“Ack, Dave,” Ethan says, “Can’t you see we’re with ladies?”
He grins. “I do indeed. Pretty ones too.”
“So nice to see you home, Jeremy,” a plump, red-haired woman calls out.
“Thank you, Mrs. Clarke,” Jeremy answers with a smile.
“How’s the judge, young Pearce?” asks an elderly man at the bar.
“He’s fine, sir,” Jeremy answers.
“I saw your lovely mum, a week Tuesday. We talked about the festival.”
Jeremy nods.
“And your parents, young Grant?”
Ethan holds up three fingers. “Mum’s married again. Dad’s retiring.”
The old man clucks his tongue and shakes his head like Ethan’s just told him they’re both dying, then turns back to his pint without another word.
“Who is that?” I whisper to Jeremy.
“Mr. Dolan, the mayor,” he says absently. He’s focused on the blackboard behind the bar. “Lamb stew; egg and chips; sausage and onion sandwich; grilled chicken wrap; burger and chips; corned beef and pickle ciabatta,” he reads. “And the classic cheese and pickle, naturally.”
“They make all that here?” The place is so small; I can’t imagine it has a kitchen.
He points toward the door. “Brought in from Decker’s.”
“The restaurant down the street,” Laura explains. “All tasty.”
“Why didn’t we just go to the restaurant?”
“No on-license,” Ethan says.
“No alcohol,” Jeremy translates.
Of course.
After lunch, we walk a bit more. We end up back in the park. Ethan and Laura are playing like kids on the slide … a chute, they call it. Jeremy and I each took one turn, but now we’re sitting on a bench, snuggling and watching them. My phone rings. It’s Gabi. I calculate the time difference and freak when I realize it’s the middle of the night in California. I jump to my feet as I tap to answer.
“You’re not in labor, are you?”
“Hello to you too, Chels. And no, I’m not in labor. I can’t sleep and decided to call you since we’ve had trouble connecting up with this stupid time difference.”
“Yeah, I know.” I return to the bench. “We’ve just had lunch, and now we’re sitting in the park in the middle of this village straight out of Austen. You would love it.”
“How’s it going with his parents?”
“Um … good. Laura’s here too. And Ethan came to take us to lunch.”
“You’re in the country, right?”
“Yes, and oh, Gabi, you wouldn’t believe their house. It’s a mansion called Dovewood. I’ll take photos of everything and send them to you. It’s just so beautiful you can’t imagine.” I flash a smile at Jeremy, but he’s looking straight ahead, his face stony. “And get this, they have horses, and I rode one. Can you believe that?”
“You on a horse?”
“Damn straight, and I didn’t fall off or anything.”
“So Dovewood’s a mansion for real?”
“Totally. And it’s been in his family for centuries. But it’s modernized, of course. We had a tour. Two swimming pools, a kitchen to die for, and you should see his mother’s dressing room.”
“How many rooms in the house?”
“A lot. Wait.” I turn to Jeremy. “How many rooms are—” Jeremy snatches the phone out of my hand.
“She’ll call you later, Gabi.” He clicks off and lays my phone on the bench between us.
“What the hell?” He stares straight ahead. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“You were being rude.”
“Seriously? Rude is grabbing someone’s phone and ending the call. What’s your problem?”
“We’re here with others,” he says, not even looking at me. “Taking a casual phone call signals that you have no interest in your company.”
I’ve embarrassed him. Now even he sees me as having no class. I blink back tears. My phone is vibrating on the bench, no doubt with a text from Gabi. I won’t dare pick it up.
After a few minutes of silence, Jeremy picks up my phone and reads her text, then hits the call icon. “Gabi, I’m the one who ended the call, and I apologize for that.” Pause. “Temporary insanity, I suppose. In any case, here’s Chelsea.” He stands and hands the phone to me.
As I take it from him, he turns and walks toward Ethan who’s pushing Laura on a swing.
“What the hell does he mean by temporary insanity?” Gabi says.
“I don’t know.” And I truly don’t, but I’m pretty sure it can’t be good.
