Читать книгу Weddings Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 15

‘THE shelves look wonderful, Mike.’ Willow dropped the glossy carriers containing her new clothes and crossed to have a closer look. ‘Are they finished?’

‘They just need painting. I’ll do it tomorrow when you’re in London.’

She looked around. ‘Where is everyone? I expected the place to be buzzing by now.’

‘Jake Hallam had a date.’ It was probably true. ‘And I’ve a feeling that Emily might just be putting people off so we can be alone. I feel guilty about that, she looked exhausted.’ Definitely true. ‘So I gave her a bar of your favourite chocolate and sent her home to put her feet up.’ He grinned at her expression. ‘Don’t worry, there’s another one in the fridge. You’ve been an age. Did you find an outfit to impress your new boss?’

‘That was the easy bit. Then I needed shoes, and a bag and underwear—’

‘Underwear? I thought you’d already got the job—’ He backed off hurriedly as she advanced on him. ‘Hey, I was just kidding!’ She kept coming. ‘Really! The first thing I do when I get a new suit is hunt down matching boxers…’

Her scowl disintegrated into a giggle that made him want to just grab her and hug her and never let her go. ‘Sarah was terrific; and afterwards Amy made us all a cup of camomile and honey tea. Very soothing. I really like her, Mike. She’s…’ Willow shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There’s just something about her.’

‘Hmm. Are you hungry?’

‘Not desperately. A glass of cold white wine would be good, though.’ She opened the fridge door, took out a bottle of perfectly chilled wine and handed it to him. Then she snapped off two squares of cold chocolate. She handed one to Mike and let the other dissolve on her tongue. ‘Heaven,’ she said.

‘That was supposed to be after dinner chocolate.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll have some more after dinner,’ she assured him, gathering her bags and heading for the stairs. ‘Why don’t you open the wine while I go and hang this over a door. We can sit outside and drink it and watch the stars come out.’

‘And light Amy’s candles?’

Candles glimmering in the twilight were the stuff of romance, Willow thought, when what they needed was light, a hundred and fifty watts of it, bright enough to illuminate every corner of their relationship. She paused, her hand on the door latch.

‘You don’t really believe there’s going to be a power cut, do you?’ she asked, evading the question. She yearned for the candles.

‘No chance. It’s summer, light half the night and warm enough to sleep outside. Power cuts come in the middle of the winter when there’s snow on the ground, it’s pitch dark for fifteen hours out of twenty-four and all you want is non-stop soup and hot-water bottles.’

‘Of course. She must have made a mistake.’

Mike heard the catch of disappointment in Willow’s voice as she turned away, and listened to what it was telling him.

And he thought about what Amy had actually said when she’d given them the candles—‘you’ll need them’—that was all. They’d instantly assumed she’d meant a power cut, when what she’d meant was they would need them.

A mistake? ‘Not necessarily, sweetheart,’ he murmured, as Willow headed upstairs. ‘Not necessarily.’

Willow shook out the suit she’d bought for her meeting with Toby Townsend. The skirt was short, the jacket long, the whole effect was city-slicker smart. He couldn’t fail to be impressed.

Which was great.

This was the opportunity of a lifetime. Not a moment for second thoughts. She’d already done the second thoughts bit. Her career was where she wanted it to be. It was the rest of her life that was in turmoil.

She took a shower and was towelling her hair dry at the window, hoping that the gold edged wisps of cloud might inspire her. But life wasn’t like that. If you let life just happen, depended on dreams, you might end up with nightmares.

Planning was what made dreams come true.

Well, she had a plan. It wasn’t perfect, but maybe Mike would be prepared to give it a chance. She combed through her hair and headed downstairs.

The kitchen was empty. The wine had gone. ‘Mike?’

Nothing.

She opened the fridge. The food had gone, too. Even the chocolate. A very grown up game of hide and seek? Grinning, she took out her phone and tapped in, ‘Where are you, Mike?’

She didn’t have to wait long for an answer. ‘You can have me if you can find me.’

Promises, promises. ‘No clues?’

‘Follow your nose.’

