Читать книгу Second Chance At Sea - Кэтти Уильямс, Jessica Gilmore, Cathy Williams - Страница 15

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘OOOF!’ WHEN HAD breathing got so hard? Bending over to catch her breath, the tightness of a stitch pulling painfully at her side, Lawrie conceded that a ten-mile run might have been a mite ambitious.

Of course, she reassured herself, running outside was harder, what with all those hills and the wind against her, to say nothing of no nice speedometer to regulate her stride. Straightening up, one hand at her waist, Lawrie squinted out at the late-afternoon sun. On the other hand, she conceded, although her late, lamented treadmill came with TV screens and MP3 plug-ins it was missing the spectacular views of deep blue sea and rolling green and yellow gorse of her current circuit. It was definitely an improvement on the view of sweaty, Lycra-clad gym-goers that her old location had provided her with.

Taking a much needed long, cool gulp of water, Lawrie continued at a trot, looping off the road and onto the clifftop path that led towards the village. If she continued along to the harbour she could reward herself with a refuelling stop at the Boat House before walking back up the hill home. No way was she going to try and run up that hill—not unless her fitness levels dramatically improved in the next half an hour.

Just keep going, she thought fiercely. Concentrate on that latte...visualise it. It was certainly one incentive.

And if Jonas just happened to be working at the Boat House today then that, just possibly, could be another incentive. The pain in her side was forgotten as the night before flashed through her mind, her lips curving in a smile as she remembered. Another night of heat, of long, slow caresses, hot, hard kisses, hands, tongues, lips. Bodies entwining.

Lawrie’s pulse started to speed up as her heartbeat began racing in a way that had nothing to do with the exercise.

She upped the trot to a run, her legs pumping, her arms moving as she increased her pace. She wasn’t going to think about it. She wasn’t going to dwell on the delicious moment when day turned into evening. She wasn’t going to remember the tingle of anticipation that ran through her as she sat on the terrace in the evening sun, an untouched book and an iced drink before her, pretending not to listen for the purr of his car. Pretending not to hope.

She was most certainly not going to recall the thrill that filled her entire body, the sweet jolt that shot through her from head to toe, when he finally appeared.

Time was moving so fast. She had less than a month left in Trengarth. So she wasn’t going to question what was going on here. She was going to enjoy the moment. And what moments they were. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Hugo had made love twice in a week, let alone in a night, whereas she and Jonas... Well...

Sure, she hadn’t planned for this, and for once she was being the exact opposite of measured and sensible. But wasn’t that the point? She had to make the most of this enforced time out. It would all get back to normal soon enough.

Starting with today. Her first interview.

It was all happening so fast. Just a few days since the initial approach, the phone call, and now a face to face interview. In New York.

It was perfect. This would show Hugo and the partners. She could just imagine the gossip. Lawrie Bennett? Out in New York, I believe. A most prestigious firm. Anticipation shot through her. It was as if a load had been lifted. To be approached for such a role meant that her reputation was intact. It should be, but sudden departures were responsible for more scurrilous gossip in the legal world than any tabloid could imagine.

Lawrie slowed her pace as the cliff path began to wind down towards the harbour and the pretty stone cottages clustered beneath her. Which was Jonas’s? He hadn’t asked her over and she was certainly not going to invite herself, to admit she was curious.

Even if she was.

Was it the one overlooking the harbour, with the pretty roof garden situated in exactly the right place for the afternoon sun? The three-storeyed captain’s house, imposing its grandeur on the smaller houses around? The long, low whitewashed cottage, its yard covered in tumbling roses?

What did it matter anyway?

Despite herself she slowed as she jogged along the harbour-front, looking into the windows, hoping for some clue. She didn’t care, she told herself, but she still found herself craning her neck, peeking in, searching for a sign of him.

Beep!

A car horn made her jump. The follow-up wolf whistle which pierced the air brought her to a skidding halt.

Lawrie turned around, hands on hips, ready for battle, only to find her mouth drying out at the sight of Jonas Jones in that ridiculous low-slung sports car, top down. She coloured, looking around to make sure nobody had heard, before crossing the narrow road and leaning over the car. ‘Shush. People will hear you,’ she hissed.

He raised an eyebrow mockingly and Lawrie clenched her hands, controlling an irresistible urge to slap him. Or kiss him. Either would be inappropriate.

‘Let them,’ he replied nonchalantly, that annoying eyebrow still quirked.

