Bronwyn completed the last half of the term at home and Jaq had graduated by the time she returned to Stratford. Her heart still ached when she remembered the endless nights she’d spent pouring her heart out into the letters she’d sent every day until the term ended. She’d waited every afternoon for the post to come through the door until the last few weeks when she knew in her heart nothing would be there and it was just too painful to be right.
Just as the London skyline disappeared behind her, her mobile rang. She tossed it into the passenger’s seat and let it go to voicemail. Ian refused to come to the wedding, so why couldn’t he just let her get on with it? He’d started to get possessive the instant he’d slid the diamond on her finger; suddenly, she’d become one of his investments and he was aggressively protecting his interests. His behavior aside, the truth was, she was avoiding his calls because she knew he was going to ask about the wedding dress fitting she’d canceled at the last minute this morning. She didn’t know why she’d done it. But she knew she didn’t want to talk about it.
Their relationship wasn’t bad; in fact, it was quite good in all the ways one could see from the outside. He was in banking, corporate investments, and had a bright future with one of the top London firms. He was tall, with beautiful blue eyes and great hair. And perhaps more importantly, all of her friends were already married at this point, most having children, yet she was somehow an old maid at twenty-eight. Well, perhaps that was a bit harsh. Her mother could have meant something else entirely when she reminded her twice last week that her chances of actually keeping anyone interested were decreasing by the day.
Bronwyn shook the thought out of her head, rattled around in the glove compartment until she found a protein bar, and ripped it open with her teeth. Ian was perfect on paper. But she couldn’t shake the dread constantly in the center of her chest. The instant she opened her eyes in the morning it settled over her, smothering her, stealing her breath. It must just be the wedding. She was running out of time to figure it out and needed this weekend away to get her head around it; his constant presence was doing her head in. She’d never been head over heels in love with him, but this sense of unshakeable dread didn’t make sense, even to Bronwyn. Things had happened, but everyone had their faults. He had a temper, but they’d been together for three years, he was perfect husband material, and the sex wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t anything she thought about the next day or even remembered the day after that, but that’s just real life, isn’t it? Sex in a long-term relationship isn’t fireworks. It just isn’t.
Bronwyn rolled down her window to clear her head with the fresh, late September air; she’d always loved the drive into the northern countryside. The green rolling hills looked like velvet against the bright blue sky, and a smattering of trees in fiery shades of orange and scarlet unfurled like a ribbon between them. As she rolled up her window, she amused herself with the thought of how horrified her mother would be if she knew Bronwyn had just unhooked her bra, pulled it out through the sleeve of her shirt, and tossed it in the back seat.
****
Jaq slipped out of the trailer before dawn the next morning and walked toward the highway. She’d found a stack of old papers at the back of the TV console the night before and spent an hour sifting through them, looking for the ones with the printing on just one side. She’d stapled them together to make a notebook for class so that she didn’t have to borrow one from Miss Stowe. It actually looked pretty decent in the end, or at least decent enough, which was the same thing.
She walked along the side of the highway with a hoodie pulled up to cover her face and a coat over that. She took long, aggressive steps and kept her eyes in front of her. She’d learned a long time ago that if you looked like a girl, the wrong people would pull their cars over to the side of the road.
The morning was bright yellow by the time she got to the school, so she let herself in and walked down the wide, shiny hall to Miss Stowe’s classroom. The door scraped the floor as she opened it and she froze in the doorway, the door falling heavy against her back. There were three people in the room. One was Miss Stowe; the other two she’d never seen, but they dressed as if they were important.
“Jacqueline,” Miss Stowe said, smiling and waving her over to one of the groups of student desks where they were all sitting. “This is Dr. Benson and Dr. Carver. They both teach at universities here in Austin and I’ve asked them here to find out a little more about what you’re doing with your numbers.”
Jaq nodded and slipped into one of the student desks. The man got up and started writing on the board.
“I’m going to put a problem here on the chalkboard, Jacqueline, and then you can try and solve it.” He smiled at her over his shoulder and the strangeness of all this began to settle in her stomach. “If you can’t solve it, no big deal, just tackle the parts of it that you recognize.”
He put the chalk down and sat back down in one of the student desks. Jaq walked up to the board and studied it for a few seconds, then erased the problem and started to rewrite it in the far upper left corner of the chalkboard.
“If that one was too much to start with,” she heard the man’s voice behind her, “I can give you a different one.”
There wasn’t anything to say, so she didn’t. He’d just taken up too much room on the board. She started writing, and solving, and shattering the equation like cold glass before she pieced it back together into something different. She manipulated the numbers until they became what she wanted then spun them quickly into an unexpected direction, following them around the perimeter of the board. It took her less than five minutes to fill almost every inch of the available space. Suddenly she was aware again that there were other people in the room and finished quickly in the tiny blank borders she’d left around the edges of the chalkboard. Jaq turned around when she ran out of room, unsure whether to sit or stay standing. She put the chalk down and dug her fingernails into the palm of her other hand, waiting. The adults were all looking at each other but no one was talking. Finally, someone cleared their throat and spoke.
