Falling for You (17 page)

At lunchtime on Monday Marcella arrived at the Peach Tree. Maddy's car wasn't outside, which meant she was still out on her delivery rounds, but patience had never been one of Marcella's strong points.

Juliet was delighted to see her. Coming out from behind the counter she said, “Maddy told me. Congratulations! How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Thanks. I need to ask you something,” said Marcella with characteristic bluntness.

“Fire away. What, about pregnancy? You think you'll never get over the morning sickness, but you do.”

“Not about pregnancy. About Kerr McKinnon.”

“Oh!” The color abruptly rushed to Juliet's cheeks. “Well, I couldn't… It's not for me to say.”

Taken aback by the vehemence of her response, Marcella said, “Of course it is.”

Clearly appalled, Juliet shook her head. “Really, I can't. You'll have to talk to Maddy.” Her voice wavering, she said faintly, “How on earth did you find out?”

“Does it matter?” Still mystified by the extent of Juliet's reaction, Marcella experienced a pang of deep unease. “Why don't you tell me when it started?”

“I can't, I can't, but I
know
Maddy never meant to hurt you,” babbled Juliet, who normally never babbled. “It was just one of those things… They met each other and that was it. But she's going to finish with him, I promise.”

* * *

On her way back from Bath, Maddy drove over the brow of Ashcombe Hill and saw Marcella heading toward her. From the armful of flowers her mother was carrying, she knew that Marcella was on her way to visit April's grave, something she still liked to do on a weekly basis. Slowing to a halt as she reached her, Maddy swung open the passenger door and said, “I thought you were supposed to be taking things easy. Jump in and I'll give you a lift.” Pausing, she added, “Mum, are you OK?” because Marcella was looking strained and distant, decidedly unlike her usual easygoing self.

But all Marcella did was nod, clutching the huge bunch of freshly picked honeysuckle, roses, and oxeye daisies to her chest.

The churchyard was deserted, the air hot and dry. Birds sang in the trees, but otherwise the silence was absolute. Marcella, still without speaking, cleared away the old flowers from April's grave, rinsed out the steel vase, and carefully arranged the fresh blooms in their place. Maddy had never seen her mother like this before; she was normally chatty and eternally cheerful. Was it something to do with the pregnancy, the risk of losing this longed-for baby as heartbreakingly as they had lost April eleven years ago?

Marcella was kneeling by the grave with her back to her. Maddy reached out and touched her on the shoulder.

“Mum? Tell me what's wrong.”

Slowly Marcella rose to her feet.

“That's April in there. Your sister.”

“I know,” said Maddy gently. Oh dear, she'd never heard Marcella sound so subdued. Her hormones were clearly running riot.

The next moment Marcella did something far less subdued. Raising her hand, she slapped Maddy hard across the face.

“April, your sister, is
dead
,” Marcella shouted furiously. “And you're carrying on with Kerr McKinnon as if she never even existed! You have no shame, do you hear me? I don't know how you can
live
with yourself. Of all the men in the world, you had to get involved with him!”

Oh Lord. Maddy felt sick. Marcella had never laid a finger on her in her life. She should have ended it with Kerr while she still had the chance. Wide-eyed with shock, she took a step back before Marcella could slap her again.

“I'm ashamed of you,” Marcella raged, shaking her head in disgust. “This is your family. Don't you think you owe your sister a bit more loyalty than that?”

“Kerr wasn't the one driving the car.” Maddy knew even as she said it that any form of argument was hopeless. “He didn't kill anyone.”

“I DON'T CARE!” bellowed Marcella. “The McKinnons treated us like
dirt
. I can't believe you even—”

“I won't see him again,” Maddy blurted out, because what other choice did she have? This time, for Marcella's sake, it had to happen. She couldn't put it off any longer. Trembling, meeting Marcella's icy gaze, she nodded and said, “I mean it. I'll never see him again. Just don't shout anymore. You know what the doctor said about staying calm and not getting worked up.”

“Promise me.” Marcella reached urgently for Maddy's hands.

What else could she do?

“I promise,” whispered Maddy.
That
was it. All over now.

Marcella hugged her, tears spilling from her luminous dark eyes.

“You don't need someone like that. Come on, let's go home.”

As she followed Marcella back through the sun-dappled graveyard, Maddy thought,
Oh, but I
do
.