She wanted to reach out and smooth it down, caress the stubble on the strong jaw, run her fingers across the sensual lips. She clenched her hands harder. She wouldn’t give him or the curious onlookers openly watching them the satisfaction.

Jonas leant closer, his breath warm and sweet on her cheek. ‘They all think they know anyway.’

‘Let them think. There’s no need to confirm it.’ She was painfully aware of people watching them—many openly. How many times had she seen neighbours, parents at the school gates, people in the local shop watch her mother in the same way as her latest relationship began to disintegrate? ‘I hate gossip, and I really hate being the focus of it.’

‘Just a boss having a chat with his festival-organiser—nothing to see...move it along,’ he said, an unrepentant grin curving the kissable mouth.

She bit her lip. She was not going to kiss him in public, no matter how tempted she was. But how she wanted to.

Her eyes held his, hypnotised by the heat she saw in the blue depths. The street, the curious onlookers faded away for one long moment. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he leant back, the grin replaced with a purposeful businesslike expression.

‘I was on my way up to collect you—thought you might appreciate a lift to the airport. Yet here you are.’ He ran his eyes appreciatively over her and she fought the urge to tug her running top down over her shorts. ‘You’re not really dressed for flying, though. And I don’t mean to be offensive, but...’

Lawrie snorted. ‘That will be a first,’ she muttered.

‘But I’m not sure eighties aerobics is really the right look for business class or an interview. You might want to get changed,’ he continued, ignoring her interruption. ‘I could give you a lift up—or, if you really want to finish your run, I can pick you up in ten minutes.’

‘If you’re in such a hurry I’d better take the lift,’ Lawrie said, opening the door and sliding in, her pride refusing to admit to him that she’d had no intention of running up the hill. ‘I was planning to drive myself, though. I do appreciate the offer, but can you spare the time?’

She sounded cool enough—shame about her hair, pulled high into a sweaty bun, the Lycra shorts, the sheen of sweat on her arms and chest.

‘Actually, it’s on my way—that’s why I’m offering. I’m heading over to Dorset to look at some potential sites. I’ll be passing Plymouth so I might as well drop you off.’

‘Oh.’ He wasn’t making the journey especially. Of course he wouldn’t—why would he? Her sudden sharp jolt of disappointment was ridiculous. ‘Well, it’s very kind of you.’

There was a long silence. She sneaked a look over to see him pushing his hair out of his eyes, his face expressionless.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘As I said, I was passing the airport anyway.’

Neither of them spoke for the two minutes it took to drive back to the cottage, and as soon as the car pulled up in the driveway Lawrie was ready to leap out. The atmosphere was suddenly tense, expectant.

‘I’ll be five minutes,’ she called as she hurried over the lawn and round to the back door. ‘Make yourself at home.’

She fumbled with the key, breathing a sigh of relief as she finally pushed the door open, almost collapsing into the sanctuary of the kitchen, then heading straight to the bathroom to peel off her sweaty clothes and get into the welcome coolness of the shower.

The same peculiar feeling of disappointment gripped Lawrie as she lathered shampoo into her hair and over her body. What did it matter if he was dropping her off in passing or making the journey especially? Either way she ended up where she needed to be. Her trip to New York would be short—just a few days—but it meant time away from Cornwall, from the festival, from Jonas. Which was good, because their lives were already re-entangling, boundaries were being crossed. This interview was a much needed reminder that there was an end date looming and neither of them could or should forget that.

* * *

It had been a sweet kind of torture, watching her Lycra-clad bottom disappear around the corner. Jonas had to hold onto every ounce of his self-control to stay in the car and not follow her right into the shower, where he would be more than happy to help her take off those very tight and very distracting shorts.

He grabbed his coffee and took a long gulp.

This was temporary. They had always had an undeniable chemistry, even when nothing else between them had worked. And now they were both single, available, it was silly to deny themselves just because of a little bit of history.

Besides, they both knew what this was. No messy emotions, no need to prove anything. No need for words. It was the perfect summer fling.

It was all under control.

She’d said five minutes so he settled in for a half-hour wait, roof down, coffee in hand, paper folded to the business pages. But in less than fifteen minutes she reappeared, wheeling a small suitcase, laptop bag and handbag slung over her shoulder. She looked clean, fresh, so smooth he wanted nothing more than to drag her back inside and rumple her up a little—or a lot.

His hands clenched on the steering wheel as his pulse began to hammer, his blood heating up.

Damn that chemistry.

He dragged his eyes down from freshly washed, still-wet hair, combed back, to creamy skin—lots of it. Bare arms and shoulders, with just a hint of cleavage exposed by the halter-necked sundress, skirting her waist to fall mid-thigh.