CHAPTER 12
Jeremy woke before I did, but even though it’s more than an hour until breakfast, he’s not in our bedroom or bathroom. Worried that I’ve forgotten about some traditional Pearce Saturday-morning event and overslept, I get ready for the day in record time.
I’ve never walked through the house this early in the morning. The third floor hall and stairwell are lit only with night-lights, I guess you’d call them, spaced about ten feet apart along the baseboards. I wonder if one of the servants has the job to turn on the house lights at appropriate times. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, a glow from the reception hall draws my attention. It’s coming through the French doors that lead to the indoor pool. And there’s Jeremy, standing on the pool deck.
I head that way. When I’m a few feet closer, my field of vision widens, and I realize he’s not alone. He’s with his mother. I take a giant step as far as I can to the left, hopefully out of view, and tiptoe forward to stand in the dark peeking through the edge of a windowpane. They’re both dressed in swimsuits and water is puddled at their feet. I wonder if this predawn swim used to be a ritual with them.
Although they’re facing each other, I don’t think Jeremy’s looking directly at her. Amanda is taller than me, but still several inches shorter than Jeremy, so though his head is bent, it’s also turned slightly to the side. He’s not in his outraged or even his defensive posture, so I don’t get the sense that they’re arguing. But why is he not meeting her eyes?
Amanda’s mouth is moving, but I can hear only a murmur, not well enough to make out any words. Once or twice, Jeremy nods. She lifts her hand to Jeremy’s chin and turns his face toward hers. Then she lays her palm against his cheek and leans in to say something. He nods again. Then he hugs her. She returns the hug, rubbing his back when he doesn’t release her right away.
I know I’m witnessing some reconciliation between them, but I also know that if he doesn’t tell me about it, I can’t ask him without revealing I spied on them. They break apart, and he puts his arm around her shoulders as they walk together toward the changing room.
When the chandelier in the reception hall comes on, I jump, sure I’ve been caught. But no one is in the room. Apparently, either the lights are automated, or there’s a master switch somewhere. Where do I go now? I check the time on my phone. It’s still too early to go to the kitchen. I rush back upstairs and into our room. I figure I can hide in the bathroom, and when I hear Jeremy open the bedroom door, I’ll come out and pretend I just finished getting ready. But two seconds later, he enters.
I turn toward him. “You’re up early.”
With a glance, he notes that I’m fully clothed with hair and makeup already done. “And so are you.”
“Your hair is wet.”
“I went for a swim. And now I’m going to shower.” He takes a step toward the bathroom.
“Did you swim alone?”
He pauses but doesn’t look at me. “My mother was there.”
Before I can say another word, he’s in the bathroom and closing the door. My confusion about his relationship with his mother, at least, remains. Why does he want me to think she’s rejected him, when everything I’ve seen and heard contradicts that?
But most of all, I don’t understand why he’s shutting me out.
The last two days have been a roller coaster with Jeremy. Mostly he’s sullen, especially when his fathe
r or Richard is around, though I don’t see any tenderness with his mom again either. He lightens up if we’re with Laura or Ethan or Uncle Bert or Mom. But with me, he’s not himself at all. I mean, he hasn’t done anything freaky like grabbing my phone again, but one minute he seems almost desperate for my approval and the next it’s like he wishes I weren’t around. And though he avoids any real conversation between us by insisting the only problem is that he’d just rather be in the city, he keeps looking at me all sad. When I catch him, he tries to cover it with a smile, but I’m not fooled. And get this—we haven’t had sex since that quickie in the woods on Friday. That says a lot. A lot.
Now we’re having one last family lunch before we head back to London. I’m not in the best mood. This whatever-it-is between Jeremy and me has my nerves on edge. And Richard is droning on and on about work because he thinks that makes him look like the favored son.
“I’ve read the briefs on the Claymoore suit,” he says to Gordon. “I believe I could handle that. Do you think I should approach Leon about it?”
