‘I mean it’s ten years too late.’ She turned to face him. ‘Or is all this just to queer Anthony Garrett’s pitch?’
The surprise on James’s face was genuine. ‘I never gave him a thought,’ he assured her. ‘I don’t think he’s right for you, but if you tell me you love the man I’ll never darken your door again. But you don’t love him, Rose. And you know it.’ He moved from the fireplace and took her by the shoulders, then dropped his hands, scowling when she flinched. ‘The bastard hurt you—let me see.’
Rose slid the sweatshirt off one shoulder, craning to see the damage, then caught her breath as James laid his lips to the bruise, his tongue licking in deliberate caress as his hair brushed her skin.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered, ‘I’m just kissing it better.’
She covered herself hurriedly, and collected her bag. ‘Goodnight, James. Thank you for dinner.’
‘Wait.’ James took her hand. ‘When can I see you again?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, James.’
‘Why not?’
Rose regarded him steadily. ‘Because underneath all the blarney you’re still angry with me, aren’t you?’
‘Do you blame me?’
‘No. But it makes me uneasy. So it’s best we say goodbye, James.’
‘You’ve grown into a hard woman, Rose Sinclair,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Don’t call me that!’
‘It’s your name. In the eyes of the law you’re still my legally wedded wife, remember.’ His eyes held hers. ‘If I’d carried you upstairs just now, as I wanted to, there would have been nothing against an old married couple sharing a bed together.’
‘That’s sophistry—’ She turned away, unable to face the mocking grey eyes a moment longer. ‘And time I went. Thank you for dinner.’
He was frowning as he walked with her to the car. ‘Rose, I’m not happy about your driving home alone. I’ll come with you and walk back. Or I can just follow you in my car until I know you’re safe.’
‘Thank you, but no,’ she said decisively. ‘I can’t go on jumping at shadows, James. And I have to live here after you’re long gone, remember.’
‘But I haven’t gone yet, so ring me as soon as you get home and confirm you’re safe and sound.’
‘All right. I will. But I warn you, I’m a slow, cautious driver.’ Rose smiled up at him, then drove off quickly, before James discovered how much she wanted to stay.
Rose parked her car in its usual niche behind the shop, let herself in through the back door and turned on the hall light. And found another rose lying inside her private door.
She raced upstairs, and rang James’s cellphone number with a shaking hand. ‘I’m home,’ she said tersely. ‘But I don’t feel safe and sound. Another rose was waiting for me.’
James cursed colourfully. ‘Rose, call the police right now,’ he ordered.
‘Not tonight. I’m tired; I need to go to bed. I’ll call them tomorrow.’
‘Then I’ll come and sleep on your sofa—’
‘No way, James.’ No point in exchanging one danger for another. ‘I’ll be fine now. Everything’s locked, bolted or disconnected. All I have to do is get myself to bed.’
‘All right, have it your own way,’ he said impatiently. ‘But ring me if the least thing disturbs you. However late it is. And give me your cellphone number so I can check on you in the morning. Are you seeing Garrett tomorrow night, by the way?’
‘No way! He wasn’t due to come down this weekend. I was so furious with him about the solicitor I turned him down flat when he took it for granted I’d be available just because he was.’
‘This man hasn’t got a clue where you’re concerned!’ James paused. ‘Look, Rose, now I’m here I want to see you again before the law separates us for good. I assume there’s no point in asking you to go out somewhere, so come here for a meal again tomorrow. Look on it as a kind of farewell party, if you like.’
Rose hesitated. Another evening in that cosy, isolated cottage would be asking for trouble. But there was no point in deluding herself. She wanted—needed—to see James again. Just one last time. But here on home ground, on her own territory. ‘Come and have dinner here, instead,’ she said casually.
There was dead silence for a moment. ‘With the greatest of pleasure,’ said James, openly surprised. ‘Do I slink from the car park in disguise?’
‘No. Just arrive brazenly at my door as usual. About eight?’
‘Eight it is. Rose,’ he added swiftly, ‘do you feel better now?’
‘Yes, I do.’ The mere sound of James’s voice had dispelled her panic. ‘Goodnight.’