He stifled a groan. He had a couple of hours’ driving ahead of him and it was going to be hard to concentrate with so much skin nestled next to him.

‘Is that suitable for flying? You’ll need a cardigan,’ he bit out, wrenching his gaze from the satisfied smile she gave him as she pulled a wispy wrap from the bag hung over her shoulder. ‘Hurry up and get in. There’s bound to be a lot of traffic.’

* * *

The powerful sports car purred along the narrow, winding lanes connecting Trengarth to the rest of the county. Lawrie leant back in the low leather seat, feeling the breeze ruffle her hair and watching the hedges and fields flash by. The blue glint of the sea was still visible in the distance, but soon the road would take them through the outskirts of Bodmin Moor, its rolling heathland and dramatic granite tors a startling contrast to her coastal home.

Home? She felt that pang again. Home was a dangerous concept.

‘Lawrie?’

She jumped as Jonas repeated her name.

‘Sorry, I was just daydreaming.’

‘I know. I recognised that faraway look in your eyes,’ he said wryly. ‘Where were you? Round some boardroom table in New York?’

‘Actually, I was thinking how beautiful it is round here.’ That felt uncomfortably like a confession. ‘No moors in New York.’

‘No.’

Now it was his turn to stay silent, a brooding look on his face, as he navigated through open countryside and small villages until they met the main road. Suddenly the silence didn’t feel quite so companionable, and after one uncomfortable minute that seemed to stretch out for at least five Lawrie began to search desperately for a topic of conversation.

It felt like a step backwards. Things had been so easy between them for the last few days—since the road trip, since that last night in the van. They had fallen into a pattern of colleagues by day, lovers by night—professional and focused at work, equally focused in the long, hot evenings.

Now she suddenly had no idea what to say.

‘Will you be visiting your parents when you’re in Dorset?’

Whatever had made her say that? Of all the topics in the world.

His face darkened. ‘I doubt I’ll have time.’

‘You’ll pass by their village, though, won’t you? You should just pop in for a cup of tea.’

He didn’t say anything, but she could see the tanned hands whiten as he gripped the steering wheel. She tried again, despite the inner voice telling her to back off, that it was none of her business. ‘They must know the areas you’re looking into. It might be interesting to hear their thoughts. Seems silly not to canvas local opinion, even if you don’t take them into account.’

He was silent again. Lawrie sneaked a quick glance over, expecting to see anger, irritation in his expression. But he wasn’t showing any emotion at all. She hated it—the way he could close himself off at will.

‘I just think it’s worth one more chance,’ she said hesitantly. Why did she feel compelled to keep going with this? Because maybe this was one relationship she could fix for him? ‘If they understood why you work the way you do—understood that you love Coombe End, that your changes are an evolution of their work, not a betrayal—maybe things would be better.’

He finally answered, his face forbidding. ‘What makes you think I want things to be better?’

Lawrie opened her mouth, then shut it again. How could she tell him that where his parents were concerned she understood him better than he understood himself? That she knew how much he was shaped by his parents’ indifference, how much he craved their respect?

‘You’re going to be in the area,’ she said at last. ‘Is popping in to see your parents such a big deal?’

He didn’t answer and they continued the drive in silence. Lawrie stared unseeingly out at the trees and valleys as they flashed past, relieved when Jonas finally turned into the airport car park and pulled up at the dropping-off point.

‘That’s great—thank you.’

He didn’t answer. Instead he got out of the car and walked round to the boot, retrieved her bag and laptop case as she smoothed her dress over her thighs and pushed herself out of the low seat.

It was hard to be dignified, getting out of a sports car.

‘What time is your connection?’

She stared at him, wrenching her mind away from her thoughts to her surroundings. Back to her plans, her flight, her interview, her future. ‘Oh, two hours after I get to Heathrow—which is plenty of time for Security, I hope.’

‘Should be. Let me know if there are any changes with your flight back, otherwise I’ll see you here.’

He was going to pick her up? Her heart lurched stupidly. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know.’

‘Okay, then.’ She picked up her bags and smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Jonas.’

‘Good luck. They’d be mad not to offer you the job.’

‘That’s the hope.’ She stepped forward and gave him a brief, light kiss, inhaling the fresh, seaside aroma of him as she did so, feeling an inexplicable tightening in her chest. ‘Bye.’

He stood statue-still, not reacting to the kiss. ‘Bye.’