Checking her watch—twenty to two—Maddy dropped Marcella home and headed back into the center of Ashcombe. Juliet wasn't expecting her back in the shop before two. Pulling up alongside Snow Cottage, she saw Jake sitting at one of the tables in front of the pub, drinking a pint of orange juice and chatting to Malcolm, who sold his surreal paintings from the workshop next to his. By sitting outside, they were able to take a lunch break and keep an eye out for passing potential customers.

Fury boiled up inside Maddy at the unfairness of it all. How
dare
bloody Jake sit there without a care in the world when her own life was collapsing around her ears?

Leaping out onto the pavement, slamming the driver's door so hard it almost parted company with the car, she marched across the road.

“Did you tell Marcella?”

Jake looked up, surprised.

“Tell Marcella about what?”

“So you didn't?” asked Maddy, double-checking. She wasn't about to make
that
mistake again.

Comprehension dawned. Jake, his eyebrows shooting up, said, “You mean she found out about Kerr McKinnon?”

Right, that was all the confirmation she needed. Marching past him into the pub, Maddy saw Kate behind the bar, wearing a lime-green sleeveless linen top and her customary superior smirk.

“Well done,” Maddy said loudly, not caring that there were customers in the pub. Since there was no longer any secret to keep, she could be as loud as she jolly well liked.

Turning, Kate said, “Excuse me?” in that irritatingly disinterested way of hers.

“I asked you not to tell Marcella and you told her. I explained
why
I asked you not to tell her,” Maddy went on furiously, “but you went ahead and did it anyway.”

“I—”

“What the bloody hell's going on?” Dexter, his eyes flashing, had loomed up behind Kate.

“Ask your new barmaid,” Maddy spat back, aware that everyone was staring at the red hand-shaped slap mark Marcella had imprinted on her cheek. “But let me just say, if my mother doesn't have a miscarriage, it'll be no thanks to
her
.” Pointing a trembling finger at Kate, who was looking astounded and clearly hadn't expected to be confronted like this in public, she went on, “My God, I knew you didn't like me, but even I never thought you'd sink this low. I mean, it doesn't matter that you've ruined
my
life, but how you could do this to Marcella, I'll never know.”

* * *

It was just as well there weren't any customers in the deli. Maddy was sitting on a crate in the back room, shaking uncontrollably, raging against the world, and knocking back a miniature of Amaretto.

Jake, strolling into the shop, said, “Well, I hope you're proud of yourself.”

“Oh, bugger off. Don't you start.” Maddy glared at him. “She deserved it.”

“Did she? I've just been to see Marcella.”

“Oh no.” Juliet, who had been attempting to console Maddy, said, “You mean it wasn't Kate?”

The look of disdain on Jake's face began to make Maddy feel queasy. “It has to have been her. It definitely couldn't be Nuala, not after last time.”

“At midday, Marcella was doing exactly what the doctor had told her to do,” said Jake. “She was taking things easy, relaxing, just having a cup of tea and watching the local lunchtime news. When up came a piece on careers for graduates, and guess whose company they were featuring today?”

Maddy's mouth was dry. There had been no cameras around while she'd been in the offices of Callaghan and Fox last Friday.

“I know. It's where Kerr works,” she told Jake. “So? It's not as if he keeps a photo of me on his desk.”

“Maybe not, but several of the staff had stuff from here on their desks,” said Jake. “Marcella recognized the blue-and-white wrappers at once.”

He was being deliberately maddening, Maddy decided. “
And?
That doesn't prove anything.”

“Oh my God,” whispered Juliet, her hand sliding from Maddy's shoulder. “Oh no, please don't say what I think you're going to say.”

Her dark eyes were fixed on Jake, willing him to come up with a happier alternative. Signaling regret, he shook his head.

“What?” Maddy demanded. “
What?
”

Faintly, Juliet said, “It was me.”

“WHAT?”

“The wrappers didn't prove you were having an affair with Kerr McKinnon,” said Jake, “but they were certainly enough to bring Marcella down here, demanding to know what this deli was doing supplying sandwiches to his company, when just the other day you swore you had no idea where he worked.”

“I'm sorry.” Juliet groaned. “The way Marcella said it, I thought she already knew everything.”

“Oh hell.” Maddy buried her head in her hands. “I don't believe this is happening.”

“I'm
really
sorry,” Juliet repeated helplessly.

“Not you. It was an accident. I suppose something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.” Maddy reached across and clumsily hugged Juliet, who was looking utterly distraught. “I just can't bear the thought of having to apologize to Miss Smirky Pants.”

“You're going to have to,” Jake said, and so reasonably that Maddy longed to punch him.