Nose? Scent? The candles. She looked around but Amy’s gorgeous little black and gold carrier had gone too. She went to the door and stepped out into the gathering twilight. A few yards away she saw a candle sitting on the path. She picked it up, held it to her nose. Rose otto. To soothe negative emotions.

Actually, there was nothing negative about her feelings for Mike. She was very positive that she wanted him. Right now. She looked around and spotted another candle, at the end of the yard, and a third on the path to the old, walled orchard.

She hadn’t been in there, but Emily had pointed it out to her from the window of the cottages. She’d gone on at great length about how they planned to convert it into a safe-play environment for the children, as if afraid that her volunteer, if left in silence for more than a minute, would dissolve into hysterics.

She opened the old door set into the wall and on the slightest breeze she caught the scent of newly crushed grass, and something more, that was like an old and pleasing memory.

‘Am I getting warm?’ she sent.

‘You tell me.’

Oh, yes. She was warm and getting warmer by the second. She picked up another candle. Palmarosa, this time. To alleviate emotional disharmony. She sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, letting the scent develop in her hand. There had been disharmony. A lot of it. Now everything seemed quite clear. The phone beeped again.

‘Well?’

She smiled. He was getting impatient. She liked that. She liked that a lot.

‘Getting hotter by the yard,’ she told him.

The trail of candles led through the orchard to a small pond. Mike was sitting with his back propped up against an old weeping willow, its trailing leaves stirring in the dark water. His eyes were closed, his cellphone held loosely in his fingers. He tossed it onto the soft grass.

‘What kept you?’ he said.

‘Getting there is half the fun, Mike. The anticipation, the waiting.’

His lids lifted to reveal a gleam of silver-grey beneath his lashes. ‘That sounds promising.’

She sank down beside him, letting the candles fall in a heap between them. ‘Do you have any matches?’

He produced a box from his pocket, opened it and struck one. ‘You see? I’m prepared for every eventuality.’

Red-hot. Burning.

He picked up one of the candles, lit it, then rolled over, stretched out on his stomach, leaning over the edge of the pool to set it adrift.

She lay beside him, holding another for him to light. The wick caught and she held it in the water for a moment, sheltering the flame until it grew tall and steady, making her fingers baby-pink and transparent. The water was cold, the scent sweet, the air utterly still as Mike lit the remainder of the candles and sent them out into the centre of the pool.

‘Magic,’ she said.

‘Did you make a wish?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She glanced at him. ‘Did you?’

‘I prefer to think that I’m in control of my own destiny. Ready for that drink?’

He reached for the bottle and a couple of glasses. ‘Glasses?’ she queried.

‘I brought them from home. I’m tired of the taste of plastic.’

Willow had no answer to that, instead she sipped the lush, buttery chardonnay Mike had bought and watched the flickering flames grow brighter as the night gathered about them.

‘Wouldn’t life be simple if we could stay here for ever?’ Willow said finally, rolling over onto her back.

‘Life is simple. It’s people who are complicated.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’ve been thinking—’

‘Dangerous on an empty stomach.’ Willow didn’t want to get involved in complications right now. She just wanted a beautiful, simple evening, that would go with her beautiful, simple idea. ‘I was promised smoked salmon.’

For a moment he looked as if he was ready to push it. Then he shrugged and sat up. ‘Smoked salmon,’ he said, reaching into a carrier. ‘Bread,’ he said, tearing a small flat loaf in two. ‘And cream cheese.’ He handed her a knife.

‘Avocado?’

‘Help yourself,’ he said, waving at the bag.

‘Cherries?’

‘The peaches were hard.’

‘This is perfect.’

They had eaten the bread and Willow had settled against the crook of Mike’s body, his warmth at her back, his arm looped around her waist as he fed her sweet, dark cherries.

‘You’re perfect,’ he said. ‘I briefly lost sight of why I was prepared to give up everything for you. Today…’ Mike remembered exactly how he’d felt when Jake Hallam had challenged him, when he’d been forced to confront his deepest desires, recognise what he was in danger of losing, understand how it would feel to see Willow with his child at her breast. ‘Today I discovered that nothing in the world was worth that.’