She paused for a split second but she had no idea what she was waiting for—why she had a sudden leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the bags and, with a last smile in Jonas’s direction, turned and walked away towards the sliding glass doors.

‘Lawrie?’

She stopped, turned, unexpected and unwanted hope flaring up inside her.

‘I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll go and visit my parents if you email your mother.’

The familiar panic welled up. ‘I don’t have her email address.’

‘I can forward it to you.’

‘Oh.’ She searched for another excuse.

‘Scared?’ His voice was low, understanding, comforting.

‘A little.’ Not that she wanted to admit to fear—not to him. ‘I don’t know, Jonas. I feel safer with her not in my life.’

‘I know.’ His mouth twisted. ‘It’s just one step. It doesn’t have to be more.’

Just one email. It sounded like such a small gesture and yet it felt so huge.

‘One step,’ she echoed. ‘Okay.’

‘Good. I’ll see you here in four days.’

And he was gone.

* * *

Five hours later Lawrie was ensconced in a comfortable reclining seat, her laptop already plugged in on the table in front of her, her privacy screen blocking out the rest of the world.

Wriggling down into her seat, Lawrie squared her shoulders against the plump supporting cushions. She loved business class! The firm’s willingness to pay for it boded well.

Ostensibly her ultra-comfortable journey should ensure she arrived in New York both well rested and prepared, but although her research on the firm was open on the laptop she had barely glanced at it.

Instead she had spent an hour composing an email to her mother. Lawrie reread the few short lines again and sighed. For goodness’ sake, how hard could it be? She was aiming for polite, possibly even slightly conciliatory, but she had to admit the tone was off. The words sounded snooty, accusatory, hurt.

Exasperated, she deleted the lot and typed a few stiff sentences as if she were addressing a stranger.

She supposed she was. Would she even recognise her mother if she sat next to her? Her early teens were so long ago. Had it hurt her mother, leaving her only daughter in Trengarth? Never seeing her again?

Did she ever wonder if she had done the right thing? Regret her past?

She wondered how Jonas was doing with his parents—if his efforts were any more successful than her own.

She shook herself irritably. For goodness’ sake! She was supposed to be preparing for her interview. This was it—her big chance.

So why did she feel so empty?

Lawrie slid a little further into the plush seat and looked out of the small window at the wispy white clouds drifting lazily past. What was wrong with her? Surely she hadn’t let a blue eyed surfer derail her the way he had done twelve years ago?

Hot shame flushed through her body. She couldn’t—wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of her past. Because let’s face it, she thought, ambitious little Lawrie Bennett wanted many things. She had planned her whole life through, and getting married the year she left school, before she’d received her A-level results, going to university as an eighteen-year-old bride had not been part of that plan.

Yet she had still said yes.

Lawrie pulled a piece of hair down and twizzled it around her finger. That moment—the utter joy that had suffused her whole being the second he’d asked her. Had she felt like that since? Not when she’d graduated with a first, not when she’d got hired at a top City firm.

And certainly not when Hugo had proposed.

She shook herself irritably, tucking the strand of hair back into her ponytail. Joy? ‘For goodness’ sake, grow up,’ she muttered aloud. She was in business class, flying to be interviewed for the job of her dreams, and—what? It wasn’t enough?

It was everything.

She had to remember that. Everything.

* * *

Jonas pulled over and typed the address into his phone, but he knew long before the icon loaded that he was in the right place. Looking around the tree-lined lane, he saw a row of identikit 1930s detached houses, all painted a uniform white, every garden perfectly manicured, every drive guarded by large iron gates, every car a sleek saloon. There wasn’t a plastic slide or football goal to be seen.

The quiet, still road was crying out for bikes to be pedalled along it, the wide pavements for chalk and hopscotch. But there was no one to be seen.

Jonas sighed. What was he doing here? How many times could a guy set himself up for disappointment? He wouldn’t be welcome. Even if his parents liked surprises his unheralded appearance wasn’t going to bring them any joy.

But he had made a deal. And he might not know much about Lawrie Bennett any more, but he did know that there was something lost at the heart of her.

That desperate need to fit in, to be in control. To follow the plan...

He’d tried to fill that void once. Maybe someone in New York could, if she could just let go of her fears. And if he could do that much for his ex-wife—well, maybe their marriage wouldn’t have been such a disaster after all.

A sharp pain twisted inside him at the thought of her with someone else but he ignored it. One of them deserved to be happy; one of them should be. And himself? Well... He smiled wryly. There were moments. Moments when a deal went well, when a chord was played right, when he looked around at a café full of content customers, when a wave was perfect.