Abruptly, all the adrenaline seeped out of her body and delayed shock set in. Her eyes filling with tears of exhaustion, she said, “I know I do. Oh
fuck
.”

Kate was doing her best to carry on working, but it wasn't going well. Aware of Dexter's beady gaze upon her, she fumbled in the till drawer for change and handed it over to Abel Trippick, whose eyes promptly widened with delight. As he scuttled away from the bar clutching his pint of Blackthorn, Dexter said, “You just gave him eight quid change from a fiver.”

“Sorry.” Swallowing hard, Kate began clearing away empties. “I'll pay you back.”

“I thought you were more than a match for Maddy Harvey.”

“So did I. Oh God—” Kate made a grab for one of the half-pint mugs as it slipped out of her hand, but it was too late. The glass shattered on the flagstones and she braced herself for the inevitable explosion of fury from Dexter.

Instead, his tone conversational, Dexter said, “If I shout at you, will you shout back?”

Blindly, Kate shook her head. “No.” It came out as a croak, like a frog phoning in sick.

“Oh well, no point in bothering then. Shift your bottom,” Dexter said brusquely, and tears began to slide down Kate's cheeks as she realized he was kneeling down, wielding a dustpan and brush and clearing up the mess.

Then she jumped as a warm hand came to rest on her arm and a familiar voice said, “Hey, it's all right.”

Could have fooled me
, thought Kate as Jake peered over the bar and said to Dexter, “It's almost closing time. OK if I take this one home with me?”

Dexter straightened up. Finally he shrugged. “May as well. She's not much use here.”

“Who says I want to go home with you?” Kate looked truculent, but it was a token show of protest. Flashing a grin, Jake raised the wooden flap that formed part of the bar and drew her through to his side.

“OK, here's the thing. Maddy shouldn't have shouted at you. She knows she has to apologize, but she's in a bit of a state right now, what with everything hitting the fan the way it did. So if you wouldn't mind, she'd like to make her groveling apologies later.” As he spoke, he was leading her toward the door.

Kate asked suspiciously, “So why are you taking me home?”

“Because damsels in distress are my specialty. Besides”—Jake gestured over the road to where Malcolm was now sitting with a sketch pad outside his workshop—“any excuse for an afternoon off.”

* * *

Dauncey House was cool and empty, with Oliver up in London as usual and Estelle off on one of her periodic halfhearted health and fitness kicks. This involved paying a visit to the ruinously expensive gym to which she belonged, gingerly attempting a few exercises on the less terrifying machines, then greeting her female friends with delight, and repairing to the terrace for a good gossip over salad and a Diet Coke. Since this left them feeling every bit as virtuous as two hours on the treadmill and involved far less sweating, it was a popular pastime among the wealthy wives who went there during the afternoon. Estelle was unlikely to be back before five.

“Hey, damsel, you've got mascara on your cheeks.”

They were in the kitchen. Kate instinctively made a move toward the downstairs cloakroom to wash her face, but Jake stopped her. Running a piece of kitchen towel under the tap, he drew her toward him and gently rubbed at the black marks under her eyes. Realizing that he was removing the carefully applied scar concealer at the same time, Kate tried to pull away, but Jake shook his head and said, “Don't be silly. It's fine. You're not as scary as you think.”

He was so close to her now. She couldn't bring herself to look at his face, but he smelled of shampoo and outdoors and, very faintly, acrylic varnish. Kate was under his spell. She normally removed her mascara with Clinique cleanser at twenty quid a tube and supersoft cotton wool pads. Yet here was Jake Harvey rubbing away at her delicate under-eye areas with a wad of wet kitchen towel—and she didn't want him to stop.

“Not as tough as you like to make out either,” Jake observed and she felt her throat tighten. He was being so kind.

“It's not much fun being accused of something you didn't do.” Kate shook her head. “I would never have told Marcella.”

“I know that.”

“But Maddy didn't. That's what really got to me, I think. She seriously thought I had. I mean, I know we don't get on,” Kate blurted out, “but I wouldn't risk Marcella losing the baby, would I? I'd
never
do that!”

“Damsel, calm down. I told you, Maddy's going to apologize. She's not having the best time right now. Hell, none of us are having the best time.” Jake rolled his eyes. “Let me tell you, it's no picnic sharing a house with Nuala. When she isn't bleating on about Dexter and how she's never going to get another boyfriend, she's asking me to help her on with her sneakers. It's like living with a three-year-old all over again.”