‘I know.’ She turned in his arms. ‘It’s all right, Mike. I’ve worked it out.’ And because she knew her solution wasn’t perfect, because she didn’t want any arguments, she leaned into him and kissed him with her cherry-stained lips.

‘Willow—’

‘Love me, Mike,’ she murmured, her tongue sweet against his. ‘Love me now.’ Once he’d made love to her, he wouldn’t be able to walk away, say no.

Mike wanted nothing else at that moment. Just to love her. It was why he’d chosen this secluded spot, with its lush grass. He’d had one thing on his mind and with her in his arms he knew that the world was well lost…

In his arms, there was a chance she might agree with him. But it wouldn’t be enough, he wanted more than that. He wanted more than this night to remember.

‘Willow, sweetheart, wait…we need to talk…’

She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the candle flames. And she smiled. ‘Later,’ she said, and her mouth sizzled against his throat as she straddled him and began to slip the buttons on his shirt, pushing it back so that her hair brushed softly against his naked shoulders. ‘We’ll talk later.’

Now. They should talk first, but it wasn’t easy to hold that thought with Willow’s hands embarking on a seductive raid of his senses. With her hands cool against his hot skin, her mouth intent on distraction, a man could be forgiven for letting his priorities slip a little.

His hands slid beneath the hem of her T-shirt, spread across the satin-smooth skin of her back. He encountered her bra, unfastened it, and with a single easy, unhurried movement, pulled T-shirt and underwear over her head. Then, as his fingers stroked across her shoulders, sliding down to cup her breasts in his hands, she smiled at him and said, ‘Now, what were you saying?’

She was right. It would keep. ‘You’re wearing too many clothes,’ he growled softly.

‘Wrong. But hold that thought.’ And there was a flash of white teeth as she briefly smiled.

‘I’m wearing too many clothes?’ he offered. She shook her head, her eyes intent. He’d lost his appetite for conversation. Lost his appetite for games. There was only one thing he wanted to say and now was the moment. ‘I love you, Willow. I want to marry you.’

She swallowed, her eyes gleamed moistly as if she were on the point of tears. No need for tears… ‘You’re getting warmer.’

‘Believe me, I’m on fire—’

‘Back up a place.’

Back up. What the hell…? Then he got it. ‘You want to live with me?’

‘There.’ She blinked. ‘That wasn’t so difficult was it?’

‘No.’ It wasn’t difficult. It was where he’d started, after all. And now he understood her reaction to his initial proposal. He’d discovered the need for commitment. Total commitment. ‘No,’ he repeated, letting his hands slide down the length of her body until they rested at her waist. She waited for him to undo the button. Gave an impatient little wriggle. He tightened his grip to keep her still; if she wasn’t still he’d explode with his need for her. ‘I don’t think you understand, Willow. I said, no. Thanks.’

Willow frowned. Then didn’t need his hands to keep her still. She shivered. ‘Mike, it’s what you wanted. You said…’

‘You convinced me that I was wrong. Moving in with someone says nothing. Unlike marriage it’s an estate entered into lightly. What we have is worth more than that. It demands the taking and giving of vows. Till death us do part. I asked you to marry me. What happened to the, “We’ll work on it”?’

How could he do this? Ruin everything? ‘Don’t you see, Mike? This makes sense. I’ll have a flat in London, you’ll have your place in Maybridge. We could have weekends together. You could come to London sometimes. We’d have three, maybe four nights a week together.’

‘It’s an interesting concept. Five out of ten for trying, but it needs more work. Tomorrow. Now, shall we get back to the clothes thing?’

‘Clothes thing?’

“‘Hold that thought” you said. I’m on hold, but I’m not made of stone, baby…’

The heat rushed to her cheeks and Willow pulled back. Mike didn’t make any attempt to stop her as she turned away, grabbed for her T-shirt and tugged it over her head. She had never been so humiliated in her life. How could he have done that to her?

No. She wasn’t blaming Mike. She’d done this to herself!

