her a half-smile. “I wanted to kiss you the other night, after the drama club.”

  “And I wanted to kiss you.”

  His eyes widened. “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat next to her again. “So I’m not imagining it? That there’s something special between us?”

  She hesitated. It was what she’d been trying to dismiss, but maybe it was real after all. “No, you’re not imagining it. I think it’s been there since the night you surprised me outside the shop.”

  He bent forward to kiss her mouth again, and she felt the same melting sensation in her stomach, but he didn’t prolong the kiss.

  “We’ll sort it out, Abbey.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It can be as easy or difficult as we decide to make it.”

  She nodded. “I think we both need time.”

  “Time together?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “So would I. How about dinner tomorrow evening?”

  “Yes—oh no, I’m sorry, I can’t. Louise is staying near Kendal with Farrell, her latest boyfriend, and they’re taking Mum and me out to dinner tomorrow.”

  * * * * *

  “Farrell?” A jerk of unease shot through Jack. It couldn’t be the same one, could it?

  “Yes, he’s a literary agent. I met him yesterday. He’s interesting and amusing, and Louise is quite taken with him.”

  Dammit, it had to be the same Farrell. This was a potentially disastrous complication he couldn’t have foreseen, and he made a mental note to call him the next day. The last thing he wanted was for his agent to let slip that John Tyson was his pen-name. He couldn’t risk Abbey finding out he’d turned her down for the role of Maggie Rycroft. Not yet, not until he managed to fix things.

  “How about Sunday evening?” he asked.

  “Jack, are you sure about this?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “What about Rachel? You said this wasn’t anything to do with her but it’s only two months since you lost her.”

  “I need to tell you more about what happened between Rachel and me. We’ll talk about it on Sunday. Okay?”

  CHAPTER 13

  All through the next day, Abbey went over and over in her mind everything Jack had said. A small thrill ran through her each time she relived their kiss, and she smiled at the memory of his strong h
and gripping hers as they walked back to Eagle Croft.

  She tried to ignore the less welcome fears which threatened to intervene but occasionally she clenched her hands when her stomach clenched with a tight band of anxiety. The momentary panic she felt the night before returned with a sickening jolt. She couldn’t deny the way her body responded to him, the hot surge of desire which overwhelmed her, but was that enough to overcome her deep-seated fear of committing herself to a relationship, of falling in love?

  What was love anyway? When she played a woman in love on stage or in a film, she didn’t draw on any of her own emotions or memories. Instead, she relied on her imagination, studied the work of other actresses, and used the facial and vocal expressions and techniques she’d learned over the years. The truth was, she had no idea how it felt to be in love with someone.

  In the evening, she drove to Louise and Farrell’s hotel with her mother. During their meal, they chatted about the meeting in the church.

  Edwina described Jack’s speech and how he presented his cheque and walked out. “Everyone was stunned, of course, but Abbey went after him, and he explained why he’s changed his ideas. Go on, tell them, Abbey.”

  Abbey had given her mother brief details about her conversation with Jack, but only the part about the Old School and the village’s history. If Edwina guessed that they talked about far more, she hadn’t asked any questions, not even when Abbey said she was having dinner with him on Sunday evening.

  Now she gave a diffident shrug. “He said he started to appreciate his home once he moved away.”

  “Is that all?” Louise asked.

  “Well, we—we talked about tourists versus local people, and about village history and preserving its heritage.” Abbey caught Louise’s disbelieving narrow-eyed reaction and wished they were alone so she could tell her sister what had really happened. “Are we finished in here?” she asked. “The lounge is more comfortable than these chairs.”

  As they moved out of the restaurant into the lounge, she winked at Louise. “Next round’s on me. Come and help me carry the drinks, Lou.”

  Louise followed her to the bar counter. “You discussed village history? Come on, sis, your face is saying a lot more. Spill it.”