Jaz flinched back in the chair at the vitriol now pouring out of the woman she had always thought was her friend, never having dreamt that this was the way Madelaine really felt about what had happened eight years ago.
It had been such an awful time for those left behind, for Jaz and her father, for Madelaine, and somehow quite natural for Madelaine and Jaz to gravitate towards each other in their loss, for the two of them to become friends. And all this time, it seemed, Madelaine had been harbouring these feelings of resentment and hatred.
Feelings that couldn't be vented on Janie or Charles because they were both dead, but could certainly be felt by Janie's daughter...!
Jaz felt slightly sick at having her suspicions proved correct, had been hoping—inwardly pleading!—for her assessment of the situation to be the wrong one.
But she had gone through every person in the village who she thought could possibly have a motive for sending her those letters, especially that last one, the one that even Beau had realized implied she had deliberately lied about something.
And the only thing Jaz could think of that someone could possibly accuse her of lying about was her feelings towards Beau, and even those hadn't exactly been lies, just self-defence. But the only person she had expressed those feelings to was Madelaine—Madelaine who had kept questioning her on the subject, kept suggesting that she should be wary of Beau...
'But Jaz wasn't responsible for any of that, Madelaine,' Beau spoke to her soothingly. 'She was just a child, hurt herself by what had happened.'
Madelaine glared at him. 'She deserved to be hurt, her and her father! If John Logan had kept his wife under control none of this would have happened, and I would still have my husband. But instead I've been left smouldering here for the last eight years, apparently wealthy, but all the time the money that Charles left me has been rapidly depleting—'
'But another rich husband would have changed all that...?' Beau prompted softly.
'Yes,' Madelaine confirmed scornfully. 'But instead I've had to sit here and watch her, Janie Logan's daughter—' she gave Jaz a vicious look '—captivate the only decent man to come to the area in years!'
Beau...
Jaz's feeling of nausea intensified. It was bad enough to know that this was the way Madelaine had really felt all these years, but to realize it was her own apparent friendship with Beau that had triggered the other woman's hatred onto a new level was so awful Jaz just didn't know what to say or do.
Beau, fortunately, felt no such inhibitions. 'Even without Jaz I wouldn't have been interested, Madelaine,' he rasped. 'You simply aren't my type.'
Madelaine gave a dismissive shake of her head. 'You're only saying that because she's here—'
'No, Madelaine,' he cut in calmly. 'I'm saying it because it's the truth—I don't think so!' he snapped as Madelaine moved to rake her long red fingernails down his face, grasping both her arms and easily holding her away from him, his expression now grim with distaste.
'Maybe you deserve each other, after all!' Madelaine spat the words at him, her pretty face ugly in her vehemence as she struggled to free herself—and didn't succeed.
Beau shrugged unconcernedly. 'Maybe we do, but that really isn't for you to say, now is it?' he reasoned gently.
Madelaine looked at him through narrowed lids. 'You think you're so clever, don't you?' she scorned. 'Both of you!' She gave Jaz a look of intense dislike.
'Jaz has nothing to do with any of this,' Beau answered her evenly. 'She was as much an innocent bystander as you were. Can't you see that?'
Several emotions followed in quick succession across Madelaine's distorted face; anger, frustration, pain. It was the latter that finally won out as her face crumpled and the tears began to fall.
Jaz moved as if to stand up, but Beau motioned for her to remain where she was, still holding Madelaine in his grip.
'You need to talk to someone, Madelaine,' he told her huskily. 'Someone with professional expertise. If I call a friend of mine, a psychiatrist, will you agree to see him?'
Jaz looked at him with admiring eyes; she had been wondering where all this was going to end, knew that they couldn't just leave here today without resolving this situation in some way, that Madelaine needed help of some sort—but at the same time knowing she didn't have the means or contacts to provide that help.
Madelaine looked up dazedly, her make-up blotchy on her face, looking every one of her forty-five years at that moment. 'Do you mean to call the police, too?' she said gruffly.
