Chapter Ten

I could still, when I chose, remember so much about that summer with Troy: the glamour of the commonplace when you’re in love … the intensity of sharing another person’s life … the waking each morning to a languorous heat. A different heat from the glare outside – the heat of a man’s body, half-wrapping mine. The aftermath of making love in the cool of the night.

There’d been a sensuous rhythm to our days together. Each morning I knew that another day was starting, just like the last: a day of being taken to new places – and not all of them points on a map of California. For, in the hands of an expert, I was pursuing a separate journey – one of discovery, desperation, delight. Except that, when you find yourself scaling the heights, you’re bound to crash and burn.

And now here I am again, waking to that glorious heat; his limbs heavy on mine, in remembrance of pleasures past, in anticipation of pleasures to come …

Still sleepy, I smiled and stretched, wriggled my body further under his and felt him respond, instantly. Oh yes, my love, breakfast will just have to wait …

Hang on, you’re not Troy—

‘How in hell’s name—?’ I must have uttered it out loud, because he stirred and shifted; but his weight still pinned me to the bed.

‘Get off me,’ I said, shrill with panic, struggling to free myself.

He opened one eye, and his mouth spread into a smile. ‘If you ask nicely—’

‘Where are all the cushions?’ My voice sank to a hoarse whisper. ‘What have you done with them?’ It’s not really about the bloody cushions, though, is it? It’s what they stand for …

At last he moved, propping himself up on one elbow and allowing me to breathe more easily; but his lower body stayed where it was. I risked a glance at his bare chest, then lifted my gaze hurriedly to his face.

His brows were drawn together in a frown. ‘What have I done with them? It was you that started it.’

A sudden chill ran through me. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You were talking in your sleep, getting upset …’

‘What was I saying?’

An odd look. ‘Nothing I could make out. Why?’

I swallowed. ‘And then?’

‘You flung the cushions out of the way, and I put my arm round you, and you calmed down.’

‘Is that all?’ I couldn’t bring myself to say any more.

He stared at me in narrow-eyed silence, until I couldn’t bear it. I looked abruptly away, in the direction of the window, at the sunlight streaming through the thin red curtains. The wood pigeon was back, but this morning its chuntering felt like mockery.

When he spoke, his voice was laced with sarcasm. ‘Didn’t I say you’d be safe with me – or is your opinion of men so low that you don’t believe a word they tell you? Bit of a problem for a coach – maybe you should think of a career change!’

I resisted turning my head; I didn’t want to give away the sadness in my eyes, or see the anger in his.

‘Alicia.’ His voice was soft now, the touch of his fingers on my cheek strangely tentative, yet it told him all he needed to know. ‘Why are you crying?’

When I didn’t answer, he levered his body up and across so that he was kneeling either side of me. He was wearing boxers, thank God, whereas Troy had always slept naked. But then, all that summer, so had I …

Jack’s hand cupped my face and pulled it round with gentle force, so that at last I met his searching gaze.

‘Why did you kiss me last night?’ he said.

‘I told you—’

‘Tell me the truth.’

Should I? Would it help me to heal – or would it ruin everything? I stared into his waiting blue-green eyes and took the plunge into deep, deep water. ‘You accused me of being joyless. Well, believe it or not, this weekend I’ve remembered what joy feels like. And kissing you was a part of that, as well as a – a way of thanking you.’

‘Is crying a part of that, too?’ he said, and very carefully brushed my hair away from my damp cheek; an oddly tender gesture that did nothing for my self-control. As I squeezed my eyes shut, he went on, ‘He must have been very special, the man who makes you cry.’

‘I thought he was at the time, but’ – an involuntary dash of bitterness – ‘I was wrong.’

‘Oh, Alicia.’ His sigh was impossible to decipher.

I kept my eyes firmly closed – and also my mouth, which was on the brink of all sorts of betrayal.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’

The bed gave up his weight with a groan, and I heard him rummaging for his clothes. When the door slammed, I peeped through my lashes – just in case. But it wasn’t a trick; I was all alone, with no one to distract me from my thoughts.

I resolved to make sure there were no more little interludes in the motorhome. Once I was on the train back home, I reasoned, the danger would be over. In the meantime, safety in numbers. I would throw on the trousers and T-shirt I’d worn yesterday and head to the kitchen, in the hope of finding Midge or Bill.

Midge was at the table, sorting through a stack of Sunday papers. ‘Morning! Did you sleep well?’

‘Very,’ I lied.

‘Such a pity you can’t stay for lunch – Jack says you have a train to catch. But Bill’s persuaded him to do a spot of fishing first, so you can have a lazy morning. What time’s your train from Manchester?’