Before disconnecting her phone Rose listened to three consecutive messages from Anthony, begging her to change her mind about their Saturday night arrangement.
No chance, thought Rose, as she got ready for bed. Whatever happened from now on, Anthony Garrett was history. She put him from her mind and thought about James at length instead, and eventually slept until the phone on the pillow beside her woke her up.
‘Good morning,’ said James. ‘Did you sleep?’
‘Gosh, you’re early.’ Rose yawned, peering at her watch. ‘Amazingly enough I slept very well.’
‘While I tossed and turned in my cold and lonely bed,’ he said, sighing.
‘How sad!’
‘Unsympathetic creature. Now then, Rose,’ he added, suddenly businesslike, ‘phone the police this morning.’
‘No. It’s exactly the sort of publicity I could do without. And in broad daylight it just seems silly. No actual crime has been committed. It’s not against the law to send roses.’
‘I don’t like it, just the same.’
‘Neither do I. But if I ignore it, and keep my phone disconnected out of business hours, I’m sure the culprit will give up in the end.’
‘If I were your husband for real I’d insist on notifying the police.’
‘Possibly. But don’t even think of trying it, Sinclair.’
‘I won’t. But only because I know how you react when people try to run your life. Don’t work too hard, Rose. See you later.’
Rose dressed at top speed, ate some breakfast, and before she opened up hurried along the arcade to do some shopping for her unexpected dinner party, wondering if she’d lost her mind as she selected a meal likely to please her guest. She knew very well she should be wary of the underlying resentment James so very obviously harboured along with the desire he still felt for her, but in some ways it just added an extra spice of danger to the pleasure of seeing him again. Much as she loved Chastlecombe, life there tended to be on the quiet side. And right now the sun was shining, a touch of spring was in the air, and, whatever happened afterwards, tonight she would enjoy spending time with James just once more. Because, quite apart from reviving old hurts, meeting him again had reminded her of a very important aspect of her relationship with James Sinclair. As well as being crazy about each other, for a few short, sweet months they’d been best friends as well as lovers. A combination that had made James such a hard act to follow.
Rose stowed her shopping away, then went to collect the post and start the day.
‘Goodness me,’ said Bel soon afterwards. ‘You look very bouncy today, boss. What’s put the sparkle in your eye?’
‘Promise of spring in the air.’
‘Wish it would do the same for me. Seeing Anthony tonight?’
‘No, not tonight.’ Rose hesitated, then decided on the truth. ‘I’ve invited an old college friend to dinner,’ she said, smiling.
‘An old male college friend, I trust?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Close friend?’
‘Used to be.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Bel, who disapproved of Anthony Garrett. ‘Have fun.’
The day was busy, as most Saturdays were, and the morning passed so quickly Rose was remorseful when Bel had to beg off for lunch and shopping.
‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t realise it was so la
te. Bring a sandwich back for me. Something extravagant.’
While Bel was away Rose’s heart sank as she saw Anthony come in. He gave her a brooding look, then turned his back to browse round the shelves while she was busy with customers, but the moment the shop was empty he pounced on her belligerently.
‘Where the blazes were you last night, Rose? I rang several times.’
‘I know. I got your messages.’
‘I asked you to ring back.’
‘It was too late when I got home—’
‘Where from?’
‘I don’t have to give you details of my movements, Anthony,’ she said curtly, then looked up with a smile of relief as Bel came rushing back.
‘Sorry I took so long,’ Bel said breathlessly, handing over a paper sack. ‘Crab salad, and it’s fab. Hello, Anthony,’ she added, offhand.
‘Bel.’ He nodded distantly. ‘A word in private, Rose, if you would.’
She nodded, resigned. ‘Come in the office, then, while I eat my lunch.’
‘Can’t we go up to the flat?’ he complained, as he closed the door behind him.
‘Not on a Saturday. Bel could be inundated any minute.’ Rose took an appreciative bite of her sandwich. ‘Talk away,’ she said indistinctly.
‘You know why I’m here,’ he began, very obviously irritated by her attitude.
Rose shook her head. ‘Actually, I don’t.’