The next few months were a blur. Jaq was given a full scholarship to a prestigious secondary school in England, the Stratford Academy in London, which turned out to be Dr. Benson’s alma mater. The second she stepped off the plane into Gatwick airport, her life changed in an instant. She had most of the same classes as the other students, but started to work with math professors at the university level and beyond just days after she arrived. In three months, she’d completed university physics and maintained both her regular classes and an increasing number of Oxford University courses over the rest of the year. For the first few months, she woke up desperate every day to soak it all in before someone snatched it away. Then slowly, as months turned into years, she started to relax. Until life exploded again into a million shimmering pieces the day she met the girl with eyes like the forest.
Chapter Two
Rain pelted Bronwyn’s windshield from every direction and traffic slowed to a crawl. The wedding wasn’t actually until the next day, Saturday afternoon, but she’d hoped to be in her suite at the hotel by now, chin deep in a hot bath. She should have been in Northumberland by six, but she was miles away, and it was half seven already. The rain was still coming down in angry gray sheets, and finally Bronwyn just took one of the exits outside of town, hoping to find a way to circumvent the bumper-to-bumper traffic moving slower by the minute. Unfortunately, every dark road looked the same, and streetlights were few and far between. They all seemed to end at yet another pasture, and except for a few pubs and family homes, she couldn’t see anything that even gave her an idea where she was. She tossed her phone back into her bag and pulled over to the side of the road to decide what to do. Thoughts of a hot bath and a brandy were fading fast.
Not long ago, she’d passed a country pub and wondered now if she should just pack it in and see if they rented rooms as well. The rain started to pelt her window from a different direction and a sudden crack of t
hunder that sounded as if it was in the back seat jolted her into a decision. She’d drive back to the pub and see if they had any rooms going spare. At least she’d get to have a decent meal, and she was close enough to the city to drive in early tomorrow and get settled into her hotel for the rest of the weekend.
Bronwyn turned the key and shifted into first, then second. The car went nowhere, and Bronwyn leaned back in her seat and slowly rubbed her temples. She didn’t need to get out of the car to know that her wheels were spinning, but a brief look out the door confirmed her fate. Pulling over to the side of the road must have sunk the tires into the mud, then she’d spun herself deeper trying to get out of the ruts. She opened her door again and stepped out, instantly drenched by the cold rain. The crescent moon was just visible through the treetops, and a spotted owl swooped overhead and disappeared into the darkness. She’d freeze if she kept standing out here in the storm like an idiot, and the only other option was down the road, so she gathered her bags and locked up the car. She trailed the suitcase behind her as she walked down the center of the road, slicked black with rain. Thankfully, she wasn’t far from the pub she’d seen earlier, The Dog and Gun, and it soon came into view as she crested the hill. By the time she got there, she was soaking wet and chilled through, and the warmth of the pub as she opened the door felt like heaven. It was a proper country pub, with crackling fireplaces and laughter from every corner. There was a beautiful antique bar with a mirrored wall behind it, which seemed like the place to inquire about accommodation.
“Pardon me,” she said when she caught the barmaid’s eye, suddenly very aware she was dragging her soaked luggage behind her. “Would you have any vacancies for tonight?”
She went to check with the owner, so Bronwyn stepped over to the closest fireplace to shake some of the water out of her hair and warm her hands. She’d worn jeans and fussy flats for the drive, but underneath she had only a silk shirt, and she was still shivering under her wet wool coat. The scent of roasted meat warmed the air, and Bronwyn spotted a gentleman in the corner tucking into an undeniably beautiful dish of bangers and mash, which reminded her that aside from what she’d found in the glove box, she hadn’t eaten all day.
The barmaid walked over to the fire, carrying a small glass of brandy.
“I’m afraid we’re fully booked for this evening,” she said, handing her the glass, “But you’re welcome to stay here by the fire for as long as you’d like.”
Bronwyn tried to pay her for the brandy, but she kindly refused, telling her again to linger as long as she wanted. Bronwyn thanked her and sank down in the chair closest to the fire, running a hand through the damp length of her hair.
“You’re welcome to share my table if you’d like.”
The voice was low, husky as if the edges of it had been charred and splintered. Bronwyn’s stomach dropped as she turned around to see Jaq Bailey getting up from the small oak booth in the corner. She was taller than she remembered, slender, with broad shoulders and sharper angles to her face. Her dark hair was short now, cut close in the back with longer layers in front that she ran her hand through as she walked over to Bronwyn.
“Oh my God,” Bronwyn said, as if she was speaking to herself. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
Jaq laughed and pushed up the sleeves of her gray plaid shirt, the muscles in her forearms flexing as she picked up Bronwyn’s bags.
“Care to join me?”