I bit back an exclamation; Jack seemed intent on depriving me of a last opportunity to question Bill. ‘I’ll check my ticket’ – another lie, since I could get any train I wanted – ‘but it’s a real shame we can’t stay longer. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed meeting you.’ That at least was true.

‘Same here. Still, there’ll be other times. Now, help me with these newspapers. Bill takes the finance and business sections when he goes fishing – what do you suggest for Jack?’

‘Problem page and obituaries,’ I said, waspishly.

A peal of laughter. ‘Watch out, Jack – Alicia’s got it in for you this morning.’

I whirled round to find him right behind me. Our eyes met; I detected hostility in his, and no doubt he could see the same in mine. But all he said was, ‘It’s forecast to be another hot day.’

An involuntary glance downwards; he had on the same shorts as yesterday, with a different T-shirt. Less than an hour ago, those legs had been in a far more intimate position … I decided to wear shorts too, at least until we were ready to leave; it was time to play him at his own provocative little game.

I turned back to Midge with a bright smile. ‘I’ll go and get my shower.’

‘Mind, you won’t see Bill and Jack until later – they’ll be off soon, and taking their breakfast with them.’

‘Oh.’ A pause, while I debated my next step. In a burst of resolve, I spun on my heel, linked my hands around Jack’s neck and said huskily, ‘Let’s make up before you go. You know I can’t be angry with you for long.’

I’d hardly finished my sentence when he scooped me up in his arms. ‘That’s the best offer I’ve had in a while.’ His face was too close, the glint in his eyes too obvious a sign that he was enjoying my look of horror. ‘How long have we got, Midge? Don’t want to keep Bill waiting, but hey – a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.’ And, despite my squeals of protest, he carried me out of the kitchen. However much I struggled, he wouldn’t put me down. Somehow, he manoeuvred his way up the steps to the motorhome and, finally, deposited me none too gently on the rumpled bed.

‘Jack, no!’ My voice was sharp with fear; but was it fear of him, or fear of myself?

‘Don’t worry, this is as far as the role play goes.’ A different glint in his eyes now, impossible to fathom. ‘And sorry about the fishing, but I didn’t feel I could turn Bill down. Anyway, you’ll probably get as much out of Midge – if not more.’ And, once again, he walked away – leaving me to reflect on what might have been.

Even after my shower, I felt hot and angry. As a farewell gesture to any work agenda, I put on the olive-green shorts I’d brought – skimpy, but cool – and a tight-fitting sleeveless shirt with a sunflower design. My arms and legs looked pale and uninteresting; maybe I’d take some days off next month and sunbathe at my parents’ villa. The thought took me by surprise; it was as if I was contemplating a return to normality – or, at least, what I imagined was normality for an unattached twenty-nine-year-old woman.

I found Midge on her own in the kitchen, loading a tray for two: tea, fruit, croissants, jam. She glanced up. ‘I thought we’d eat in the garden, there’s some nice shade near my studio.’

Intrigued, I followed her along a different path to a sizeable summer house with a table and chairs outside. Only two chairs; evidently a more private retreat than the bigger entertaining space we’d used previously. I peered surreptitiously through the windows of the summer house, but couldn’t make much out. In any case, it felt wrong to look without permission.

We sat down and Midge poured the tea. Around us basked the garden, breathing out its scents; the warm breeze ruffling the air seemed to amplify the hum of the bees. The tortoiseshell cat strolled towards us and rubbed affably against my legs.

‘Hello, where’ve you been?’ I said, stroking its gleaming amber-and-black fur. ‘Haven’t seen you since we arrived.’ Which seems a lifetime ago.

Midge handed me the plate of croissants. ‘You’re very honoured to see her at all. She’s a law unto herself – aren’t you, Toffee?’

We both lapsed into a companionable silence, broken only by ‘More tea?’ or ‘Could you pass the fruit, please?’

I feel at peace, for the first time this weekend. Is it because of what’s here – the bees, the greenery, the cat? Or is it because of what’s not here – the man who destroyed my equilibrium almost as soon as I met him?

Eventually, Midge spoke. ‘Would you like to have a look round my studio?’

‘Yes, please.’ I finished the last flakes of my croissant. ‘I’ve seen some of your watercolours already, I’d love to see more.’

She grinned. ‘Jack’s my best customer, bless him. And he’s no mean hand at painting himself, says he finds it therapeutic. Come along.’

It was cooler and quieter inside the summer house. On the walls, in between wide windows, hung several canvases. The rest were stacked around the room – except for one, on an easel in the middle. At first, it was the contents of the walls that absorbed me. Soft hues of green, brown and blue alternating with grey and black and white: the same scenes depicted at different seasons. Accomplished, restful – like the paintings I’d noticed at Leo Components.

