by Alice Ross
‘I’m delighted to say that we have, at last, appointed a new marketing director,’ the MD announced at a staff meeting. ‘His name is Doug Carver. You might know him actually, Amelia, he was at Cambridge the same time as you.’
Amelia’s jaw dropped. Her head began to swim. She had the strange sensation of looking down on herself, like she was present in body but not in mind. It was several seconds later before she realised the entire room was staring at her.
‘Oh, er, yes. Yes,’ she’d stammered. ‘I, er, do know him.’
She refrained from adding just how well. Over the years she’d resisted the constant urge to google him, to follow his career. But, on a particularly wet, miserable day in February a couple of years ago, she’d given in. Huddled up with her laptop, her heart pounding so hard she’d thought it might bring on a coronary, she’d typed his name into the search engine. And up he popped, working for a multinational retailer in their New York office. A photograph accompanied his profile. The moment she saw it, her stomach had flipped. He looked older, of course, and his hair, no longer floppy, was short and trendy. But he was still Doug. Her Doug. Or at least that had been her thought for a few seconds. Until she googled Imogen who, she discovered, was a freelance journalist, also working in New York. A series of pictures of the pair of them attending high-profile celebrity events had also been magnanimously provided. After that, Amelia hadn’t looked again. But now here he was – Providential’s new marketing director. How the hell was she going to handle that?
Not very easily, it transpired.
‘And of course you already know Amelia,’ the MD said, when Amelia entered the meeting room ten minutes after everyone else on Doug’s first day at Providential. She hadn’t intended being late but the nerves, which had steadily ballooned as the dreaded day approached, had got the better of her that morning. And despite – or perhaps because of – swallowing half a bottle of herbal calming pills, she’d thrown up in the work loos.
‘How are you, Amelia?’ Doug asked, rising to his feet and striding over to shake her hand.
Amelia had thought she might keel over as she’d placed her hand in his. Thankfully she’d managed to hold it together.
‘We’ve had to make a slight adjustment to Doug’s induction programme,’ the MD informed her, sparing her the need to cobble together something resembling a response. ‘He’ll be spending the next two days with you, Amelia. Sorry for the short notice, but you won’t have to make any adjustments to your diary. The idea is that he sees exactly how we operate here.’
Amelia didn’t have a clue how she was going to operate from now on. Just seeing Doug, hearing his voice, breathing in his scent, which still seemed so familiar despite all the intervening years, dredged up all the feelings she’d long since resigned to that faraway place known as the past.
‘Can you believe this?’ he asked, the following day when they were alone in her office. He grinned at her across the desk, hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘You look great. How’ve you been?’
‘Oh, fine, you know,’ she replied, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking half as much as her legs. ‘You?’
‘Good. Really good. I spent a couple of years in New York and then moved to Sydney. But it’s great being back home. Great seeing you.’
At his obvious enthusiasm at their unexpected reunion, Amelia’s emotions executed a swift turnaround and, for the first time since being informed of his appointment, she found herself smiling. ‘It’s a bit weird though, isn’t it?’ she said hesitantly.
Doug laughed. ‘Weird but brilliant.’
The two days he spent with her were, much to Amelia’s amazement, a complete and utter pleasure. She’d forgotten just how easily he could make her laugh, how relaxed she felt in his presence. Rather than the exhausting charade of trying to be someone else, with Doug she could just be herself. And every time he looked at her with those twinkling hazel eyes, yet another part of the igloo she’d assiduously constructed around her heart melted away.
She hadn’t asked about Imogen and Doug hadn’t mentioned her. But finding out that he’d moved from New York to Sydney, she clung to a scrap of hope that perhaps they’d split up.
They hadn’t. But by the time Amelia found out, it was too late. Three weeks into Doug’s appointment had come the Providential Annual Conference. An event to which she usually dedicated every bit of her attention. With Doug there, though, not one speaker, however impressive and well researched their presentation, had held her interest for more than three minutes.
