Chapter Six
SYLVIE LEFT THE ball early, which was cowardly of her, but one dance with Jack Wilde had shown her she was in danger of losing her head over him.
As it was, she had recreated in her mind every step of that dance with him, remembering how it felt to have his arms hold her close, how it felt to have him take the lead with confidence, turning her with ease.
And she remembered every moment of their time on the balcony, how his eyes kept following her every movement.
Would he have kissed her if she’d agreed to it?
She ran her tongue over her lips and imagined how his mouth would feel pressed on hers.
She hadn’t been kissed in months, that was why she was fantasising about Jack.
What other explanation could there be? She didn’t even like him.
Well, maybe that was a little white lie.
There were things about him she did admire, for instance his generosity towards the fundraising ball and the fact he insisted on doing it anonymously.
If he was as arrogant and prideful as she had imagined, surely he would be making sure people knew about every pound he donated?
She was starting to see Jack was a little more complicated than he wanted people to believe.
He played the laid-back charming playboy role so well, he laughed and joked his way through life, and yet there were sides to him he didn’t want people to know about.
It made her all the more determined to uncover them, even if it meant she’d have to inch closer to him than she would normally do.
Once she got home, Sylvie carefully packed away her Venetian mask and changed out of her evening dress, hanging it on a padded hanger on the door of her wardrobe.
She took off her make-up, and slipped on a nightgown and wrap, tying it loosely around her waist. She went to her bedroom window, which overlooked her back garden as well as Jack’s.
She found herself looking towards his house, wondering what time he would come home from the ball.
Maybe he wouldn’t come home at all. Maybe he’d stay overnight in his brother’s fancy hotel with one of the beautiful women he had met at the event.
Sylvie glanced towards his house and her eyes rounded in surprise to see him in his smartly decorated kitchen downstairs, which was partially visible from her upstairs bedroom.
He had taken off his mask and loosened his bow tie—it hung undone around his neck as if he couldn’t be bothered taking it off.
He removed his jacket and she watched as he draped it over a kitchen bar-stool.
She moved back a fraction behind her curtain to keep out of his line of vision and watched as he unlocked his back door and stepped outside.
The sensor light came on like a stage light, showcasing him like the leading star in a one-man performance.
He was standing with his hands on his hips, his gaze directed towards the back of his garden.
Not that it was much of a garden as yet, more like a mud pile, but at least it was fenced on all sides.
He turned and went back inside and disappeared from her line of vision for a moment or two.
Sylvie told herself she should stop staring and go to bed but, somehow, she stayed, watching out of her bedroom window, transfixed by Jack’s every movement. Had he brought someone home with him? Her heart gave a thump and she peered around the edge of her curtain to see if anyone was with him.
He appeared once more and Sylvie held her breath, but this time he was carrying something in one hand.
She narrowed her gaze, trying to figure out what it was.
He stepped out into the range of the sensor light again, bent down and placed what looked like a square foil packet of cat food on the top step.
He straightened and, stepping back a few paces, paused for a long moment, his gaze concentrated on the shadows.
Sylvie flattened her back against her bedroom wall, counting to three before she peered around the curtain but when she looked, he was gone.
Then, four more seconds later, his sensor light turned off and the back of his property was enveloped in darkness.
A couple of evenings later, Sylvie was out in her garden, watering her pots when her mother called on the phone. ‘Darling,’ her mother said in an excited tone Sylvie barely recognised as belonging to the usually low-in-spirits woman, ‘I have something important to tell you.’
‘What is it?’ Sylvie found herself holding her breath in the loaded silence before her mother answered.
‘I’m seeing someone.’
‘What? A psychologist?’ Sylvie asked, glad her advice had finally been taken after all these years. Her mother was a very private person and had always refused to speak to a health professional about her loneliness and feelings of rejection post-divorce.
‘No, not a psychologist, a retired vet,’ her mother said with a girlish giggle. ‘We’re dating.’
‘Dating?’ Sylvie shrieked in shock.
