In Love Again (30 page)

“You two go,” Claire suggested. “I’m a little tired from the flight.”

Ben had promised he wouldn’t appear overprotective about the baby in front of her family. “You okay?”

“I think I’ll take a short nap before dinner.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Go. You two can talk about me behind my back. It will be much easier that way.”

Lydia had pulled out her earbuds and was coiling them around her MP3 player. “Sounds good. I could use a walk. Or maybe I’ll race you. Mother says you run?”

“I do,” Ben answered then looked to Claire one more time. “You’re absolutely positive?”

She lifted her chin. “Go already!”

“Okay, okay.”

“I’ll take our things back to the villa.”

Lydia looked at her straw bag for a second and furrowed her brow.

“Don’t worry. I won’t look into your bag, Lyd.” Claire may have narrowed her eyes. And she may have sounded a bit peeved.

Lydia pulled her lips between her teeth and bit down, trying hard not to lose her temper. “You
would
think I was hiding something!” she flared.

“Lydia…please don’t act like I wouldn’t have had good reason to think so.” Claire sounded tired, and Ben wished he could do something to make the whole situation better. Claire had voiced her concerns about Lydia’s drug use, and Ben had hoped she was exaggerating, expressing the worry of a loving mother over something that might have been nothing. Now that he’d met her, he thought Lydia certainly didn’t
look
like a drug addict.

Ben wanted to kick himself for thinking something so idiotic. He’d seen more than his share of cases, of people who had become addicted to painkillers or other prescription medications—as Lydia had—while maintaining an immaculate facade. He forced himself not to get involved. Yet.

Lydia almost snarled. “I was going to ask if you would charge my phone for me. But you know what? Just forget it.”

Claire took a deep breath and counted to five. “Lydia. I would be happy to charge your phone for you.”

Lydia took a deep breath that was almost identical to her mother’s. “Thank you, Mother. I’d appreciate it.”

Ben clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Phones will be charged! Walks will be had! Naps will be taken!”

Both women kept staring at each other, then slowly turned to face him.

“What did I do?” he asked innocently.

“Nothing,” they answered simultaneously.

Lydia shook her head then looked at her mother. “I’m trying.”

“So am I.” Claire reached out and slipped a loose strand of her daughter’s hair behind her ear. Lydia shut her eyes as if the touch nearly hurt. “I love you, Lydia.”

Lydia swallowed or nodded or flinched, or a little bit of all three. Ben wasn’t sure.
Could they really be so unaccustomed to one another
? he wondered.

“Off we go then.”

Claire watched as the two of them walked away and continued along the shore. If anyone could help repair all the years of damage, it was Ben. The man simply knew how to love.

Ben and Lydia started at a brisk pace. The sand was the sugar-soft, coral-pink for which the island was renowned.

“Do you like to talk when you walk or are you more broody?”

Lydia burst out laughing. “Do you even know what that means?”

“What,
broody
?”

“Yeah,
broody
.”

His legs pumped and he looked at the distant turn of the beach where the dunes seemed to touch the edge of the sea. “Um. Thoughtful. Contemplative.”

“Maybe where you’re from.”

“What does it mean where you’re from?” he asked.

“Pregnant…or nearly.”

It was Ben’s turn to laugh. “So. Are you broody?” he asked abruptly.

“God! I hope not!”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I want to be a single mum at twenty? Hmmm.” Lydia tapped her lip in mock contemplation. “Let me think.”

Ben kept walking. And smiling. Lydia was like the completely uninhibited version of Claire. She said whatever popped into her mind. For better or (usually) worse.

“The ankles.”

“The what?” he laughed out the words.

“The ankles, for starters. Look at Bronte’s ankles.”

“I haven’t met her yet.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Boy, are you in for a treat. She’s a bitch on her best day, and seven months pregnant with twins?” Shaking her head to show the desperate nature of the situation, Lydia left it at that.

“Poor thing. She’s probably a little uncomfortable.”

“Oh my god, are you really that sympathetic by nature? It’s unbelievable.”

“Well. I am in a profession that tries to help people.”

“Then why do so many people have to take a Xanax before they have an appointment with you?”

“Touché.”

Lydia shrugged then sighed. “Oh, Xanax. My old friend.”

“Do you really miss it?”

“I suppose Mother told you everything already.”

“Well, if by
everything
you mean that you were hospitalized for an overdose when you were fifteen…then yes. She told me everything.”

Quirking her mouth—like that was all there was to it—she kept walking.

“But that’s not everything, is it?” he asked.

“Oh, god. Are you going to analyze me, with all your dental psychiatric expertise?”

“What do you have against dentists, anyway?”

“You’re right. Such a lost opportunity.” Lydia snapped her fingers like she’d just thought of a great idea. “Why didn’t I ever date a dentist? All those prescription pads lying around. I could have been awash in a sea of pharmaceuticals by now. I can totally picture it: some sort of campy Damien Hirst meets classic Horst P. Horst photo shoot, with me all glamorous and naked in a bathtub full of pills.”

“Cut it.”

“Cut what?”

“Cut all the joking about it. Do you miss it or not?” Ben asked.

“Of course I miss it. And it’s not just an ‘it’…I miss everything…the oblivion…the lead-up…the desire…” Her voice trailed off. “I shouldn’t be talking about it.”

“Why not? We’re not anywhere you can get any?”