'No, I don't think that's necessary.' Beau gave a tight smile. 'I don't think either Jaz or I want it to come to that...?' He gave Jaz a questioning look.
'No,' she hastened to assure them both, sitting forward in her armchair once again. 'No,' she repeated gently, her gaze compassionate as it rested on Madelaine.
Who would have ever guessed, from the beautiful and confidant facade Madelaine liked to present to the world, that she had so much hate and bitterness inside her? Jaz certainly hadn't!
Jaz stood up. 'I'm really sorry, Madelaine,' she murmured huskily. 'For what my mother did to you. For what you thought I was doing to you.' She gave a confused shake of her head. 'I really don't know what else to say.'
And she didn't, knew that now this was all over, completely out in the open, she just wanted to get away from here, to lick her own wounds. Beau released Madelaine, the other woman dropping down into one of the armchairs, looking suddenly frail and older than her years. 'Yes, it's time we were going, Madelaine,' he told her evenly as he reached out and gently pulled Jaz to his side. 'I'll have my friend telephone you later, shall I?' he prompted softly.
Madelaine looked up dazedly. 'Yes. Yes... I—I'm sorry, Jaz. It really wasn't... I just—' She gave a confused shake of her head, as if just waking from a dream—or a nightmare.
'We really do have to go, Madelaine,' Beau cut in briskly, obviously having felt Jaz tremble at his side and guessed how close she was to falling apart herself.
It had all been just too much for Jaz, her suspicions, having those suspicions confirmed with such bitter anger, and the reason behind them. She had never guessed, never even considered—
'Come on, Jaz,' Beau prompted firmly, his arm about her waist as he guided her from the room and the house before she collapsed completely under the strain.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
'How did you know it was Madelaine?' Jaz prompted huskily.
Beau had driven the two of them to Jaz's cottage, silently making them both a cup of strong tea before seating them both comfortably in the sitting room.
He sat in the armchair across from her now, his expression still grim. 'Purely by accident, as it happens,' he rasped, shaking his head disgustedly. 'Barbara Scott, at the shop, happened to mention to me this morning how wonderful it was that you and Madelaine had become such friends after the upset eight years ago.' He gave Jaz a censorious look. 'Didn't you think it was important, in the circumstances, to tell me that it was Madelaine's husband your mother ran away with when she left the village?'
Jaz could feel the warmth in her cheeks. 'It never even occurred to me that you needed to know,' she told him honestly. 'I never thought—I had no idea—' She broke off, shaking her head dazedly.
'But you knew Madelaine was the one sending those letters before you went to have tea with her today, didn't you?' he rasped.
'Yes,' she confirmed huskily.
'But you went anyway,' he snapped angrily. 'Jaz, do you have any idea of the danger you put yourself in? It must be obvious to you by now that Madelaine had been seriously unbalanced by this whole thing? That the situation could have turned very nasty—'
'I was hoping I was wrong!' she cried emotionally.
Beau drew in a deeply controlling breath, letting it out again with a heavy sigh. 'You scare the hell out of me, do you know that?' he muttered impatiently.
Her eyes widened. 'I do?'
'You do,' he confirmed harshly, standin
g up in forceful movements. 'How am I supposed to leave here tomorrow when all the time I'm going to be worried what might happen to you next?' He looked at her accusingly.
Jaz frowned her confusion. 'But Madelaine has agreed to get help. Do you think she might renege on that agreement?' she added worriedly.
He gave a confident shake of his head. 'I'll make sure she doesn't get the chance!' he assured her grimly.
'Then why should you worry about me...?' Jaz said slowly, still totally confused.
'Because I seem to have done little else since I moved here!' he bit out disgustedly. 'Your obviously unhappy childhood with what I would guess were overstrict grandparents. The fact that your mother walked out on you when you were seventeen. Your father dying. This situation with Madelaine. A damned tile falling off a roof!' he added exasperatedly.
Jaz eyed him dazedly. He wasn't wrong about her childhood, or any of the other things, but what on earth did a tile falling off a roof have to do with anything? Let alone to the point that Beau worried about it...!