Gordon doesn’t even look up from his plate. “I think you should refer to your superiors in less familiar terms, Richard. And be thankful for the work you’re given and perform it to the best of your ability.”
“But Jeremy was handling cases like—”
“Richard.” Gordon looks at him now, signaling he’s done with that conversation.
Richard looks crushed.
“You’ll have your life stolen by the practice soon enough, Richard,” Uncle Bert says, smiling. “Enjoy your freedom while you can.”
Gordon glares at Uncle Bert.
It’s clear to me now that Richard’s not favored at all. He’s tolerated. Tolerated by Gordon, that is. I think Amanda feels sorry for him because Richard wants so badly to measure up to Jeremy in his father’s eyes—like Gordon is some god—which is ironic, when you think about it, because Jeremy thinks he’s nothing in his father’s eyes. Just thinking about that makes me furious.
“You’re a very insecure man, aren’t you?” I say.
Total silence. Please, God, let me melt right through the floor. I swear I didn’t mean to say that out loud. To Gordon. If you flashed a photo of this scene in this instant, you’d think everyone at the table except me was a mannequin. I glance across the table at my mom. She’s staring at me, but I think there’s a hint of a smile in her eyes. I wish I could say the same for Gordon’s. His eyes tell me he not only can’t believe I said what I did, but that I’m scum for saying it.
And that really ticks me off. I’m tired of trying to be someone I’m not. Trying to win the almighty Gordon’s approval. Now I understand how Jeremy feels—only he’s been feeling it his whole life. I stand and face him.
“If you weren’t insecure, you’d be proud of Jeremy for doing what he loves and doing it well. Instead, you punish him for not living up to your expectations. For not being a carbon copy of you.” I drop my napkin on the table. “Well, you should know that Jeremy’s not only a successful writer, but he’s a wonderful man.”
I don’t stay around to face the aftermath. I’m out of the dining room and starting up the stairs before it hits me that I’ve probably made the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve just totally disrespected the man my fiancé wants to accept and love him. I’m despicable. Jeremy will never marry me now.
In our room, I stand at the window looking out over the beautiful landscape I’ll never see again. What makes me even sadder is that, in the eyes of Jeremy’s parents, I’ve also disgraced my mother, and she doesn’t deserve that a bit. She must be furious with me, or she would have joined me up here by now. Crap. I’ve ruined her romance with Uncle Bert too. He may be the nicer brother, but he’s still a Pearce. He’ll have to stick with Gordon. Gasp. What if Mom sticks with the Pearces too?
I start packing. I’ve emptied two drawers before I accept that what I really need to do is go back downstairs and apologize—to everyone. I spoke the truth, so I’m not sorry for what I said, just that I said it. Or maybe just the way I said it. But I’m a guest in their home, and rudeness to your host is not excusable. I leave the suitcase on the bed and swallow my pride. And boy does that feel as big as a watermelon.
The dining room is already being cleared, so I go to the family room. I stand outside the open door for a minute trying to hear the conversation, but it’s too muffled. Then I hear someone laugh, and I know my mother isn’t in the room—at least I hope she’s not sitting there allowing someone to laugh at me. Taking a deep breath, I walk in. I look for Jeremy first. Disappointment crushes me when I see he’s not there. Ohmygod. Neither is Gordon. He must be skinning Jeremy alive—for what I did.
Only Mom, Amanda, Laura, and Uncle Bert are in the room, drinking coffee. Richard’s probably eavesdropping and smirking while Gordon lays into Jeremy.
“Come in, Chelsea,” Amanda says. “Help yourself at the bar.”
This is too weird. All four of them are smiling at me.
“I … I came down …” Deciding a drink is exactly what I need, I go to the bar and pour myself something brown. (How do these people know what’s in these stupid decanters anyway?) I gulp it down. And it’s obviously top shelf because it doesn’t take my breath away.
“I came down to apologize for my rudeness.” I’m facing Amanda, but I glance at everyone else so they know they’re included.
“As the eldest in this room,” Uncle Bert says solemnly, “I absolve you.” Every crease on his face deepens as he breaks into a grin.