‘Let’s skip the talk this evening and go for a drink,’ he suggested, nudging her in the ribs like a naughty schoolboy.
Amelia had rolled her eyes. ‘You might be a big-shot director, Mr Carver, but you really haven’t changed a bit,’ she joked.
‘Would you want me to?’
Amelia had gazed into those sparkling hazel eyes and shaken her head. ‘No. I wouldn’t.’
Just to confirm what she’d already long since suspected, those few seconds had been enough for her to know that she was still hopelessly in love with this man. Every one of her feelings for him had returned – with several years of interest added. She loved Doug Carver – and she always would.
The drink had inevitably led to a meal, and then a kiss. A kiss that – outside the Italian restaurant in which they’d spent two of the best hours of Amelia’s life, giggling like a couple of schoolkids and spooning each other creamy desserts – had sent her head reeling. They’d ended up in her bed at the hotel, where several more best hours of her life had followed.
‘There’s something I really should tell you,’ Doug had said, gazing down at her afterwards.
With a lurch of her stomach, Amelia had known instinctively what it was.
‘It’s Imogen. We’re still together.’
‘Don’t you think you should have told me that before you got into my bed?’ she asked, blinking back the tears that had sprung to her eyes.
Doug grimaced. ‘I know. I meant to. It’s just that – well – I didn’t plan any of this. Seeing you again has brought back all those feelings I used to have – still have – for you. I loved you, Amelia. To distraction. And you’ll never know how much you hurt me when you dumped me.’
At that, the tears had begun to flow. ‘You know why I finished it. I couldn’t risk being thrown out of Cambridge. My parents – the scholarship – everything would have been ruined.’
‘I was ruined. I was in bits.’
‘You didn’t look like you were in bits. When I saw you and Imogen snogging in the quad the first week back.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I felt like I’d lost an arm that summer. So when she rang me up and invited me down to her place, I went. One thing just led to another.’
‘And have been continuing to lead to another for the last ten years. Things must be pretty good if you’ve lasted that long.’
‘Actually, they’re not. Up until now we’ve rarely lived in the same country. I guess it’s been easier just to let things drift than make any decisions. And it wouldn’t be easy to break off anything with Imogen. You know what she’s like.’
Amelia did know what she was like. Imogen’s mother, Imogen had informed her – and everyone else in the pub during the meet ’n’ greet at Cambridge – had been a famous model in the 1980s and had married a minor aristocrat. Brought up at some lavish mansion and sent to the best school in the country where she’d mingled with the offspring of the rich and famous, Imogen wasn’t particularly bright – in fact, Amelia suspected she’d only got into Cambridge because of her family connections. She’d scraped through with a third-class degree in English which, again, Amelia suspected was more down to nepotism – and possibly one or two large cheque towards the refurbishment of the college library – than intellect or ability. But none of that would matter to Imogen. She was used to getting whatever she wanted. And she’d obviously wanted Doug from that very first evening.
‘But surely, if things aren’t that great, you�
�d be better off splitting up. Even she must see that.’
He shrugged. ‘I think she probably has a different take on it to me. And from my side, I’ve never really felt the need before. There’s never been anyone else and it’s worked out okay, I suppose, meeting up with her every few weeks. But now you’re back in my life and I—’
Amelia’s heart stuttered. ‘What?’
He gazed at her for several seconds during which time any lingering fragments of ice in that area of her anatomy dissolved into a pool of water. ‘I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’
‘Me too,’ she’d whispered, savouring that heavenly sensation of floating on air.
But all that had been ten months ago, during which time Amelia had clattered down to earth with an almighty bump. She loved Doug with a passion, but she didn’t want to be “the other woman”. She wanted him all to herself: to have a normal life with him, doing normal things, like wandering round the supermarket, spending lazy Sunday mornings in bed, going for a stroll in the park.
