by Jane Linfoot
‘Maybe not, until you get your manners into line…’ Jackson’s stony expression suggested his quip was serious, but he obliged anyway. ‘Cherry, this is Connor; Connor this is er…Bryony. And just to lay out the ground rules, stay right away, she’s all mine.’ Jackson glowered at Connor.
Bryony had no idea that brotherly competition went this far, but at the same time, being claimed by Jackson sent a strange thrill running down her spine, even though she would never let it happen in reality.
Their dad, meanwhile, was oblivious, scouring the horizon of the crowd. Connor tapped his him on the shoulder to get his attention.
‘Dad, Jackson and Bryony are here.’
Jackson’s father did a half turn to face them. ‘Right, great, Ted Norton’s over there, need a word, I’ll catch you later.’ His snappy voice was almost a bark. ‘We’re together upstairs, Con, I’ll see you up there. Don’t be late.’ And he shot off as fast as the crowd would allow.
Bryony reeled. What the hell…on every count. Jackson had mentioned his awful dad, but ordering Connor about like he was a kid, and as if that wasn’t enough he’d practically cut Jackson dead. Not that Bryony was desperate to be introduced, but she hadn’t expected this.
‘Charming as ever.’ Jackson muttered. ‘Don’t mind him, Cherry. I’m afraid you only register on dad’s radar if you’re going to be useful to him in the next thirty seconds.’
‘He doesn’t get any better.’ Connor’s forehead wrinkled in a frown. ‘I’ve only had the dubious pleasure of his full-blown attention lately. When you were the one winning and I wasn’t, as far as he was concerned I didn’t exist.’
‘He’s a pain in the ass whatever side you’re on.’ Jackson gave a shrug.
Connor blew out his cheeks. ‘I used to be jealous of the attention, but now I’ve had a taste of it I don’t know how you stuck it all those years. He’s such a parasite.’
Jackson shrugged. ‘No idea what we did to deserve a father like him. He craves limelight and he’ll do whatever he can to grab a piece of it, and it’s never his own.’
‘Listen to us. United complaining about our nightmare of a father.’
‘Nothing new there – suffering together pretty much welded us until, well…‘ Jackson broke off. ‘…until I crashed.’
Connor let out a bitter laugh. ‘Ridden off the road by your own brother.’ His cheeks hollowed as his jaw tensed. ‘You know I didn’t mean it to happen?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Jackson rested a hand on Connor’s shoulder. ‘At the time I was so screwed up by the pain it fucked up my judgement, but I can see straighter now.’
Connor looked up at him. ‘So we’re good?’
‘We are.’ Jackson nodded. ‘Gales sticking together in the face of the common enemy. Speaking of which, hadn’t you better go or you’ll be getting your ass whipped?’
‘Too true. We’ll catch up later.’ Connor clasped Bryony’s hand. ‘Lovely to meet you, Bryony. Make sure you look after this guy well.’ And then he was gone, dashing towards the staircase, and they watched in silence as he jumped up them two at a time.
‘My family’s such a screw up. It’s a very long story, now’s not the time to tell it. Were we on our way to the lift?’
‘You’re not on your own, Jackson.’ Meaning to imply that hers was a mess too, but ending up sounding like she was there for him, which was no bad thing. She had a sudden urge to wrap her arms around his head and rock him. And never let him go. Where the heck did that last bit come from? Instead, she rested a hand on his arm, not that that would help. ‘At least you and Connor have moved on now. That can only be good.’
She looked up, watched the lift sliding down towards them in its transparent shaft. Tonight was promising to be hugely illuminating, and nothing to do with the spangly lighting.
Chapter 37
‘Tonight’s not a bundle of laughs, is it?’ Phoebe leaned across the table towards Bryony. ‘Band playing through dinner is a great idea, but no one gets to talk. Plus, this year’s speech writers must’ve had a collective sense of humour bypass.
‘At least there’s lots of champagne.’ Bryony sent Phoebe a look to acknowledge their mutual pain, her eyes skimming across the remains of her chocolate mud cake. After a day in the open without much food, overdosing on the champagne maybe hadn’t been the best idea. When had she ever been queasy enough to fail to finish a sweet? She scoured the horizon to see if she could locate Cressy to provide some light relief, but failed.