Her mother laughed and that was another thing Sylvie wasn’t used to hearing—her mum sounding blissfully, deliriously happy. ‘I can’t wait to introduce Patrick to you. He’s the most wonderful man. He treats me like a princess and is so generous and—’
‘Are you sure he’s not love-bombing you like Dad did all those years ago?
’ Sylvie was terrified history was repeating itself.
She knew a lot about toxic relationships through her work.
Some people fell into the same trap with a subsequent relationship, often without realising it as they were so caught up in the heady feeling of being ‘loved,’ when what was really happening was manipulation and coercive control in its early stages.
‘Darling, he’s not doing any such thing,’ her mother answered.
‘We met at the garden centre café. I’d seen him a few times before but we never really spoke.
But a couple of months ago, he helped me carry some compost to the car and we got talking.
He was happily married for thirty-seven years but his wife died five years ago and he’s lonely and, well, I told him a little about myself and then we met for coffee and things went from there. ’
Sylvie was lost for words. On one hand she was delighted for her mother, but on the other the cynical part of her worried that her mother would be hurt all over again. ‘How long have you been seeing him?’
‘Eight weeks and three days.’
Sylvie absently watered another section of the garden with the hose, still unable to believe her mother had finally found happiness, but also wary of what heartbreak could be ahead and how Sylvie would have to pick up the pieces as she had all those years ago. ‘How serious are you about him?’
‘If you’re asking if I’m sleeping with him then—’
‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ Sylvie quickly interjected. How ironic that her mother was now having regular sex while she could barely recall the last time she had slept with anyone. ‘I’m happy if you’re happy but I can’t help being worried about you.’
‘I appreciate your concern, darling, but I have to move on with my life. I’ve wasted too much of it as it is. I’m enjoying being with Patrick and once you meet him, you’ll see he’s nothing like your father. He’s kind and gentle and supportive and he makes me laugh.’
Sylvie couldn’t stop recalling Jack Wilde’s attractive smile and his sharp wit. ‘Yes, well, a sense of humour is a good quality in anyone, I guess.’
‘I’ll text you some possible dates for a dinner at your place because we’re coming up to London for a weekend soon. I’ll bring the main course if you make dessert. Just a shop one will do—I know you’re busy. Oh, and you can invite a partner if you like. Are you seeing anyone?’
Sylvie’s gaze drifted to the house next door and an invisible moth fluttered its wings in her stomach. ‘No one in particular.’
‘Don’t be like me, darling, and waste years of your life thinking all men are creeps. There are good men out there, you just have to be brave enough to take a chance on someone who captures your attention.’
Sylvie ended the call a few minutes later, still reeling from her mother’s news.
She pointed the hose at another section of the garden, keeping an eye out for Shadow, who hadn’t yet eaten the food Sylvie had put out for her earlier.
She hadn’t seen the little cat for a couple of days and was beginning to get worried.
What if she had been run over or was lying somewhere injured and afraid?
Her mind was so preoccupied with her worries over the cat and her mother’s news that she didn’t register she had company.
‘Howdy, neighbour.’ Jack’s deep voice made her jump and she turned to face the fence but forgot she had the hose in her hand. The water hit Jack straight in the face and he yelped and stepped out of its spray, shaking his head like a dog who had just had a bath.
Sylvie dropped the hose but it coiled and twisted like an angry snake, shooting water in all directions. She dashed over to the tap and turned it off and then went over to the fence to apologise. ‘I’m so sorry, that wasn’t intentional. I was distracted by a phone call.’
Jack brushed his hair back from his face, a grin making his eyes crinkle attractively at the corners and those gorgeous dimples to appear. ‘Your apology isn’t accepted unless you join me in a drink. I’ve finally got my house in order. Want to take a look?’
How could she say no? Especially when she didn’t want to say no. She wanted to see inside Jack’s house, and she wanted to be in his company.
A short time later, Jack opened his front door to her. His dark hair was still damp and she grimaced at him. ‘I’m really sorry about the shower I gave you.’
A devilish gleam came into his eyes. ‘I like nothing more than a water fight.’ He closed the door once she was inside and added, ‘Down at Wildewood, my family’s estate, my brothers and I would have them in the holidays on the rare occasions we were there altogether.’