Kate felt a pang of solidarity with Nuala. She often wondered if she'd ever find another boyfriend herself.

“Anyway, how about you?” asked Jake, changing the subject as they made their way through to the conservatory. “You've been back a few weeks now. Looks to me as though you've settled right in.”

“Kind of,” Kate conceded. Certainly, she'd never imagined herself working in the pub and, more astounding still, actually enjoying it.

“You're a natural behind that bar.” Collapsing onto one of the squashy lime-green sofas, Jake patted the space next to him. “I bet you never thought it would be that easy to get back to normal.”

“Normal?” Kate's laughter was hollow. How could he possibly think her life was back to normal?

“Isn't it? Oh, come on,” Jake protested, “you're doing brilliantly. Nobody in the pub even notices your scars anymore.”

“My accident happened fourteen months ago. I haven't been kissed by a man since then, let alone had sex with one. How normal do you suppose that feels?” The moment she'd finished blurting the words out, Kate wished she hadn't. What's more, how on earth could Jake be expected to have an inkling how it felt? He'd probably never gone without sex for as long as fourteen days.

He was definitely looking flummoxed.

“Sorry.” Kate gazed at the floor. “Shouldn't have said that.”

“Are you serious? Nothing at all? Not even in New York?”

Ha, especially in New York.

“I think I'd have noticed.”

“But why not?” Jake was genuinely concerned.

“Why d'you think? Who'd look at my face and be overcome with lust?” Irritated, Kate said, “People see my scars and they run a mile.”

“Wrong.” Jake was shaking his head.

“Don't patronize me. I know what I look like.”

“People see you with your defenses up, snapping and snarling and not giving an inch, and that's why they run a mile. Trust me, it's not your face that scares them off,” Jake said bluntly. “It's you.”

“Well, thanks.” Kate's jaw tightened.

“Just being honest, damsel.” Unperturbed by her frosty manner, Jake said mischievously, “So, feel like giving it a go?”

Kate stopped breathing. She actually felt her lungs freeze in midflow.

“What?”

His eyes danced. “You heard.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Of course you do.”

Kate was tingling all over with furious indignation. How dare Jake suggest such a thing? This was outrageous…and what exactly did he mean, anyway? Was he talking about a kiss or…well,
other
stuff?

Oh, good grief. What would
that
be like? Lust shot through her like a bolt of lightning. And all the time Jake was sitting there watching her, utterly relaxed and laid-back, smiling his irresistible boyish smile. In all seriousness, what did he
expect
her to say?

“Fine. I'll take that as a no then.” Jake shrugged good-naturedly and Kate heard a squeak of protest escape—completely involuntarily—from her throat.

“Or maybe…a maybe?” said Jake.

Kate's cheeks began to burn. In fact, her whole body felt as if it were on fire, and her imagination was working on fast forward. This was excruciating, and now she really was going to have to say something.

“Er…I didn't know what you meant
exactly
.” Floundering, she saw Jake's mouth twitch.

His oh-so-beautiful mouth, so perfect it looked as if it had been chiseled from marble.

“You mean was I talking about kissing you? Or the whole bed thing?”

Trust Jake to come straight out and say it. Her toes practically bent double with embarrassment, Kate nodded.

“Well, that's completely up to you. Whatever you decide. Or,” Jake offered, “we could start off with a kiss and see how you feel.”

Kate's heart was hammering against her ribs. She already knew how she felt. Then an awful thought struck her.

“And you'd want money?”

Jake smiled and shook his head. “Damsel, I'm not a gigolo. I don't charge.”

“So, um, why are you doing this?”

His smile broadened. “I'm not volunteering to empty cesspits here. It's hardly an arduous task we're talking about. I love sex. You're a beautiful girl with a hang-up about your face who hasn't had sex for over a year. I mean, I didn't have a university education, but isn't there a simple solution here?”

Oh God, oh God.
Kate was lost for words. Staring blindly at the black-and-white-tiled floor, she felt Jake's hand stroke the back of her neck.

“I like you,” he said softly. “Believe me, it wouldn't be an ordeal. It would be a pleasure.”

After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Since Norris was outside in the backyard and the sight of him pressing his slobbering jowls against the conservatory windows just might kill the moment, Kate led Jake upstairs to her room. Trembling, she allowed him to undress her. And kiss her. And run his hands over her naked body. And make love to her.

He was right too, about it not being an ordeal. The next two hours were nothing but glorious Technicolored pleasure.