Phoebe leaned towards her again. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here, so at least we can exchange eye-rolls.’ She looked over her shoulder, gave a vague wave to someone in the distance, pulling a face as she turned back to Bryony. ‘That’s Jackson’s father over there.’
‘Mmm, we kind of met earlier.’ Bryony supposed that covered the uncomfortable encounter in the entrance hall.
‘Not a very nice man, I’m afraid.’ Phoebe lowered her voice. ‘From what Dan says, he gave Jackson a really rough time as a kid, and it got way worse when his mother left. Jackson totally freaked out after that. Late teens is the worst time for something like that to happen; his father was totally out of control once the family split, and so cycling was Jackson’s escape from a dreadful home life.’
‘It must have been hard.’ Bryony’s heart ached for Jackson. He’d never talked about his mother and although it was good to know what had happened, she wasn’t sure she was comfortable finding out from Phoebe.
‘Dan’s very concerned about him now. He’s sure Jackson’s knee isn’t going to hold up to the strain of racing. Jackson’s refusing to even to consider jacking it in, and he doesn’t know how Jackson will cope if he has to retire. He’s put everything into racing, and if that goes, he’ll have a huge void in his life. That’s why Dan’s so pleased his plans for the TV side are blossoming, in more ways than one.’
One look at Phoebe’s knowing smile told Bryony she was somehow included in this. Not good. She had to divert the conversation fast.
‘So, what do cyclists do after they retire then?’ Bryony hoped this would shift the emphasis away from herself, and the answer would be interesting too, given that she could never get Jackson to talk about it.
Phoebe fiddled with her nail as she considered. ‘Some of them stay in the sport, as team directors and coaches with the pro teams or the national teams; some go into business. Jackson’s got a whole lot of business interests, but they already run like clockwork and he’s not that interested in being involved further. He already does a lot of charity work. I know he’s had his wild moments, but there’s so much more to him than the bad press makes out. He’s a great guy, which is why Dan is so anxious for him to be seen in the right light. Less of a bad boy, more of an angel, kind of thing.’
‘I see.’ Bryony wasn’t sure how Dan would fare on the angel front. She hadn’t expected the retirement answer to be quite so Jackson-orientated.
Phoebe picked up the theme again. ‘Some of the guys go to TV as commentators or presenters – Dan’s pinning his hopes on that for Jackson. And some of them just enjoy a normal family life, which would be nice for Jackson too.’ Another of Phoebe’s smiles winged its way across the table. ‘You’re a very honoured guest by the way, Bryony – Jackson usually comes on his own. He seems pretty smitten. Where is he anyway?’
Family life? Smitten? Bryony’s heart hit her knees.
‘He said he had to see someone.’ Bryony wanted to set Phoebe straight here. ‘And Jackson and I aren’t that close – in fact, we hardly know each other.’ That just about covered it.
‘Sure.’ Phoebe’s smile broadened, and her eyes glistened. ‘Whatever, it’s lovely to see him looking so relaxed and happy.’
Ker-ching. Bryony felt her chest tighten. Looking relaxed and happy? Just the kind of thing she used to say when she was on a matchmaking case big time.
‘I’d better grab this chance and nip to the Ladies.’ Bryony pushed back her chair, blustered an excuse as she stood up. Phoebe might be lov
ely, but Bryony needed to escape before the proverbial water got any hotter. ‘I’ve got a bit of a chill on my kidneys, we’ve done a lot of outdoor shoots this week.’ Not exactly lying either, given the way she’d been dashing off to the loo lately.
‘Out of the main doors, then left at the top of the stairs. You can’t miss it.’
At least Phoebe wasn’t coming along too. Bryony doubted she’d personally have let her quarry go so easily. As she slipped out of the doors onto the landing she ran straight into Cressy.
‘Hey, I was just about to come looking for you.’ Cressy dashed up to Bryony, smoothing down her dazzling red dress. ‘Fab evening isn’t it, aren’t you pleased I kidnapped you? Looks like you and Jackson are getting on better too.’
Cressy always looked amazing but Bryony couldn’t help noticing that her eyes were extra-sparkly tonight.
‘It’s brilliant to be here and I’m sorry if I resisted too much.’ Bryony sent her a sheepish grin, hoping to avoid details about her and Jackson. ‘I’ll make it up to you when we get back to Jackson Gale Towers – apparently Jackson has a fridge full of champagne!’
‘Right, that’s what I came to tell you. Thanks all the same, but I won’t be coming back with you…’ Cressy’s smile had a smug twitch to it. ‘…let’s say something’s come up.’
‘For “something”, read one hot guy… Fast work there, even for you!’ Bryony gave her a mock scowl. ‘Cressy, you’re incorrigible!’
‘I try my best!’ Cressy grinned up at Bryony.
After what Bryony and Jackson had got up to earlier, Bryony wasn’t going to speculate about the flush in Cressy’s cheeks, which was somehow heightened by the scarlet of her dress.
‘I’ll catch you later then!’ Cressy wiggled her eyebrows, then stretching onto her ultimate tiptoes she managed to pop a kiss on Bryony’s cheek.
‘See you Monday then!’ Despite Bryony’s airy goodbye wave, she made a mental note to look out for the guy later…‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ Although, even as she said it Bryony realised this was way less of a limitation than it used to be.
The sumptuous Ladies’ was worth a visit, regardless of need. Bryony was enthroned, admiring the frosted glass partitions, wondering where these twinkliest of lights came from, because, oh my, she had to have some, when she heard a familiar voice ringing outside the cubicle. Annie Brookes? Sports presenter/celebrity…albeit last seen in the Ladies’ in Scarborough, when she should have been on a tandem with Jackson Gale…Sporting Gala. No reason why she wouldn’t be here.
‘Bryony! What are you doing here?’ Annie swooped and kissed her on both cheeks the second she emerged from her cubicle, almost as if she’d been waiting for her.
Good question. I was kidnapped and brought here by helicopter sounded way too dramatic of an answer. Bryony tried for low-key. ‘Oh, a bit of promo for the show. We’re doing a couple of pieces with Jackson.’ Throw it out, and see how it landed.
Annie seemingly ignored Bryony’s reply and bashed on. ‘And guess what, Bryony, I’m pregnant.’ One triumphant announcement, as Annie flapped her hands in front of Bryony’s face. ‘All those queasy afternoons, going off chocolate, throwing up in Scarborough, dashing off to pee every twenty seconds. Who’d have thought?’ Annie’s ecstasy bounced off the polished glass and ricocheted back off the mirror wall.
‘Wow, a baby. Congratulations.’ Bryony flung her arms around Annie. ‘Oooo, just think – outfits, from baby Gap.’
‘Already bought. I couldn’t resist. And I went crazy over the teensy stuff in Agnès B. It is GORGEOUS.’
Bryony struggled to make her expression bright, digging deep to sound suitably enthusiastic. ‘Oooo, you’ll have to get some teensy Nike trainers. We’ll be able to do a piece on sport for babies. Fantastic.’ And damn that someone else’s wonderful baby news always made Bryony’s heart squish, because there was no way she was ever going to let herself get into a position where it could happen to her. It made her feel so mean. By way of penance, she drove herself to ask all the prerequisite questions and more. ‘So, when’s it due? How’s the father taking it? Where are you having it? Have you had a scan?’ All duly asked as Bryony tried desperately to concentrate on every answer. They’d been standing by the hand driers for ten minutes and more, Annie seemingly oblivious to the other women coming and going. Surely they’d covered everything there was to cover by now.
‘But do you know what’s best of all?’ They were about to push their way back onto the outside world when Annie gave a whoop and hugged her chest, cupping a tiny breast in each hand. ‘I already gained two inches round my boobs. Happened instantly. Roger’s over the moon, although they are a bit tender.’
Bryony looked down at her own cleavage. Thought about how she’d been bursting out of her bra this morning, remembering that morning six weeks ago when she’d had to pour herself into Annie’s pink lycra. How long ago that seemed now.
And then they were out at the top of the stairs and Annie rushed off, leaving Bryony, head spinning, blinking. Reeling. Two minutes and she’d get herself together to go back to the Gala.
‘Bryony Marshall, what the hell are you doing here?’ A tap on her shoulder, a drawly voice unsettlingly close to her ear, and the feeling of being stuck on a loop. ‘Or did the world’s least athletic girl become a sporting legend whilst I wasn’t looking?’