Those moments were gold. He didn’t ask for more. He wasn’t sure he was capable of more.

Sighing, Jonas looked down at the icon on his phone, busily flashing away, signalling a road just to the left. He was pretty sure the next few moments were going to be anything but gold. But he’d promised.

And he always kept his word.

* * *

Why did his parents favour cups that were so damn small? And chairs that were so damn uncomfortable? And wallpaper that was so very, very busy? And, really, would it hurt them to smile?

The silence stretched on, neither side willing to break it. Side? That, thought Jonas, was a very apt word. Somehow—so long ago he had no idea when or why—they had become entrenched on opposite sides of a chasm so huge Jonas didn’t think there was any way across it at all.

‘So...’ he said slowly. Speaking first felt like giving in, but after all he had intruded on them. ‘I was just passing...’

‘Where from?’

Did he just imagine that his mother sounded suspicious? Although, to be fair, he hadn’t been ‘just passing’ in four years—not since the day he had told them that he had bought their beloved hotel.

‘I was dropping Lawrie off at the airport.’

‘Lawrie? You’re back together?’

Now that emotion he could identify. It was hope. Even his father had looked up from his teacup, sudden interest in his face. Lawrie was the only thing he’d ever done that they’d approved of—and they hadn’t been at all surprised when she’d left him.

‘She’s working for me this summer. Just a temporary thing before she moves to New York. And, no, we’re not back together.’ It wasn’t a lie. Whatever was going on, they weren’t back together.

‘Oh.’

The disappointment in his mother’s voice was as clear as it was expected. Jonas looked around, desperate for something to catch his eye—another conversation-starter. A spectacularly hideous vase, some anaemic watercolours... But something was lacking—had always been lacking. And it wasn’t a simple matter of wildly differing tastes.

‘Why don’t you have any photos?’ he asked abruptly.

The room was completely devoid of anything personal. Other people’s parents displayed their family pictures as proudly as trophies: bald, red-faced babies, gap-toothed schoolchildren, self-conscious teens in unflattering uniforms.

The silence that filled the room was suddenly different, charged with an emotion that Jonas couldn’t identify.

His mother flushed, opened her mouth and shut it again.

‘Dad?’

Jonas stared at his father, who was desperately trying to avoid his eye, looking into the depths of the ridiculously tiny teacup as if it held the answer to the secret of life itself.

‘Dad,’ he repeated.

The anger he had repressed for so long—the anger he’d told himself he didn’t feel, the anger that was now boiling inside him—was threatening to erupt. He swallowed it back, tried to sound calm, not to let them know that he felt anything.

‘I know I’m not the son you wanted, but—really? Not even one photo?’

‘Leave it, Jonas,’ his father said loudly, putting his cup down so decidedly it was a miracle the thin china didn’t break in two.

‘Why?’ he persisted.

He would not leave it. For so many years he had endured their disapproval and their silence, their refusal to engage with him. He’d listened to their instructions, to their plans for his life—and then he’d gone ahead and done what he wanted anyway. But suddenly he couldn’t leave it—didn’t want to walk away.

He wanted answers.

‘I appreciate that I don’t live my life the way you want me to, that I didn’t make the most of the opportunities you gave me, and I admit that failing my exams at sixteen wasn’t the smartest move.’

He tried a smile but got nothing back. His father was still trembling with some repressed emotion; his mother was pale, still as stone.

‘But,’ he carried on, determined that this time they would hear him, this time he would have his say, ‘I have an MBA, I have a successful business, I own a house, I’m a good boss, I give to charity.’ Despite himself, despite his best intentions, his voice cracked. ‘I just don’t know why I have never been good enough for you.’

There. It was said.

The silence rippled round the room.

His mother got to her feet, so pale her carefully applied make-up stood out stark against her skin. ‘I can’t do this, Jonas,’ she said.

He stared at her in astonishment. Were those tears in her eyes?

‘I’m sorry, I just can’t.’ She laid one, shaky hand on his shoulder for an infinitesimal second and then was gone, rushing out of the room.

What the hell...? He’d expected indifference, or anger, or some lecture about what a waste of space he had always been, but this tension strung as tight as a quivering bow was unexpected. It was terrifying. Whatever was going on here was bigger than the fall-out of some adolescent rebellion.

Jonas glared at his father, torn between utter confusion and sudden fear. ‘Dad? What is going on? I think I deserve the truth, don’t you?’