“But Gordon—”
“Absolves you too, I assure you.”
“Your timing wasn’t the best,” Amanda says, “but your passion is commendable.”
“But Gordon—”
“Is in his study.”
“With Jeremy?”
“Yes, dear, and thank God. It’s time they ended this alpha-male nonsense.”
I drop into the nearest chair. “But what I said—”
“Was the truth,” Laura says.
“But Jeremy—”
My mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Chelsea, sweetie, let it go. It will all work out fine.”
That may be reasonable from their point of view. But they don’t know that things have changed since we came to England. They don’t know that Jeremy’s changed his feelings about me. And my angering his father sure isn’t going to help change them back.
I can’t stand just sitting around waiting for Jeremy and Gordon to end their argument or finish their conversation or whatever it is they’re doing, so I go back upstairs and finish packing. Laura’s luggage is already sitting on the landing waiting to be taken downstairs, and Mom’s has probably been in the entry hall since before breakfast. Jeremy hasn’t come upstairs by the time I’m finished, so I set our bags beside Laura’s and creep down the stairs.
I circle around the long way to the family room so I can pass Gordon’s office. The door is open and the room empty. I move on and eavesdrop outside the family room. No one’s shouting. Or crying. The conversation tone sounds normal. I take a deep breath and step inside.
Jeremy jumps to his feet when he sees me. “Would you like a drink?”
“No. I had one.”
“Coffee?” Amanda says. “Or it’s no problem to get you a cup of tea, if you’d like.”
“I’m good.” Amanda looks puzzled, so I change that to, “I’m fine.”
“Come,” Gordon says. “Sit and talk for a while before you leave for the city.”
Okay. I get it. Come sit with us so we can tell you how rude and ungrateful you are. But after a few minutes, I realize they aren’t going to say anything like that. It’s just chitchat about the unusual amount of sun we had for this weekend and the traffic we’ll probably encounter on the drive back and what we have planned for the next few days. I’m freaked that everyone is acting like lunch wasn’t ruined by a psycho who means well. This family is more dysfunctional than I thought.
Jeremy even discusses something law related w
ith his father without bristling. Richard joins us finally, and I realize he was probably only packing while Gordon was in his study with Jeremy.
Soon we’re all standing outside, smiling and giving hugs and agreeing to meet for dinner on Friday. It’s bizarre. When Richard steps forward to say good-bye, he gives me a hug—totally chaste—and whispers, “I’m sorry I insulted you when we first met.”
“I accept that apology, Richard.”
“Thank you.” He steps back, half turning before he stops and looks at me again. “I really do like the law. And I’m going to be a success.”
“Good to hear. But you don’t have to compete with Jeremy anymore, you know?”
He nods.
Uncle Bert has offered to drive my mom and Laura back to London in his car—because of the luggage problem, he says, but it’s obviously a ploy to give Jeremy and me time alone. Won’t that be fun. I can tell by his eyes that he’s about to flip into Mr. High Tea mode and lay into me.
But we drive for ten minutes in silence. As we’re passing through the village, the sight of that park bench speeds up my heart and forces me to start the conversation.
“I’m sorry for my rudeness at lunch. I didn’t mean to just blurt that out.”
He glances at me, eyes wide. “That certainly took me by surprise.”
“And I know how you just love it when I blurt out things.”
I could swear the corners of his mouth curl up slightly, but he says nothing. We drive for a bit longer, both of us just staring ahead at the road. I’ve progressed to thinking he’s decided never to speak to me again when he clears his throat.
“My father … I wasn’t, that is, I”—raindrops spatter the windshield, and he turns on the wipers—“need to apologize to you.”
“For what?”
“I’m responsible for your blurt.” He turns his gaze from the road to me for barely a second, and then takes a deep breath. “My parents … my father never actually forbade me to write.”
“But you said—”
“I know. I know. That’s what I’m apologizing for.”
“So you’re telling me I insulted your father for absolutely no reason?”
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