‘Of course you do. To change your mind about tonight.’
‘Sorry. No can do.’
His lips thinned. ‘You’re just being childish, Rose.’
She shook her head at him reprovingly. ‘Your powers of persuasion need work, Anthony. Besides, I’m doing something else tonight.’
‘But when I’m here you spend Saturdays with me!’
‘Not every Saturday, and certainly not tonight.’ Rose looked at him squarely. ‘In fact, not any more. I’m afraid it’s over between us, Anthony.’
He stared at her incredulously. ‘Over? What are you talking about? Only a short while ago we were discussing marriage—’
‘No, Anthony. That was your idea, not mine.’
‘Oh, I get it!’ His face suffused with angry colour. ‘Sinclair’s to blame for all this, isn’t he? You’re still in love with him.’
‘No,’ said Rose curtly. ‘That’s nothing to do with it. You and I just wouldn’t suit on a long-term basis, Anthony, so it’s best to end things now before either of us gets hurt.’ She held out her hand. ‘Can we at least part friends?’
He gave her a look of burning dislike, brushed the hand aside and wrenched open the door, forcing a smile when he spotted someone he knew amongst the people browsing along Rose’s shelves.
‘I’ve been dying to ask all afternoon, but we’ve been too busy,’ said Bel, as she was getting ready to leave for the day. ‘By the look on Anthony’s face earlier I assume all is at an end?’
Rose heaved a sigh. ‘Afraid so.’
‘Can’t say I’m sorry.’ Bel gave her a swift, unaccustomed kiss on her cheek. ‘Have some real fun instead with your friend. And tell me all about it on Monday.’
After Rose locked up the shop she did some swift housework, had a shower, did more to her hair with a styling brush than usual, then dithered about for a while in front of her open wardrobe. Nothing too special, she warned herself, and buttoned a thin, blush-pink cardigan to its plunging V-neck, pulled on navy linen drawstring trousers she’d been keeping for the summer, then wrapped herself in a striped apron, and repaired to the kitchen to get to work.
Potatoes were scrubbed, hollandaise sauce prepared for the asparagus, and monkfish tails wrapped in bacon ready to roast by the time Rose laid a small table under a window which in daylight gave a view of rolling Cotswold hills. And realised she was in a state of excitement unknown since she was eighteen years old. When she’d been so young and vulnerable, and so hopelessly in love with James Sinclair. But all that was changed, she assured herself, as eight o’clock loomed nearer. Tonight she would discuss the forthcoming separation sensibly with James, and after that they could go their separate ways. Because spending time with a man who made it gratifying plain he both resented and desired her was asking for trouble, when the man in question was the husband she was still married to.
When the bell rang at last Rose went sedately down the stairs, unable to control her body’s leap of response when she found James standing there, arms full of bottles, his eyes bright with sudden heat at the sight of her.
Warning bells in Rose’s head. He was reading too much into her invitation to dinner. ‘Hello, James,’ she said, smiling politely. ‘You’re punctual.’
‘I’d have been earlier if I’d thought you’d let me in,’ he assured her, and closed the door behind them, slamming the bolts home with a finality far too symbolic for Rose’s peace of mind. ‘I brought some wine. If you want the red I need to open it for breathing space. Or you can chill the white instead.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Or we could drink both.’
Rose retreated up the stairs hurriedly, conscious that his eyes were on her rear view as she went.
‘I already have some wine. But thanks, anyway. I’ll keep yours for another time.’ She waved him to the sofa. ‘Dinner will be half an hour, so we could start on my wine now, if you like. Or I’ve got whisky, gin—’
‘Rose,’ he interrupted, and dumped the bottle down to take her hands. ‘You’re as jumpy as a cat.’
‘Yes, I am,’ she said bluntly. ‘I think this may be a mistake.’
‘You’re worried I might try to get you into bed before dinner, or after?’ he said affably.
Rose stared up into teasing eyes, then relaxed, and laughed. ‘Something like that.’ she admitted.
‘Is that how Garrett behaves?’ he demanded.