Bronwyn just nodded, following her to the booth and sinking down opposite Jaq. She slid her coat off her shoulders and remembered too late that her bra was in the backseat of her car, and her silk blouse was still damp and very sheer.
“Why don’t you go up to my room and dry off,” Jaq said, pulling the key from the pocket of her jeans and sliding it across the table to Bronwyn. “There’s a wool sweater on the bed that might help you get warmed up.”
Bronwyn took it and got up from the table, still in shock. The barmaid pointed to the stairs, and she soon found Jaq’s room and let herself in. She took the sweater off the bed and locked herself in the bathroom. She’d finally seen Jaq again, and she looked like a drowning victim pulled from the Thames. Of course. Her one consolation was that she’d had the sense to take her purse, so at the very least she had a brush and some makeup with her.
Five minutes later, she’d blown her hair dry with the dryer she found attached to the wall, washed her face, and applied a touch of mascara and some charcoal liner around her eyes. Jaq’s green wool sweater was at least two sizes too big for her, but she rolled the sleeves up on her way back down the stairs. When she got back to the table, Jaq had ordered her a Guinness.
“I didn’t know what you’d like to eat, so I just ordered you what I’m having.”
“What are you having?”
“Steak pie with a side of mash.”
“Thank God,” Bronwyn said, leaning back against the wooden wall of the booth. “That sounds like heaven.”
Jaq took her in for a moment, then met Bronwyn’s eyes. Her voice was softer when she finally spoke.
“It’s good to see you. You look beautiful.”
Bronwyn looked down at Jaq’s hands. They’d always been bigger than Bronwyn’s, square, with long masculine fingers. Bronwyn had always loved them, even before she knew why. She looked up at Jaq and held her eyes for a second too long. The words fell out of her mouth and scattered across the table before she could catch them.
“And you look sexy as hell.”
Jaq laughed at that, her eyes sparkling as she glanced down. “Who’s the lucky person?” She said, nodding toward her engagement ring.
Bronwyn glanced down at it as if seeing it for the first time, then slid her hand under the table. “His name is Ian Norton. He’s an investment banker.”
Jaq waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. “When’s the wedding?”
Bronwyn found it hard not to melt at the sound of that slow Texas accent. Get yourself together, Bronwyn. You’re a grown woman.
“Wait…please tell me you didn’t come all the way back to England for Victoria’s wedding,” she said, hoping to change the subject.
“Hell no, are you kidding?” Jaq raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of her Guinness. “I didn’t want to go to the wedding at all. She cornered me in Selfridges and made me promise to come.”
“That sounds about right,” Bronwyn said. “She came to my house with the invitation in her hand and wouldn’t leave unless I promised to be there. I said yes out of self-preservation.”
The Guinness was beginning to warm her from the inside out, and by the time their pies came, the long years between them had started to ease away.
“So what do you do?” Bronwyn held a forkful of mash aloft.
“I haven’t been back in the country long, about eight months.” Jaq nodded and held up two fingers when the barmaid caught her eye. “I’m in London, still working with numbers.” She smiled, spearing steak with her fork. “I know; it’s a shock.”
“I heard you went on to Oxford,” Bronwyn said, as two more pints of Guinness appeared on the table between them. “And then stayed there for graduate school?”
“I did,” Jaq said. “I finished my Ph.D. there last December and tried to go back to the States, but it didn’t take, apparently.”
Thank God, Bronwyn thought, then stopped herself. What the hell was she thinking? She was getting married. Soon.
“What about you?” Jaq looked up just in time to catch the knife Bronwyn dropped then handed it back to her.
“I went to Wellesley in the States, then back to London for graduate school.”
“I’ve heard Wellesley is packed with lesbians,” Jaq said, trying not to smile. “How the hell did you come out of there with a man?”
Bronwyn knew as it was coming out of her mouth she was playing with fire. “You were a tough act to follow, I guess.”
Jaq smiled and looked at Bronwyn’s glass. “One more comment like that and I’m confiscating your pint.” She too
k a breath and pushed her hair back with her hand. “So what do you do these days? I see you’re still painting.”
“How did you know I’m painting?”
“You have a drop of green paint on your left thigh.”
Bronwyn looked down to check and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should be the one losing your pint.”
“Yeah,” Jaq said, holding her eyes, “Maybe I should.”
The check appeared, and Jaq laid her card on it before Bronwyn could protest.
“I shouldn’t let you do that, but thank you,” Bronwyn said. “This has been the most fun I’ve had in ages.”
“So I never asked you what happened tonight,” Jaq said, as she signed the check and took the receipt. “Did your car break down?”
“No, the rain got so bad I pulled over to figure out where I was and got stuck in the mud.”
“I can get that out for you tomorrow before the wedding.” Jaq paused as if choosing her words carefully. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”
“Oh, I asked,” Bronwyn said, looking towards the bar. “They’re fully booked.”
London Page 2