Chapter Ten
Vicky was in a dream, not really looking where she was going as she walked back to the car park. She had to skip out of the way of a cyclist, and stop for a moment to remember where she had parked the car.
“Hi.”
She glanced round, startled.
Bez was standing by the car, smiling a little sheepishly. “I changed my mind. Can I have a lift home?”
“Of course.” She was careful to show no surprise. “There’s room in the boot for your backpack now.”
It was probably best to take the situation completely for granted. Don’t ask why she’d changed her mind, don’t say she was being sensible... No, for heaven’s sake, don’t say sensible!
She popped the boot open and Bez dropped her backpack in it. As they settled in the seats, the girl fastened her seat belt without being prompted, and slanted Vicky a quirky little smile.
“Can you drop me back at school?”
“Of course.”
“Only... could I leave my pack with you and pick it up later?” She glanced away, awkward. “I don’t want people asking questions.”
“That’s okay,” Vicky assured her. “Pick it up when you like.” She put the car in gear and drove out of the car park. “Shall we have some music?”
“Okay.”
They drove out of town as the rich voice of the Queen of Soul filled the car.
“Who’s that?” asked Bez with genuine interest.
“Aretha Franklin.”
“Never heard of her. She’s good though.”
Vicky felt the warmth of pure relief surging through her — she had been dreading having to tell Bez’s mother what had happened. Whatever the reason for Bez changing her mind, she could only be thankful that she had.
The sun had come out, shimmering on the wet road and sparkling like diamonds on the leaves of the trees. From time to time she could catch a distant glimpse of the sea. A small smile tugged irresistibly at the corners of her mouth.
Bez glanced at her, seeming to pick up on her thoughts. “Are you going to stay here?”
“I’m not sure.” The smile widened. “I’ll be staying for a while, at least.”
She could afford to now. The money Mr Digby had deposited in her bank for the purchase of Molly’s jewellery would keep her going for a couple of months. And if the brooch was worth as much as he had suggested, she would be able to pay for the renovations without having to take out a loan, in spite of having to add it to the inheritance tax bill.
“You were right, by the way,” she said.
“Oh?”
“About Molly being involved with the Resistance in Paris during the war. Even though she was only fourteen. I found a medal, a Resistance medal, and I went into that little jewellers on the High Street.”
“Digby’s?”
“That’s right. He has a friend who knows about medals and he identified it and looked up Molly’s name. Would you like to see it?”
They had reached the roundabout. As they had to wait for a couple of cars ahead of them, she fumbled in her pocket and pulled the medal out of the bag.
Bez took it, turning it over in her hand. “Patria non immemor. Patria... Does that mean country? Non would probably mean not, or does not. Immemor? I’d guess that means something about memory, remembering.”
“Well done — close. It’s ‘the nation does not forget’.”
“I like languages. I’m doing French at A level — and Spanish. I think I might do a degree in modern languages.”
“That would be good.” Vicky nodded encouragement. “There’s plenty of career scope with that.”
“I don’t know which university I’d like to go to,” she mused. “What do you think?”
“I don’t really know — it depends on which course you’re doing. There’s a website that gives you all the rankings, and what the students say about them. Have a look. Search for Student Reviews.”
Bez pulled out her phone and typed in the search request. The rest of the drive was occupied with debating the pros and cons of each university, and whether she wanted to stay near home, at Plymouth or Exeter, or go to London, or even venture further afield.
* * *
“The school’s just down here. Turn left, then first right.”
Vicky followed the directions, turning into a quiet street with smart houses on one side, and a long green hedge on the other. Above the hedge she could see a two-storey red-brick building. To one side was a large car park, to the other a row of tennis courts.
“This is it?”
“Uh-huh. Stop just down there by the gate. Thanks very much for the lift and... everything.”
“You won’t get into trouble for being away this morning?”
“No — I had double library, so no one will have noticed. