by Liz Fielding
‘You should make an effort to associate with more amenable women.’
‘Give me a clue,’ he said, ignoring her interjection.
‘Is it a breakfast cereal?’
‘Bogof simply stands for “buy one, get one free”, Jake. As you’d know if you’d been in a supermarket any time in the last twelve months.’
‘Really? Well, I’ll be sure to look out for them. Unless you’re addicted to shopping trolleys? In which case I’ll come and help you push.’
‘Waltzing around the aisles of a supermarket in tandem sounds dangerously domestic for a man with a commitment phobia.’
‘Supermarket aisles hold no terrors for the well-organised bachelor. Not unless they’ve started doing cut-price weddings in the deli.’
‘You’re impossible, do you know that?’
‘Impossibility is what I do best, sweetheart. Make the list. Now. And don’t forget the broccoli—’
‘Don’t call me sweetheart!’
Jake left his car, swiftly crossed the cobbled courtyard and pushed open the shop door. A young woman behind the counter packing one of Amy’s distinctive black and gold carriers looked up.
‘I won’t keep you, sir,’ she began, then, as she recognised him, stopped uncertainly. He put a finger to his lips.
Amy was in the office. She was standing, her hand to her back for support, the light from the window streaming around her lighting her up like a halo. She looked pregnant, he realised with a jolt. The flat plane of her abdomen was now a gentle curve where her baby was growing. Their baby. His hand, with the phone, dropped to his side.
‘Jake? Are you still there?’ she said. He clicked off the cellphone. ‘Damn, I’ve lost the signal.’
‘I’ve come for the list. Is it ready yet?’
He saw her look at the phone in her hand, frown. Then she turned and saw him. And the frown dissolved into a smile before she could arrange her features into that coolly ironic glance that she did so well. The way her eyes lit up made him feel ten feet tall.
He crossed to her, took her hand, kissed her cheek. Her skin was like peach satin, her scent something elusive, floral, intoxicating. She was the perfect picture of womanhood, everything that a man might dream of. If he was capable of dreaming.
‘You should be sitting down every chance you get,’ he said, releasing her while he was still capable of letting her go. ‘And you should be wearing sensible shoes.’
She looked down at the high heels she was wearing. ‘I know. I’ve got some with me but I’ve been putting off wearing them for as long as I can. I’m getting fat, and there’s no escape from that, but I’m trying to put off looking frumpy for as long as possible—’
‘You couldn’t look frumpy if you tried.’ He led her across to the chair, waited for her to sit down and, when she did, he bent and took off her shoes. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘You’ll always be beautiful.’
She leaned forward, laid a hand briefly against his cheek. ‘And you, flatterer, are welcome any time.’
‘I hoped you’d say that.’ He found the little flat pumps beneath her desk and held them out for her to slip her feet into. ‘I’ve taken a few days off.’
‘Oh? And what do you intend to do with them?’
‘Sort you out so that I can stop worrying about you.’
‘I don’t need sorting out. And I’ve told you that you don’t need to worry.’
‘I need a little help with that. Take the money, or the help I send you—’
‘I let you weed my garden,’ she protested.
‘Yes, well. That’s why I’m here. Your generosity was noted, considered, and now I’m acting on my conclusions. You won’t let me pay for help, but you’ll allow me to do it myself.’
She smiled. ‘You’re very smart.’
‘No, if I was smart, I wouldn’t be in this situation. But I’m a quick learner. Which is why I’ve taken a little paternity leave in order to decorate the nursery.’
‘Jake…’ Amy’s throat was momentarily constricted by emotional overload, and instead she simply put out her hand, took his, held it.
‘I thought I could get a room at the farm that does bed and breakfast,’ he prompted.
‘It’s the school holidays. They’re fully booked.’
‘Maybe the pub, then, or failing that I’m sure Mike and Willow would let me use their spare room.’
‘I’ve got a spare room.’
‘Then why isn’t Dorothy Fuller in it? You said she couldn’t stay because you were decorating—’
‘I know, but I’ve been too busy to make a start whereas if you were in it you could fall out of bed and pick up a paintbrush. If you’re serious?’
‘Try me. Jot down what you need from the supermarket and I’ll go and stock up. Then I’ll drive you home.’ She reached for a notepad and he watched as she listed half a dozen items. She used a fountain pen and had exquisite handwriting. He wasn’t a bit surprised. He took the note, but didn’t immediately leave. ‘Have you thought about getting someone in to cover for you?’ he asked. ‘While you’re on maternity leave? Maybe I could help?’
‘That’s very kind, Jake. How much do you know about aromatherapy?’ Her face was deadpan, but her eyes sparkled wickedly.
‘I meant I could help you find someone.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, actually Vicki’s taking charge. She knows as much as I do about this business. Her sister’s going to start coming in part time next week. She’ll be here full time while I’m having the baby and we’ll see how it goes after that. Does that answer your question?’
‘Amy, I could do with some help in here!’ Vicki called.
‘I’ll be right there.’ She grinned as she offered her hand for him to pull her up out of the chair. ‘Trust me, Jake. I know what’s important.’
She stood in front of him. Even in flat shoes she was uncommonly tall for a woman. Uncommonly beautiful. Uncommonly desirable. That he desired her with an urgency that left him utterly exposed, defenceless, was painfully evident as his body responded to her like a moth to a flame.
‘No, you don’t, Amy,’ he said, angry with himself, with the weakness that kept bringing him back to her.
‘If you knew what was important you wouldn’t have torn up my cheque.’
She lifted his hand to her cheek, rubbed her face against it. ‘I thought I was making some progress with you, Jake,’ she said, before letting him go. ‘I have customers waiting.’
She left him standing alone in her office as she went to help Vicki with the customers. He could hear her voice, gentle, warm as she explained how to use lavender oil in a neck massage to help someone sleep. Considered how it would feel to have Amy’s fingers kneading at the painful knots of tension in his own neck, her hands moving slowly over his shoulders. Considered how it would be to do the same for her. Falling asleep together. Waking together. For the rest of their lives.
For a moment the thought lingered enticingly, then he snatched up the shopping list. ‘I’ll pick you up here when you close,’ he said, easing through the sudden rush of customers.
At the doorway, he looked back. No matter what happened to either of them, he realised in a sudden rush of understanding, they would be forever linked. As if she heard his thought, she looked up suddenly. And smiled.
Amy tried to concentrate but her mind kept straying to Jake and what he thought he was doing here. Money hadn’t worked, so he’d changed tactics. Thought practical help would do the job, get him off the guilt hook. It was a start, she told herself. The first step to emotional responsibility.
It was what she’d been waiting for.
It wasn’t enough.
She wanted him the way he’d been that first time they’d met. Not thinking at all. Responding, reacting to a need he was still refusing to admit to, the very human need to love and be loved.
For once she doubted her own ability to understand, see what was happening, ease the path for someone confused, in pain. Maybe bec
ause this was too close, too personal. Maybe she had Jake Hallam all wrong.
‘It’s gone half past, Vicki. Lock up, will you?’
‘You don’t want me to lock your man out, do you?’
Amy glanced up, saw Jake heading across the courtyard. ‘He’s no one’s man but his own,’ she said.
“‘No man is an island, entire of it self”, Amy. Come December your baby is going to make sure of that. And he’s yours for tonight. Better make the most of it.’
‘Yes,’ she said. And then smiled at the thought. ‘I suppose I had.’
Jake pushed open the door. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘She’s ready,’ Vicki told him. ‘Go and have some fun, the pair of you.’
‘I’ve just got to—’
‘You’ve “got to” nothing, Amy. I can handle locking up.’
Amy smiled. ‘You could handle it all. I’m just grateful you haven’t had any ideas of opening your own shop.’
‘With “Vicki Johnson” above the door? It doesn’t have quite the same ring as “Amaryllis Jones” does it? That’s a name to turn heads. I wish my mother had been that imaginative.’ She picked up Amy’s jacket and handed it to her. ‘Off you go. And I don’t want to see you here before ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’ Vicki grinned at Jake. ‘I’m holding you personally responsible for making sure she has a lie-in.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ he replied gravely, ushering Amy through the door. He offered his arm and after the briefest hesitation she looped hers through it. ‘It’s a lovely evening. I thought we might eat down by the river.’
He clicked the remote on his key ring as they approached a top of the range family estate car, the rear of which was stacked with supermarket bags. She raised her eyebrows. ‘How long are you thinking of staying?’
‘They’re just a few bogofs,’ he explained, with a totally straight face. ‘Disposable nappies. Cotton wool. Baby shampoo. And I made you a member of their special club for mothers-to-be—’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No. It’s great. You get magazines and stuff. A card that gives you special discounts—’
Amy covered her mouth with her fingers. ‘You stood at the customer service desk and filled in an application form to become a member of the Bunny Club?’
‘Oh, you already know about it?’
She swallowed, hard. ‘Mmm. I was going to join, I just—’ He waited. She just wished she’d been there. ‘I just hadn’t got around to it yet. Thank you, Jake. It was very thoughtful of you.’
He held open the passenger door and waited for her to get in. And that was when she stopped noticing the shopping and thought about the car. It was a world away from the slinky sports car or the terrifyingly fast motorcycle he usually drove.
Solid, safe, utterly reliable. It failed to fit any image she had of Jake Hallam. Willow, however, who just happened to be a young mother with a busy full-time job, had exactly the same model. A coincidence? She didn’t think so.
‘You have a new car?’ she asked.
‘It was delivered today. Do you like it?’
A loaded question. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’
‘I have different cars for different roles. This is my country car. Built to deal with muddy lanes, pot holes and with bags of room for shopping, carrying paint, that sort of thing.’
‘Horse feathers. If you’d picked yourself out a carryall workhorse, it would have been a Jeep or a Range Rover or something equally big and masculine.’ She paused. ‘And it would have been black. Not bright yellow.’
‘Actuarial statistics prove that yellow cars are involved in fewer accidents,’ he said, straight-faced.
‘I can believe it. You could see this monster coming from half a mile away in the foulest weather.’
‘Yes, well, would you care to get in now, so we can get back to the cottage before the ice cream melts?’
Whatever game he thought he was playing, on this occasion he was doomed to disappointment, so she climbed aboard and permitted herself to be distracted.
‘Ice cream? What kind of ice cream?’ she enquired.
‘Praline and cream.’
‘Then there’s no need to worry.’ And she grinned.
‘It’s never going to get as far as the fridge.’
‘Is this wise?’ Jake asked.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, the wickedly expensive tub of ice cream open in front of her.
‘Trust me. It’s the best idea you’ve had all day.’
‘You’re not going to eat it all?’
‘Of course not. That’d be greedy.’ She waved a spoon at the chair opposite and waited. ‘It’s beginning to melt,’ she warned him, when he hesitated. Jake shrugged, pulled out the chair and lowered himself into it. Then, and only then, did she scoop up a spoonful of the ice cream and put it in her mouth. ‘This,’ she said, ‘is almost the only way to eat ice cream. Try it.’
She refilled the spoon and offered it to him.
‘Almost?’ he said, the word escaping before he could stop it.
He knew that this was a dangerous game to be playing with a woman he desired beyond reason, a woman with whom a simple sexual dalliance was now out of the question. When every gesture, every word was loaded. When one careless move would have the situation spiralling out of control in a situation that could only end messily with pain and misery all round.
He did not do commitment, he reminded himself. It was something he was having to do with increasing frequency. The fact that he was here, sitting at Amy’s kitchen table, warned him how far he had drifted from that simple philosophy.
The ice cream was running over the edge of the spoon, trickling down her fingers, onto her wrist, and he decided that she was wrong. There were lots of ways to eat ice cream and his imagination was fast fowarding through them all.
He wanted to lick it from her fingers, from the hollows of her elbow, her shoulder, her breasts—
‘Almost,’ she confirmed. Teasing, vivid, her eyes never faltered, keeping him her captive, heating him up from the inside so that the ice cream would sizzle as it slid down his throat. ‘I’ve heard that naked with a blindfold is absolutely sensational—’
He erupted from the chair. She could read his mind. Or maybe, on reflection, it didn’t take extra-sensory perception to anticipate where his mind was headed. He fetched two dishes from the dresser, and another spoon, and silently scooped out the contents of the tub, sharing it between them.
Amy said nothing, but her brows twitched slightly. He was glad she found it funny because he had a joke waiting up his sleeve. The difference being, he was in deadly earnest.
‘Finished?’ he asked, when she’d licked the spoon clean. Slowly. Thoroughly. Tormentingly. ‘I’ll put the shopping away while you change.’
‘There’s no rush, is there?’ She glanced at her watch.
‘It’s only just gone six o’clock. It’s incredible to be home so early.’
‘I’m sure I can think of some way to fill the time.’
Amy had been intent on provoking Jake. Pushing him, hoping to break through his self-imposed restraint. He’d kissed her cheek and her entire body had responded, demanding more. Jake, though, was a man in total control of himself.
Very nearly in control. He clearly found ice cream very tempting.
But now, although his words suggested dalliance, their tone did not. Without warning he’d turned the tables, taken control.
‘Jake…’ she began uncertainly, aware that she should apologise for turning up the heat. But, then again, not actually wanting to.
‘You’ve got fifteen minutes,’ he said.
Jake headed towards the river, but instead of turning off for the restaurant he’d mentioned he carried on for a while, explaining that he had something he had to do first.
‘Why are we stopping here?’ Amy asked as he pulled into a recently closed aeroclub with a small airfield. Jake got out of the car and went to the rear of the vehicle, bending over it. �
�What’s wrong?’ She climbed out and followed him as he walked around to the front. He straightened and she saw the learner plate fixed to the car.
‘Into the driving seat with you.’ She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You haven’t got long to get this right, Amy. In a couple of months you’ll be too big to sit comfortably behind the wheel, so let’s not waste time.’
‘You’re the one wasting his time,’ she said, furious with him, scared, because he looked so determined. And frighteningly close to tears. She bit her lip. ‘I told you I don’t want to do this.’
‘If you want to eat tonight, if you don’t want to walk home, you’re going to have to,’ he said, his face expressionless, offering her no clue to his thoughts. ‘You can do it naked if you think it will be more fun,’ he offered ‘But I’d advise against the blindfold.’
She turned and looked around, as much to hide her blushes as in any earnest search for a way out of this. Besides, the entrance to the airfield was a good half-mile away. And farmland stretched around them, barren of human habitation. It didn’t matter. The car had a phone; she’d call a cab. She climbed in, picked up the receiver. There was no dialling tone.
‘In your own time,’ Jake said, apparently convinced that he had her beat. He didn’t know her. She slid out of the seat. Half a mile was nothing, she told herself as she headed for the exit. ‘It’s five miles to the nearest phone,’ he called after her. ‘Give or take a couple of hundred yards.’ She made no indication that she had heard. ‘That’s an hour and a half at a brisk walk.’ She’d gone less than twenty yards when she heard the car start, and he drew up beside her, matching the car’s speed to her brisk walking pace. ‘Dammit, you need transport, Amy.’
She didn’t stop, didn’t look at him. ‘I realise you live in a different world from the rest of us,’ she said furiously, ‘but you’ll be amazed to learn that hundreds of thousands of women, with and without babies, manage every day of their lives without the luxury of their own car.’
‘Not out of choice.’
‘This is my choice,’ she said, finally coming to a halt.