by Orla Bailey
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he admits, lowering his tone.
“Well you did.”
“I’m sorry.” He stops walking. He stops me. Waits until I look his way. He’s not teasing this time.
I can’t believe he just apologised. “You were pretty enraged, as I recall.”
“It was myself I was livid with, not you.”
“Yourself? Why? You didn’t kiss Benn Gunn.” I throw it out there just to test his claim. I didn’t kiss the man either. He kissed me.
He shoots me a look of horror. “I should hope not.”
But you kissed the evil queen, Amanda, and she’s a thousand times worse. “Don’t pretend you weren’t angry with me. When it happened and when it got recorded for posterity in the press.”
“A bit,” he admits. “But I was even angrier at myself for allowing it to happen in the first place.”
Oh? Not angry with Amanda then? He has no idea she probably engineered the whole thing.
“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
Is he saying he can’t trust me? I give him a raised eyebrow. “Really?”
“It wasn’t fair to you. You had absolutely no idea how irresistible you looked. I should have known the minute I turned my back some guy was going to pounce on you and try his luck.”
“It wasn’t some guy. It was Benn Gunn. You know? That ambitious young executive that works for Advance? The same company that wants to take your advertising account from CaidCo. The same Advance, that Amanda works for.” I say it like I’m talking to an idiot waiting for the penny to drop. It doesn’t. Or he isn’t biting.
He shrugs. “Gunn’s a young risk-taker. The boy might go far. If I don’t kill him first.”
He actually admires the louse that compromised me. The only note of scorn I hear is that as far as Jack is concerned, Gunn’s a boy not a man. I’d better not point out that he was doing Amanda’s evil bidding then or he might have even more reason to respect the old witch.
“Why did you leave me alone then if you were so hell bent on protecting my honour from all the men I was bound to inflame?” I drip with sarcasm.
“I was called to the phone. Remember?”
So simple. I know that already. What I want him to tell me is why and by whom. I have my suspicions. The co-incidence is just too perfect.
“Was it bad news?” He never did tell me.
“It was bad timing.”
Something tells me Amanda doesn’t do bad timing. But Jack’s not intending to tell me about it anyway. He’s making excuses for someone and I can guess who. The devil woman herself. The thought of him protecting her upsets me all over again but I’m not going to attack her directly. That would only make me look the jealous bitch and play right into her territory. Maybe I’m wising up after all? Jack will have to learn for himself what she’s really like. Unless he already knows but is so besotted, he doesn’t care.
“You gave me hell over Ben Gunn. Now you sound like he’s your protégée.”
“If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else.”
“Great. That makes me sound like a complete tart who can’t keep her hands off any passing male.” He makes me so mad I want to hurt him back. “Okay, so I kissed him.” He doesn’t believe the man forced me, so I might as well tell him what he wants to hear.
Jack wheels me about to face him. His grip on my upper arms is lethal. He’s not joking now. “Do not ever do that again. I’m serious. It is not something I handle well.”
I’m not done yet. I enjoy this jealous side of Jack Keogh. I haven’t felt so alive, so stimulated in days. “And if I can’t help myself?” Does it mean he cares a little? Or is he just possessive of his property and his own reputation.
“You’ll regret it,” he warns me. “Both of you.” The look in his Arctic eyes tells me I very well might. “When a woman’s with me, she’s with me. I don’t shy away from competition. I fight back. And for the record that’s another trait of a successful CEO. They’re fighters. They make sure they win.”
His kiss is sudden, brutal and punishing. It asserts all sorts of rights over me.
I’m not entirely sure what is happening but all of a sudden anything is better than this painful fracture of a life without Jack in it. I kiss him back, grabbing handfuls of his t-shirt so I can pull myself in tight. I feel reckless. Let him hurt me. Let him use me. Burn me out. I don’t care. I want to be consumed so I feel consumed and this way works as well as any other of ridding me of this obsession.