'Beau...?' she prompted hesitantly.
'Jaz!' he came back irritably, glaring his frustration at her, his hands tightly clenched at his sides.
Jaz felt the ice start to melt about her heart, to feel a new hope, an anticipation that perhaps everything was going to work out okay after all. 'Beau, why did you ask me to marry you?' she prompted huskily, hoping she wasn't wrong, hoping that she didn't have to resurrect that barrier about her heart.
'Surely that's obvious?' he came back defensively.
'You said that the last time I asked.' She shook her head. 'It isn't a good enough answer.'
'Oh isn't it?' He gave a humourless smile. 'What is it you want to hear, Jaz? Hearts and roses? Would you believe me if I were to say any of those flowery things?'
She swallowed hard. 'If you say them, I'll believe them.'
His eyes narrowed. 'Even if they're not true?'
He was so defensive. Too defensive.
'But they are true, aren't they, Beau?' Jaz took the biggest risk of her young life, knowing if he pushed her away now that she couldn't bear it. 'I love you, Beauregard Garrett,' she told him huskily, her gaze unwavering on his.
'You—' he gasped disbelievingly, shaking his head in confusion. 'But the other day you said—you told me—' He broke off abruptly. 'No, you didn't say anything at all, did you, except that you wouldn't marry me if all I felt for you was pity?' he realized self-disgustedly. 'Jaz, I don't pity you,' he groaned. 'I love you. I love you so much I can't think of anything else!'
The ice melted totally within her, leaving only a warm rush of love. 'Why couldn't you have told me that the other evening?' she said achingly, her eyes brimming with tears—but tears of happiness this time. 'Why, Beau?'
A nerve pulsed in his jaw, throwing his scar into livid profile. 'Because of this.' His hand moved instinctively to that scar. 'Once you had told me that you found my marriage proposal an insult, I—' He shook his head, staring down at her intently. 'Jaz, did you just tell me that you love me?'
'Oh, yes,' she breathed ecstatically as she stood up to move into his waiting arms. 'I love you so much,' she assured him. 'I just want to be with you for ever.'
He hesitated. 'I'm much older than you. And the scar—'
'I'm not interested in that silly old scar,' she dismissed uncaringly. 'I feel sorry for the television executives because they are!' she added.
'But they aren't,' Beau told her ruefully. 'I was the one who refused to renew my contract.'
Jaz's eyes widened. 'You were?'
'Yes,' he confirmed tersely. 'But we can discuss that later. A long time later,' he added huskily as his head bent towards hers. 'Right now I want to kiss my fiancée.' He smiled, looking almost boyish. 'That sounds good, doesn't it?' he said with satisfaction.
'Very good,' Jaz concurred, her body curving into his.
'Except...' Beau became very still, his mouth only inches away from hers.
'Except?' Jaz eyed him warily, still not a hundred per cent certain that this happiness could really be hers.
'I still haven't asked you properly,' he muttered self-derisively. 'Jaz, I love you to distraction, want to spend the rest of my life with you, to have you to look after, and for you to look after me; will you marry me?'
'Oh, yes,' she breathed without hesitation.
It was a long time later that they talked again, a very long time later, the two of them laying on the sofa, Jaz's face flushed from their lovemaking as she lay in Beau's arms.
'Tell me about your mother,' he encouraged gruffly.
She didn't stiffen as she usually did when her mother was mentioned, instead smiling sadly. 'She was seventeen when my father, a man fifteen years older than her, moved into the village and opened up the garden centre.' She grimaced. 'According to my grandparents she was always wild, wanting to escape the cloying atmosphere of the vicarage, I suppose, and John Logan represented that escape. Within three months of his moving here, my mother was pregnant. A month later they were married. Three months or so after that, before I was even born, my mother realized she had made a mistake, that she had just escaped one prison for another.' Jaz shrugged. 'But it was too late, of course.'
Beau shook his head slowly. 'You must have heard most of that second, even third hand?'
'I suppose,' she conceded ruefully. 'But my mother was certainly unhappy, that I do know.'