But he was doing all those things with Imogen, living with her in an apartment in Kensington. Up until now, Amelia hadn’t liked to put too much pressure on him. After all, it was early days in their rekindled relationship. They needed to get to know one another again – find out if the special bond that had once tethered them together could be retied. And, for all she felt sick every time he mentioned “Immy”, ten years with someone was an incredibly long time. Plus, Amelia wanted to be sure of her own feelings, confident they could have a future together, before he did anything drastic. But, last month, having spent every spare moment they could together, she became impatient.
‘Where do you think this is going?’ she asked one evening, after they’d tumbled into bed together.
‘I know where I want it to go. I want to be with you. I’ve never stopped loving you.’
Rather than swooning in his arms like she would normally have done at such a proclamation, Amelia had sat up and looked him directly in the eye. ‘So does this mean you’re going to tell Imogen about us?’
He’d nodded. ‘I am. In the next couple of weeks. I promise.’
And she’d believed him.
Until something happened to postpone his “announcement” …
A cackle of laughter on the radio jolted her back to the present. Blinking back yet another round of tears, she sucked in a fortifying breath before beginning to clear away the remainder of the breakfast dishes, suddenly aware that her every move was being monitored by a pair of dark canine eyes from a basket in the corner.
‘Well,’ she announced, ‘in the absence of any better ideas, Mr Pip, I think we should go for a walk, don’t you?’
Chapter Five
Snuggled under her duvet on Monday morning, Ella gazed at the freshly printed photograph and heaved a satisfied sigh. She trawled through the internet every day just in case any new pictures had been added. Last night’s discovery was particularly delicious. A head-and-shoulder shot, against a dazzling white wall. She’d add it to her secret scrapbook later, but for now she just wanted to savour it. To drool over the divine bone structure, the jet-black hair, the smouldering dark eyes. Eyes that reduced her insides to mush every time he looked at her.
Ella couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she’d fallen in love with Jake O’Donnell, but she suspected it might well have been the first time she’d ever seen him. It had been in the newsagent’s a couple of years ago, not long after he’d arrived in Buttersley. She’d heard rumblings of a famous author moving to the village of course, but hadn’t been particularly interested given her indifference to all things bookish. She much preferred the celebrity magazines she’d wandered into the shop specifically to purchase. She’d been browsing the meagre selection offered by old Mr Russell, the owner, when in marched a tall man with jet-black hair, a wide, stubbled jaw, razor-sharp cheekbones and just about the broadest shoulders Ella had ever seen. So devastatingly gorgeous was he, that he’d literally taken her breath away. Glued to the spot, she’d gawped as he’d whipped up a couple of packets of mints and a copy of The Guardian, exchanged a few cheery words with Mr Russell at the till, then whisked out. It was several seconds later before she’d managed to pull herself together.
‘Well, now,’ old Mr Russell had said, peering at her over the top of his half-moon spectacles as, in something of a trance, she’d shuffled over to the counter and began rummaging in her bag for her purse, ‘what do you think of Buttersley having its very own celebrity?’
Ella had furrowed her brow, her head still reeling from that glorious vision.
‘That was Jake O’Donnell, the famous writer,’ he added, with obvious triumph at being able to impart this succulent piece of information. ‘A very welcome addition to the village, I think.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ Ella agreed. But probably for quite different reasons.
Unfortunately, as she still attended school in Harrogate during the week, her sightings of Jake had been few and far between over the next couple of years. But every time she did catch a glimpse of him – even if he just drove past – her heart would skip a beat and her pulse would soar. And that’s as far as she’d ever imagined her adulation would stretch – admiring her hero from afar. Until she started working at the tearoom …
Back in July, she’d been in the courtyard struggling to collapse one of the parasols on the wooden picnic tables. Hunkered underneath it on the table, she couldn’t budge the pin but there was no way on the planet she was going to ask for help from the one other member of the waiting staff. Growing up with four brothers, Ella hated asking boys for anything: a) because they never let you forget it, and b) because she deemed herself as capable as any male.