I turned to the easel, and stopped dead. As a portrait amongst all the landscapes, it would have stood out anyway. But this wasn’t just any portrait. The face, with its wide, wicked smile, took me aback. While the features were now familiar, the sensations they aroused were definitely not. Not since California …

I lingered, looking my fill, only half aware of Midge beside me.

‘Would you like to have it?’ She added, with a rueful laugh, ‘When it’s finished, of course. I’m still trying to get that expression in his eyes right.’

‘Looks perfect to me,’ I said, absently.

‘Not that you need a portrait when you have the real thing.’

‘No … and the map is not the territory.’

‘True.’ A pause. ‘But, as the years pass, I’ve found it’s important to remember what drew you to a person in the first place. Och, not what they looked like – a photo can do that. Something more elusive. That’s what I’m trying to catch here.’

I swallowed. ‘I think you’ve succeeded.’

‘Thank you. Jack’s a difficult man to capture, in more ways than one.’

I moved away from the portrait to the safety of the landscapes, forced some nonchalance into my tone and said, ‘Karina doesn’t seem to have a problem getting him to come running.’

‘Huh, Karina. Yes, for years she had him just where she wanted him. One of those relationships where you can’t understand why they’re together in the first place. Different values, different interests … Of course, they had one terrible thing in common – what happened to Jack’s father also happened to Karina’s.’

I jerked round. ‘Oh? I hadn’t realised.’

She sighed. ‘That’s how it all started – isn’t a problem shared meant to be a problem halved? But Karina’s problems go much further than that, whereas Jack … Just take it from me, he’s a keeper – is that the right word these days? Anyway, with Karina he knew for a long time it wasn’t working, but he couldn’t bring himself to break it off – or at least not permanently – because they’d both been through so much already.’

‘And then?’ I prompted.

‘Then he came to his senses and finished it for good. At first she didn’t seem to mind, because she had Henrik fawning over her. But then she started hassling Jack. It got so bad that he phoned Bill to ask him what he should do – and guess what my dear husband of twenty-six years suggested?’ A throaty chuckle. ‘“Take out a different girl every night, and make sure Karina – and her crowd – can read all about it. She’ll soon cool off – she won’t like the competition and her friends will tell her you’re not worth it.” So that’s why Jack became Jack the Lad.’ A pause; then in an anxious voice, ‘You do know it was all a pretence, don’t you?’

Her words undermined my professionalism in one fell swoop. My local media research had revealed the map, not the territory – and I’d been all too ready to think the worst. I bit my lip and attempted to cover my confusion. ‘Why didn’t Jack ever bring Karina here?’

An amused glance. ‘You’ve seen her – can you imagine her tramping up hills? No, by the time we bought this place, Jack was in the process of splitting up with her and bringing her here would have sent entirely the wrong message.’ She pulled a face. ‘But we’ve had the pleasure of her company at other times. Now that he’s got you, of course, everything’s changed.’

‘It’s just that … he says she wants him back, and she’s threatening to turn up here this weekend to talk things through.’

‘Might be a good idea if she did, Alicia. One look at you and Jack would tell her she’s got no hope.’ A beady look straight at me. ‘There is one thing that bothers me, though.’

I met her gaze carefully. ‘Yes?’

‘Why would he continue with his dating charade after he met you? Because I know he’s been out with other women in the last couple of months, that’s why he was never free at weekends to come and see us. I tackled him about it yesterday, on the way up Skiddaw, but I didn’t get a very satisfactory answer.’

That wasn’t much to go on; and she was obviously expecting me to elaborate. ‘It’s … complicated,’ I said, lamely, and turned away. ‘I’ve got my own baggage to deal with, and the thought of another relationship scares me stiff. I haven’t made it easy for Jack – in fact, I haven’t made it easy for myself.’ I let out a long, slow breath; it was a confession I hadn’t intended, but the wave of release felt surprisingly welcome.

There was just one piece of reassurance still required. I went on, ‘Do you think he’s really over Karina? I mean, I’ve seen the effect she has on him.’

‘Believe me, Alicia, you’ve seen nothing more than his guilt – combined with her growing drink problem.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Good grief, is that the time? The men will be back soon, and I want to make you a packed lunch for the journey. Would you like to give me a hand?’

I nodded, grateful for the offer of a distraction from my thoughts. Back in the kitchen, however, the practical tasks and light conversation failed to deliver. Oh, I’d found out all I needed to know about Karina – but what had I achieved? It had merely served to reveal my shortcomings, both professional and personal.

Because I’d jumped to conclusions without establishing the facts, in order to turn Jack Smith into a clone of Troy Randall Travers. Why? Two reasons. First, so that I could punish Jack for everything I’d allowed to fester for the last three years.

And second – to defy the same laws of attraction, and stop myself from being hurt all over again.