He fights me for control of the kiss, angling my head to deepen the assault. Jack Keogh is a risk-taker. An attention-seeker. A winner. Dominant and self-possessed and he doesn’t want anyone taking what he’s decided belongs to him. Even if that includes the girl he once tossed aside. The woman he means to punish for over-stepping the mark.
I bite his lip hard and he winces. I’ll play him at his own game. Learn well and use his knowledge to my advantage. Show both him and myself I’m no pushover.
When he releases me I stagger, both of us working to draw breath after the raging onslaught. I take his hand in mine, apparently so full of confidence I surprise him and pace up the road, dragging him along behind me.
“Where are you taking me now?” He laughs at this turn of events appearing amused by my new resolve.
Like I’ve ever led him anywhere.
“To the farmhouse.” I presume Madame has finally returned home. “Madame Chastain, the housekeeper, mysteriously vanished from the house as soon as you appeared.”
“Are you worried I did away with her?”
It’s my turn to laugh. “As if.” He doesn’t know her like I do.
“I told her to go home,” he admits.
I’d been telling her for days. But one word from Jack and she obeys instantly. I feel a momentary sense my territory has already been overrun.
“Well, I mimed it rather than said it in words,” he admits. “School French only.” Yet he gives a shrug that wouldn’t disgrace a Frenchman anywhere.
I bite my cheek. That would have been interesting to see. “You probably scared her off, a strange man walking round the kitchen, half naked.”
He gives me a withering look. “I didn’t. So? Do we still need to walk all that way?”
“I want to make sure Madame knows I’m okay so she spends the weekend with her family and I need to collect fresh food for the chateau. I have an extra mouth to feed, it would seem.”
Jack’s expression hints at a version of that activity that has little to do with food consumption. I roll my eyes at him, ignoring the innuendo but feeling a frisson of desire curl in my empty belly nonetheless.
“And I need to eat.” Finally I want to. I also want to be alone with Jack for the entire weekend without distractions.
“Don’t forget, she’s my Madame, now,” he points out, mischievously, reminding me he’s the new owner of Lassec.
I scowl. “So it would seem. Well you tell her then.”
He laughs out loud at my orders. “I have high hopes for you, Miss Caid.”
I have a few for myself. At least this weekend.
It’s a long walk to the estate farmhouse with the sun getting hotter by the minute. Farmhands are working in the fields gathering in the earliest crop of artichokes. I have known some of these men since we were children playing together.
“Tabeetha. Tabeetha.”
I follow the sound of my name until I spot Laurent amongst the labourers in the distance. He’s just a couple of years older than me. I’ve always adored the way he pronounces my name with his Breton accent, about as much as Jack appears to hate it. I feel him stiffen beside me. It makes me act up all the more. I can’t seem to temper my new-found recklessness.
If Jack thinks he owns and controls me every weekend he can jolly well think again. I sweep the sunhat off my head and wave it back and forth, first in greeting, then to mime how hot the day is by fanning my face enthusiastically and blowing out my cheeks.
I
lift the long hair from the back of my neck and weave saucily as I move towards the edge of the field and preen more than I have ever done in my life. Laurent laughs and pretends to spit on his hands one at a time and slick his hair back, followed by his eyebrows. He joins in my antics readily as I knew he would. He knows me well. He knows when I am kidding around. We laugh hysterically at our little joke.
“Bonjour, Laurent,” I shout across the field. We blow kisses to one another. “Comment va tu?”
“Bien. C’est chaud.” Laurent’s comment on the hot weather is made extra suggestive by the way he glances, grinning, between Jack and me.
I’m literally bouncing up and down on my toes in excitement, noting second by second how annoyed Jack is becoming at my over-familiarity with the handsome young farmhand. Other workers begin to notice us, stop working and wave and call out in greeting too. I get a couple of admiring wolf-whistles and curtsey provocatively in reply.
My excessive display is actually making me feel quite dizzy but it is more to do with the heat and the fact I haven’t eaten or slept worth a lick in days, than that I’m beside myself with joy at seeing Laurent and the estate workers again. But Jack doesn’t need to know that. The more I feel his tension rise, the smugger I get. He owes me a little torment.