She lurched, spun around, and her stomach left the building. Holy crap. (Thank you Jackson, for the perfect expletive.) She was not prepared for the familiar raggedy blonde hair, jaw like a rock, that toothpaste-perfect smile and those same blue eyes that had haunted every dream, night and day, since she didn’t know when, until… With a vague unease she realised that somewhere along the line some of her Matt-obsession had silently leeched away. Who’d have thought that would ever be possible? It had to be somewhere this side of Scarborough, because she’d gone there because she couldn’t think of anything else, with the sole intention of keeping him out of her head for the duration of his wedding weekend.
‘Matt?’
That would be newly-married Matt, journalist, and brother of best-friend-forever Claire. No surprise meeting him here then. The surprise was that she hadn’t anticipated it, hadn’t given the possibility a second thought, when once she’d have thought of nothing else.
She grabbed hold of her voice and yanked it down an octave. ‘Me? I got thrown into a bit of presenting, and I’m here with some of the Sporting Chances guys.’
‘Well, who’d have thought?’ And sounding like they were all working with the same script here. ‘Whatever happened to the Antiques Road Show?’
She locked onto those lilting lips as they curved. Still built like a rugby player, always like a God in his tux. Still taking her breath away, still making her heart race. She screwed herself up to get hold of her pulse-rate and steady it.
‘You mean Country House Crisis?’ She gave a shrug. No surprise he didn’t even know the name. ‘It led to other things.’
Hang on. What the heck? Her heart wasn’t racing unduly. Cheeks not hot. Her blood wasn’t rushing through her ears. And the single gasp? Well, maybe she could put that down to the shock of being accosted from behind. Looking again more closely now, Matt didn’t have that all-over glow any more, and she could even make out a rash around his neck. How the hell could Matt Clifton ever look like a mere mortal? Had six short weeks of married life robbed him of every atom of enchantment and hunkiness? Bracing herself, she allowed her eyes to sidle down to his left hand. What? No ring?
‘How’s Tia?’ Once the words would have lodged in her throat, now they floated out, airily.
He gave a grimace. ‘Actually not so good. We separated a couple of weeks back.’
‘Already?’ Definitely the wrong thing to say, especially with that much shrill. Not a good advert for fast-forward romance then, given how those two had rushed into matrimony, or for tandem riding.
‘Seems she was more interested in the wedding than the marriage.’ He gave
a shrug. ‘C’est la vie and all that. It became obvious halfway through the honeymoon it wasn’t going to work.’
‘Oh dear, what a bitch queen.’ Could she even say that? And why the hell wasn’t she whooping and bouncing off the ceiling? The forever man of her dreams just came crashing back onto the market. She should be feeling more than…nothing. ‘I’m sorry.’ She gave what she hoped was a sympathetic grimace, and slid her eyes upwards to lock onto his to-die-for baby-blue ones. Jeez. Nothing at all. All cold. Somewhere along the line she’d turned to stone.
‘I don’t suppose…?’ One half-constructed thought from him that bounced off the balcony rail, and hung in the air between them.
‘Sorry?’ Puzzled, she scoured his eyes, trying to read the sentiment, but only found blue like dead denim, instead of the anticipated summer-sky.
‘Well, let’s face it, you’re here, I’m here, we’re both singularly unattached, maybe we should give it a go? Don’t know why I never thought of it before.’
Oh my. It certainly wasn’t down to the lack of downright flagrant efforts on her part. How many times had she dressed up, sparkled, gyrated, trying to make him notice her? She’d tried every trick in the book, short of physically throwing herself at him, and come to think of it, she might even have done that on a couple of extremely misguided occasions. She gave a mental shudder.
‘You know what, it’s a lovely thought, but I don’t think so.’ Her voice was coming out, but it was as if someone else was operating her mouth. For the best part of fifteen years she’d ached to hear him say those words – well, not those ones exactly, the ones in her head had been way better – but something along those lines. And now, they left her frozen.
‘But why not? Claire always said we should be each other’s back-up plan. I know it sounds a lot more last resort than I mean it to…’ He gave a grimace that turned into the kind of a hopeful grin that would have had her melting helpless into a pool not long back. ‘But friends to lovers is a great basis for a relationship.’