She snorted. “If you don’t think I could have a bottle of pills or a gram of coke or an ounce of weed in that villa by midnight, you’re an idiot. And I was so hoping you weren’t an idiot.”

“Wow. So, what would you do? Ask one of the guys who work here? The attractive Alistair who failed to deliver your pitcher of rum punch?”

“He is attractive, isn’t he? Unfortunately, he appears to be moderately intelligent. I prefer stupid.”

“No you don’t.”

“Okay fine. I don’t. But this is starting to feel like an interrogation. So. Moving on. What else?”

“What else what?”

“What else do you want to know? About my father. About the castle in Scotland. You must have questions.”

Ben shrugged and they both kept walking. “I don’t really. Your mom seems to be happy in New York, so I’m happy.”

“No curiosity at all? Seriously? That sounds perverse.” She glanced at him, a quick head-to-toe. “You look like the settling-down type. Don’t you want to know the particulars? The entail? The inheritance? What you stand to
gain
?”

“I think I might prefer your fond reminiscences of your good old days in the gutter to this line of questioning.” Ben’s voice was completely devoid of the playful banter they’d been sharing up until then.

“What? You seriously expect me to believe my mother’s fortune isn’t the least bit interesting to you?”

He stopped then. She walked on for a few more paces then turned to face him, hands on her bare hips. He tried to remember she was still young, but she wasn’t so young that he couldn’t speak his mind. She wanted to be treated like an adult. Well, he was happy to oblige.

“Lydia. I love your mother. I know that is absurd to you. Since you don’t love her, you can’t believe anyone else would?”

He hit his mark with that one. Her lips twitched in a defensive little snarl. “I love her.”

“Good. At least we have that established. Beyond that, as far as I know, your mother makes $35,000 a year as a design consultant and lives month-to-month in her sister-in-law’s apartment in Gramercy Park. And that’s more than enough for me.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Right. Whatever, Ben. You’re a saint. Her siblings are three of the richest people in England and that doesn’t even interest you in the least?”

He resisted the temptation to grab her upper arm and shake her. “Yeah, as far as sainthood, we both know that’s not true. I’m an irascible, selfish pig a lot of the time, but…” His voice petered out as he looked toward the darkening clouds that were beginning to come in from the east. Then he turned and stared right into her now-familiar silvery gray eyes. “But, here’s the crazy thing: your mother makes me a better person. We care about each other. I love her. And that’s all I hope to
gain
. That connection.”

She pulled her hands from her hips and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Nice speech.”

“It wasn’t a speech.” He sighed and then relaxed the tension out of his shoulders and tried to redirect the conversation. “Look, Lydia. You enjoy taunting people until you piss them off so much, they move along and then you can solidify your impression that they’re selfish and uninterested in you.”

“That sounds spot on.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And it’s amazing how quickly people prove me right.”

“Well, I’m not going to prove you right. Not in that at least.”

“Everyone proves me right, Ben. No one gives a shit about anyone.”

“What about lovey-dovey Devon and Sarah?” Ben asked, starting to walk again. Lydia turned slowly and met his pace.

“Ugh. The worst kind. Sarah loves Devon because Devon loves Sarah—it’s like a sickening mirror of I-love-how-you-love-me. That’s just narcissism pretending to be love. I hate it.”

“Wow. Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Ben said in a tone that let her know she hadn’t figured out anything as far as he was concerned.

She slapped her forehead. “Oh! Right! I’m a twenty-year-old recovering drug addict. I know nothing. What was I thinking?”

“Do you see how you do that? You derail every conversation.”

“I didn’t derail anything,” she said quickly, but she looked surprised that Ben sounded as if he actually wanted to converse rather than spar. Not knowing what to make of that, she defaulted to her usual defensive tone. “You just think what I have to say is worthless, so you insult me instead of listening to what I say.”

“Wait a minute. Let’s go back. You were off on your love-is-a-crock-of-shit rant, and I asked what you thought of Devon and Sarah and you dismissed their relationship out of hand. Do you seriously believe they are happy because they feed each other’s selfishness?”

Lydia looked a little deflated. She wasn’t used to people actually listening to what she said. “That seems to be the way of it.” She tried to make her voice full of bored acceptance, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it anymore.

“Not where I’m from it doesn’t. That sounds like an awful
way of it
.”

“It is.” Lydia said it so softly—with such desperate conviction—Ben wanted to hug her.

“I’m sorry, Lydia.”

“Oh god. Don’t go and get all sentimental. That would be dreadful. My parents’ marriage was a shambles. My father is a complete douchebag…but he’s still my dad, you know?” Her voice trailed off. “What? Not going to find something nice to say about the marquess? Your crown is slipping.”

Ben quirked his lip. “Your father and I have had only one very brief, very regrettable meeting.”

“Fair enough. So let’s go on to more enjoyable topics. What kind of music do you listen to? The Beatles?”

He burst out laughing. “Yes. Because I’m seventy.”

She smiled too, and he began to reel off a bunch of bands that he’d been listening to over the past few months.

“Mom said you were into music, but I just thought she meant you had regular seats at the opera or something. This is great news. You play the guitar? Like in a band?”

“Wow. Did you just approve of me?”

“Reluctantly. One small part of you.” But her smile was forgiving, and Ben thought he might be able to see a crack in her hard shell of bitterness, and a glimpse at her kind center. Whether he wanted to or he had to, Ben believed such a thing existed inside Lydia.