Crouched on the table, she was attempting to devise a new pin-budging strategy, when, to her astonishment, a familiar jeep pulled up next to her and out popped Jake O’Donnell. It had been a couple of months since Ella’s last sighting of him. He’d been on the opposite side of the high street to her. In a sharp navy suit he’d looked like he’d stepped straight off a Parisian catwalk. Now, in faded jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, hair all dishevelled, jaw sporting at least three days’ worth of stubble, he looked completely different – but equally as delectable. So much so, that Ella’s breath caught in her throat, her heart rate rocketed and her bent legs turned to cotton wool. As he’d marched over to her, she’d clung on to the parasol as if her life depended on it.
‘Got a problem there?’ he asked, grinning.
Somewhat star-struck at being so close to the object of her long-held desire, anything remotely resembling vocal communication deserted Ella. In the absence of any alternatives, she’d nodded.
‘Is it the pin?’ he asked, sticking his head under the shade and narrowing his eyes at the offending item. He was now so close Ella could smell his minty breath. Terrified she might keel over, she tightened her grip on the pole.
‘We have the same problem with ours at home,’ Jake ploughed on, evidently oblivious to the effect his presence was having on his number one fan. ‘You’d think they’d have come up with a better design by now, wouldn’t you? If you come down, I’ll have a look if you like.’
He withdrew his head and held out a hand to her. Ella gaped at it for a few seconds before realising, with an acute stab of embarrassment, that it would be weird to stare at it for a second longer.
‘Um, thanks,’ she mumbled. Placing her hand in his, a dart of something she’d never before experienced zipped down her spine. Her hand remained in his as she clambered down from the table, ending up just inches away from him.
‘I don’t think we’ve met before,’ he said, dark eyes boring into hers. ‘I’m Jake. Annie’s husband.’
‘Ella,’ she muttered, unable to tear her gaze from his. ‘Ella Hargreaves.’
‘Hi, Jake,’ said Dan, the waiter, sauntering through the tearoom door and shattering the most divine moment of Ella’s life. ‘I was just coming out to see if Ella needed any help. Are you looking for Annie?
’
Jake nodded as he released his hold of Ella’s hand. ‘I am. I’ve tried calling here but the line is constantly engaged. And her mobile’s totally dead.’
‘We’ve had a stream of suppliers ringing in,’ informed Dan, who Ella could, at that moment, quite happily have strangled. ‘And Annie dropped her mobile in the cake mix earlier. She did mention something about going to Miranda’s to drop off some balloons for a party they were organising, though.’
‘Ah. Right. That explains that then,’ said Jake, shaking his head in mock despair. ‘Well, sorry to bother you. Lovely to meet you, Ella. I’ll no doubt see you again.’
God, I hope so, Ella resisted replying.
‘I’m really sorry about Jake barging in like that yesterday,’ Annie had apologised the next morning. ‘He’s on a deadline with his latest book so he’s a bit hyper.’
‘It was no problem,’ Ella had replied. Because it really hadn’t been. Admiring Jake O’Donnell from afar had been one thing, but meeting him face-to-face, in all his dishevelled, unshaven glory; being so close to him she could smell his breath; having him wrap his hand around hers, had stirred something in her she hadn’t known existed. Something fluttery and exciting. Something that made her tingle from head to toe.
Ella would be the first to admit that she’d never had the slightest interest in boys before. Growing up with four of them in the house, she’d always found them dirty, disgusting, boring and, frankly, rather gross. All her boy-obsessed girlfriends thought she was mad. But Ella knew better. She’d witnessed the species in their natural nose-picking, genital-scratching, leaving-the-loo-seat-up habitat. Repulsive rather than attractive. Which was probably just as well, given boys had never shown the remotest interest in her. Not once, in all her eighteen years, had one of them ever asked her out.