Beside her, lost somewhere in the long grass, her phone began to ring. She’d been avoiding taking calls for days, but suddenly anything was better than meeting his gaze and she scrabbled around until she found it, punched the receive button. ‘Yes!’ she snapped.

‘Willow?’

‘Crysse!’

‘Willow I’ve got something to tell you,’ she rushed on quickly. ‘It’s so difficult…’ Crysse was crying.

‘Darling, what is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s perfect. Would be perfect if you were here. We’re in St Lucia—’

‘I know. It’s brilliant. Are you having a great time?’

‘The best. Except…I don’t know how to tell you this.’

‘Say the words, Crysse. Just say the words.’

‘Sean asked me to marry him. Here. We’re getting married here at the weekend…’

Willow’s mouth was working, but nothing was coming out.

‘What is it?’ Mike demanded, sitting up beside her.

‘Crysse and Sean…’ Her mouth was dry. ‘They’re getting married.’

‘Willow?’ Crysse whispered.

‘Sorry, darling, I was telling Mike your news.’

‘Mike? You’re back together? Ohmigod! You’ll come! You’ll both come! Sean wanted him to be best man, but I said he couldn’t possibly ask—’

Mike heard, took the phone from Willow’s lifeless fingers. ‘Crysse, when is it…? We’ll be there… I’ll call Sean tomorrow… Absolutely… And congratulations.’

Willow put out her hand to him and he took it. ‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’

‘You did that. I can’t tell you what it means to me—’ And because, for a moment, talking was difficult, she squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you.’ She shivered. Sniffed. Kept her face averted. ‘It’s getting cold. The candles are going out.’

‘And you’ve got a big day tomorrow.’

‘Yes.’ Big day. Big deal. She tugged at her hand, but he held onto it.

‘Willow?’ He pulled her back towards him. ‘Are you crying?’

She dashed away a tear that trickled down her cheek. ‘No, of course not. Why would I be crying?’

‘From happiness?’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed at her eyes. ‘Either that or you’ve sprung a leak.’

Her lips trembled on a smile. ‘Don’t!’

‘What?’ he said innocently.

‘Make me laugh.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Here.’ And he put his arm around her, drew her against him. ‘You have a good cry if you want to. It’ll make you feel better.’

For a moment he thought she was going to succumb to the temptation to let out all the bottled up anguish of the last few days. For a moment he felt like joining her. But then she recovered her poise sufficiently to get to her feet. Mike followed suit and she looked at him.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind doing this for Sean?’

‘Hell, no. It’s my duty. And if he gets cold feet at the last minute, you can be sure I won’t advise him to head for the hills the way my best man did. I can tell him, from firsthand experience, that the only thing to do is stay put and work it out.’

‘I suppose I should say I’d do the same for Crysse. Except she isn’t as stupid as me.’

‘You’re not stupid. I was the stupid one.’ She would have argued with him, but he turned her around and gave her a little push in the direction of the cottages. ‘Go. I’ll clear up here.’ She walked a few paces, looked back uncertainly. ‘I’ll call you in plenty of time in the morning.’

‘We need to make arrangements, tell people—’

‘You can leave all that to me.’

‘At least we won’t have to pack,’ she said.

‘No, we won’t have to pack.’ Their suitcases were all ready. Waiting for the honeymoon that hadn’t happened.

She walked slowly back to the cottages. She needed Mike. Wanted him beside her, holding her, but he was right. They needed to sort out exactly where they were going. What they wanted. More importantly she needed to sort out some things with her family. Make her peace with her mother. She took a deep breath and made the call.

‘Mum? It’s Willow. I’m sorry—’

Mike cleared up the remains of their picnic, then leaned against the tree, trying to think of some way to sort out their future, make it possible. After a while, the navy blue darkness was punctuated by a square of yellow light as Willow switched on a light upstairs in her room. He imagined her preparing for her big day, lunch with Toby Townsend at the Globe. She deserved a chance at the big time. He didn’t think she’d enjoy it that much, find much heart up there, but she needed to find that out for herself.

That heart was everything.