The men and I exchange more pleasantries, shouting back and forth, and I know, whatever the state of his French, Jack’s ear hasn’t attuned itself yet to the local countryside dialect and inflection or their speed of delivery so he has no idea how familiar we are being with each other. Or not. He’ll think the worst which is good enough for me.
“Enough.” Jack finally grabs the hat out of my hand and plonks it back on my head again. He pulls the brim down so low over my face I can no longer see across the fields or my face be seen by anyone in them. He grabs my hand in his and pulls me so close in beside him I can no longer wave or jump around. His arm goes around my shoulders and he hugs me against his chest holding tightly onto one of my hands as he walks me quickly onwards. He pulls my other arm behind him and stuffs my hand in his back pocket where he traps it securely with his.
He’s staking his claim to me. It’s a clear statement of ownership. No mixed messages here. I have to pinch my lips together so I don’t laugh out loud. Jack is jealous. This makes me happier than I have been in days. I’m practically dizzy with delight and the bonus is that Jack will think my changed mood is due to Laurent and the men.
He doesn’t mention it again but I know he’s seething quietly all the way along the track.
“What day did you arrive here?” He positively interrogates me. I can almost hear him calculating the opportunity I have had to socialise with these lusty young farmers.
“Monday. Straight from Belvedere. I won’t stay where I’m clearly not wanted.” I just had to say it. I want him to think I have had all the opportunity in the world. “Three’s a crowd.”
I swear I hear him growl under his breath which thrills me no end.
He doesn’t let go of his firm hold on me until we are well past the occupied fields. By then I’m getting so hot and sweaty clamped up against Jack’s burning torso I’m about to pass out. I stagger as my knees buckle.
“Christ, Tabitha. Are you alright?” He supports my weight easily.
“I’ll be alright in a minute. I just need to sit in the shade.”
“You’re dehydrated.” He settles me in the shadow beneath the canopy of a huge chestnut tree. I see him look up and down the track pondering if it’s quicker to go back to the farmhands for water or to run on to the farmhouse.
I point up the road towards the farmhouse. It’s marginally further but I don’t think I can handle any more of jealous Jack and the farmhands right now.
“Wait here. Don’t. Move.”
A warning if ever I heard one. He sets off up the road at a clip. Considering he’s wearing flip-flops and the day is scorching and the air still, he can’t half shift. I lean against the tree to close my eyes for a minute.
* * *
“Tabitha?” Jack shakes me by the shoulder gently to wake me. I hear the concern in his voice.
“Mmm?”
I sit up in the grass where I’ve been lying, push my hat up and look up to see a dusty deux cheveaux parked on the track. The little yellow Citroen 2CV belongs to the farmhouse. I smile. I have fond memories of that ancient car. I decide never to tell Jack any of them. They include Laurent and the boys on crazy teenage nights, running wild. Innocent fun.
“What are you smiling at?” He feels my forehead as if he thinks I’m suffering from sunstroke and am delusional.
Nothing I do gets past Jack. That strikes me as strange when Amanda’s intrigues seems to go straight over his head. Is he so blinded by love for her he can’t see her for who she truly is?
“I know that car.”
He hands me a bottle of water and makes me drink it all down. It isn’t hard to do when I’m as parched as powdered chalk. I spill a little down the front of my dress deliberately, over my hot skin. It’s ice cold and my nipples react to it. Jack’s eyes follow the widening wet patch as it reveals the contours of my breasts. Something in the Brittany air today makes me feel irresponsible and free.
“I borrowed it to get you home,” he explains. “Put your arms around my neck.”
“I’m not an invalid,” I protest, trying to stand.
“Do as you’re told, Tabby.” He places my hands around his neck and I grip tightly. I know when I’m outgunned. Most of the time.
He lifts me into his arms and places me gently into the passenger seat. The car is already facing the chateau and it doesn’t take us long to get there. The canvas sun-roof is peeled right back and all the windows are wide open. Even then, the car is boiling hot.