‘Not with me.’ She picked up the wine and went to the kitchen, then turned in the doorway to look at James over her shoulder. ‘Which doesn’t mean I’ve led a totally celibate life from the time you and I split up, Sinclair.’
‘Likewise,’ said James promptly. ‘But I knew very well you and Garrett weren’t lovers.’
‘How?’
‘Something in the body language.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s not the man for you, Rose.’
‘I’ll get the wine,’ she said firmly, and went to oversee her dinner preparations.
The meal was a success, and James sincere with his praise as he despatched his dinner with gratifying speed.
‘That was fabulous. You’re a great cook, Rose,’ he said, sitting back at last.
She shook her head. ‘Just a fan of TV cooking programmes. You were a guinea pig tonight. I’ve never tried monkfish before.’
‘It was superb,’ James assured her, and refilled their wine glasses. His eyes were intent as he leaned back in his chair. ‘You know, Rose, I used to think about this a lot. Meeting you again, sharing a meal like this—just being together.’
Rose eyed him cynically as she got up to take their plates. ‘In which case you could have done something about it long before now if you’d wanted to. I wasn’t exactly on another planet.’
‘I was a coward,’ he said flatly, and followed her to the kitchen.
‘A coward? You, James?’
‘I couldn’t face more rejection.’
She gave him a scornful, disbelieving look as she handed him a platter of cheese and biscuits. ‘You take these; I’ll bring celery and grapes. No pudding. I did consider treacle tart from the bakery, then I remembered you weren’t keen on sweet things in the past.’
‘Only on you, Rose,’ he agreed, standing aside to let her pass.
‘“Sweet” wasn’t one of the adjectives you flung at me during our final encounter all those years ago,’ she reminded him acidly. ‘So if you had come to see me again some time I suppose you’re right. I might well have shut the door in your face.’
‘After I saw you in the street with this Mark of yours I worked that out for myself.’ James put the plates on the table, the
n took her hand. ‘Could we eat this later?’
‘OK. Coffee?’
‘No. Come and sit down.’ James led her to the sofa and drew her down beside him. ‘Did you soften towards me after you left university?’
‘I was in London by then, learning to earn a living, and far too busy to mourn for you.’ She gave him a sidelong glance through her lashes. ‘I admit I used to imagine, sometimes, that I spotted you in the street. But it was always just some tall, dark stranger with a king-of-the-jungle walk like yours.’
James kept hold of her hand, his forefinger smoothing the back of it. ‘So you’re certain you’d have rejected me second time round, Rose.’
‘Definitely.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘Like you, I rarely make the same mistake twice.’
James tensed, and for a moment she thought he was going to leap to his feet and stride out of the flat. Instead he raised her hand to his lips. ‘I’m sure I could change your mind about that,’ he said, in a tone that sent trickles of apprehension down her spine.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said doggedly, and got to her feet, holding onto her resolve with both hands. ‘I think it’s time you went, James.’
He got up with the lithe grace she remembered so well, looking like a tiger balked of its prey. ‘What if I don’t want to go, Rose?’ And before she could dodge away he pulled her up into his arms, kissing her with an abruptness that excited her so much she responded involuntarily, all her cool resolutions flying through the window at the first touch of his lips, her hands making only nominal resistance as he began to slide buttons from their moorings.
‘You can’t do this,’ she gasped, trying to push him away. ‘Do you really think you can march back into my life after ten years and straight into my bed?’
‘Who said anything about bed?’ he said, frustrating her attempts to free herself. ‘What’s the harm in a few kisses, Rose Sinclair?’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she snapped, twisting in his arms, but he held her fast.
‘It’s your name. And I’m still your husband.’
‘Only technically—’ But the rest of her words were smothered as James began to kiss her again, making love to her with a subtlety that broke down all the barriers she’d tried so hard to erect against him. Her mouth parted helplessly to his demanding tongue, and she sucked in her breath as he caught her flailing hands in one of his and bared her breasts to his lips and teeth and relentless, clever fingers, rousing hot, wet turbulence deep inside her as he bore her further down on the sofa, his breath coming in great gasps as he raised his head to look down into her flushed, desire-blank face.
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