He took out his cellphone, keyed in a number. ‘Dad? It’s Mike. I’m sorry—’

‘How was it?’ Mike had called her at the Globe, told her not to come back to the cottages but to meet him at Heathrow, at the check-in desk. He had picked up her suitcase, her passport.

‘Different,’ she said. ‘Frenetic. Crowded.’ She thought of the way everyone had been crammed into a huge open-plan space, with scarcely room to swing a cat. They had a cat at the Chronicle. He lived in the offices and was spoiled rotten and as fat as butter. ‘This is a bit of a rush isn’t it. The wedding isn’t until the weekend. What’ll Emily do without us?’

‘It was the only flight I could get us on this week. Jake’s staying on for a few more days.’ He grinned. ‘And I volunteered Cal. He’s rounding up some extra hands. Oh, and Jake has told Aunt Lucy that the interview is on hold for a couple of weeks.’

‘Weeks? I thought we were going for the weekend.’

‘It’s a long way to go for a weekend and you won’t be starting work until next month.’

‘No…’

‘So I said you’d call her when you get back.’ He put the tickets on the counter, lifted their bags onto the scale. ‘That you’ll make her famous.’ He glanced back when she didn’t answer. ‘Or wasn’t Toby Townsend that keen on the countryside issue?’

Oh, he’d been interested. Not in the issues, but he’d practically salivated at the thought of serialising Aunt Lucy’s sensational revelations about half a century of life beneath the sheets in a quiet English village. His angle had certainly been ‘different’ from hers. He wanted all the scandals, all the secrets; she was supposed to befriend the old lady, gain her confidence, extract every last, juicy detail. It would be like taking candy from a baby. Unfortunately she would never be able to look herself in the mirror again. Big time. Big mistake.

‘The clerk is waiting, Mike.’

‘Willow, is something wrong?’

‘No.’ She glanced behind, anywhere rather than meet those clear, sharp eyes. ‘There’s a queue.’ Mike followed her gaze, shrugged and gave his full attention to the check-in clerk.

She’d said, no. Nothing wrong. But as she stood there she began to wonder uneasily if she was being a little overconfident. Okay, she hadn’t mentioned the name of the village, but she’d been talking to Toby’s assistant over coffee; she’d mentioned the cottages, the Trust. It wouldn’t take a man of his resources long to put it all together. Or to find someone else to do his dirty work.

She’d thought she was joining a respected newspaper, not one about to indulge in a circulation war and with its sights set firmly on the gutter.

She should warn Lucy, put her on her guard. No, that was hopeless, the sweet old dear would never understand. She needed to warn Jake. He’d know what to do.

‘Mike, do you need me for this? I’ve been cross-legged all the way from South Kensington. I really need to visit the Ladies.’

‘Since South Ken?’ He grinned. ‘No wonder you look stressed. I’ll see you upstairs at passport control.’ Then, suddenly, he said, ‘Willow?’

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not going to run out on you. This is Crysse’s wedding, not mine.’

‘Well, thanks. I think.’

She raced to the Ladies, searched her bag for the scrap of paper Jake had written his number on. Keyed it in with shaky fingers.

‘Willow? I thought you were supposed to be on your way to the West Indies right now.’

‘Boarding in twenty minutes. Look, I need to tell you something.’

He listened without interruption until she’d finished, then said, ‘Don’t worry. Aunt Lucy needs a holiday, I’ll get someone to cover this place for a few weeks. Oh, and Willow—good luck for the big day.’

‘Er, thanks.’

She hung up. Now her only problem would be in convincing Mike that she hadn’t given up her ‘chance of a lifetime’ for him.

After her dramatic last minute ‘I want a career more than marriage’ dash for freedom, abandoning him… Okay, so she hadn’t actually abandoned him, he hadn’t been there to be abandoned, but that was just luck and good timing. But she’d abandoned her wedding, her family, three hundred wedding guests and a cake big enough to feed five thousand. After that, he was going to find it pretty hard to believe she’d give it all up for one old lady she’d met for the first time yesterday.

Somehow she’d have to convince him that Toby had changed his mind. That he didn’t have a use for a features writer whose imagination stretched no further than the village pump.