“And Madame?” I want to know if he gave her the weekend off.
“She’s pretty mad at you and so am I.”
I frown. “What for?” Someone’s always mad at me.
“You haven’t eaten in days. You haven’t slept. You’ve cried yourself sick.”
I didn’t want Jack knowing any of that. Now I’m annoyed at Madame too for spilling my secrets. Although what woman can resist Jack’s persuasion? I relent. “She’s exaggerating. You know what French women are like. Toujour l’amour.” I try to sound theatrical and mimic the complete set of Gallic shrug and nonchalant, air-expelling pout.
It doesn’t wash. “When we get in, you’re going to eat. Everything I cook for you.”
The idea of Jack cooking for me is sweet. I briefly wonder what the Dublin boy can manage without a chef on hand. Baked beans on toast? He won’t find any tins here. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”
“What?” His foot poises over the brake ready to slam the car to a halt.
“The food? We were going up to the farmhouse to get fresh supplies.”
He relaxes and accelerates all the way to the back door. He’s also forgotten this isn’t his Italian Pagani sports car. “In the boot. Madame wouldn’t let me leave until it was loaded full up. And why was she humming Brit chart songs?”
Oh hell. “How would I know? What sort of songs?” I feign ignorance. He’ll never know the significance.
He does. “Bleeding Love. Leona Lewis. Adele. Someone Like You. Crazy sad shit like that.”
Because I was playing them over and over, like a broken record, on my violin late last night and every other night too. I’d hoped she was asleep by then. No wonder she decided I was going crazy. I was probably driving her crazy. Now she can’t get them out of her head. “No idea. They do have TV and radio out here, you know. It’s not the back of beyond.”
He regards me suspiciously. I know he doesn’t believe me so I change the subject. “Does she know you’re the new owner of Lassec Chateau and the estate?”
“She knows.”
“Does she mind?” Exhaustion finally hits me. I’m half asleep already and hardly know what I’m saying.
“Do you think she minds?” He answers my question wit
h one of his own, sitting and staring at me intently as if the answer is important to him. I’m not even sure we’re still talking about Madame anymore.
“I don’t think she really minds so much anymore.” I know it’s the right answer when Jack drops a soft, sweet kiss to my lips then comes round and lifts me from the car.
The last time someone lifted me from this little car, I was about sixteen and drunk as a skunk on Breton cider. I think the lifter might very well have been too. We landed in a raucous heap in the dirt. I laugh at the memory. I laugh even more when I see Jack’s puzzled frown. He must think I’m delusional. I don’t reckon he’s going to drop me in the dirt though.
I loop my arms around his neck and relax into him, wondering if he’s just another of my pain-induced hallucinations. If so, I want to remain insane forever.
“Why don’t you nap for a bit while I prepare lunch?”
“Not on your life. Jack Keogh cooking? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” I’m adamant.
I think he enjoys having me near so he relents but I suspect he wants to keep an eye on me too. Perhaps he thinks Laurent and the others are concealed around the chateau somewhere waiting to pounce on me the minute his back is turned. I find the idea hilarious.
“You’re doing a lot of smiling today, Tabby. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” He looks at me strangely.
Bloody fucking marvellous actually. Sorry Harry. “I’m fine. Happy.” Delirious. Probably delusional but so very happy.
He throws me a quick smile when I admit it. He knows it’s because he’s here. He doesn’t know what I know though: that I’ll have to relive the misery all over again once he’s gone.
I think I might know something about successful CEOs that he doesn’t. They see what they want to see. They focus on the positives and totally ignore anything negative. On that basis, today, I’d make a successful CEO too. If agreeing to continue with the stupid deal we made means I don’t have to feel so devastated and miserable all the time, it seems a small price to pay at this moment in time. I can simply pretend Jack loves me the way I love him.
I sit at the kitchen table sipping ice-cold water and picking at a dish of olives as I watch him work. He unloads all the boxes from the little car and brings them in through the back door. He rummages through them to see what resources he has to get creative with.