'Maybe, and yet she didn't leave until you were seventeen,' he pointed out gently.
'No,' Jaz accepted slowly.
'When she left, with Charles Wilder...' Beau frowned, absently playing with the hair at Jaz's temple '...did she say anything to you, or did she just up and go?'
'She just—no,' Jaz corrected breathlessly. 'She left me a letter, told me that she was sorry, that once she was settled with—with Charles, that she would send for me.'
'And?' Beau prompted gently.
Jaz let out a shaky breath. 'They were killed three months later before they could settle anywhere. Beau, do you think—?'
'I think your mother loved you, Jaz.' He moved so that he was looking down at her, his gaze intent on the flushed beauty of her face. 'Your grandparents, as you've already told me, were hopelessly inadequate to bring up a daughter—let alone a granddaughter! Your father—well, I'm not sure I can speak for your father, but if Janie was anything like you to look at—'
'She was.' Jaz nodded, knowing that she had been angry with Madelaine earlier because she knew she looked like her mother.
Beau reached out and touched the softness of her lips. 'Then he must have gone through the torments of hell knowing she had only married him to escape her overbearing parents,' he grated.
She reached up and entwined her arms about the back of his head, holding him securely in her arms. 'Whereas I am marrying you because I love you so much I just want to spend the rest of my life with you,' she told him with husky honesty.
'Oh, Jaz!' His arms tightened about her. 'Can you bear to leave here and live in London with me?' He looked down at her anxiously. 'I went back last weekend to discuss a new contract, one where I can get back to the investigative reporting that I used to love,' he explained at her questioning look. 'Lying in the hospital after the accident, the weeks afterwards, I realized that I had to make changes in my life, that there was no longer any challenge to what I was doing. Although loving you as part of that challenge wasn't something I initially welcomed!' he acknowledged with a self-mocking grin.
Jaz did her best to hold back a smile—and failed miserably. 'Poor Beau,' she grinned unabashedly.
'Lucky Beau,' he corrected. 'Happy Beau. Ecstatic Beau!' he assured her with a grin. 'The network has offered me a six-month contract, twelve programmes, investigating whatever I feel like investigating. But it means moving back to London, and if that isn't agreeable to you then I'll simply tell them I can't do it—'
'Of course it's agreeable to me,' Jaz assured him happily, but pleased tha
t he took her needs so much into consideration. 'I don't care where I am as long as I'm with you. Besides,' she added teasingly, 'I've already agreed to sell this cottage and the land to a neighbouring farmer. He takes over at the end of the month.'
'He—' Beau broke off incredulously. 'Where were you going, Jaz? What were you going to do?' He frowned.
She shrugged. 'Well, the farmer agreed to give me quite a bit more money than I expected, so I had thought about travelling for a while, maybe eventually settling somewhere in France or Spain. After all, they need gardeners over there too, and—'
'You were just going to leave here without telling me where you were going?' Beau groaned incredulously.
'I didn't know where I was going—or that you would be interested,' she pointed out softly.
'You, madam, are going nowhere—unless I can come too,' he told her determinedly. 'If you really want to travel, then we can. It might be fun at that,' he added reflectively.
'And your new contract?'
'It can wait. The only thing that matters to me is you, Jaz, you and your happiness,' he told her intently.
And the only thing that mattered to her was Beau's happiness. Besides, the travel idea had just been something for her to do in order to try and get over loving Beau. How wonderful that she didn't have to get over it, after all!
"Then we'll go to London,' she told him happily. 'I've never been there, either,' she confided. 'And maybe some time soon we might think about children...?' It was her dearest wish, having been an only child, to have a houseful of her own, but she had no idea how Beau felt about children at all...
'Mary or Mark?' he remembered teasingly.
Jaz smiled. 'Well...I may just change my mind about that.'
'As long as you don't change your mind about loving me!' he said intently.
'Never,' she assured him confidently.
Beau was everything she wanted, or would ever want, and as she looked into his eyes, at the love glowing there for her, she knew that he felt the same way about her.
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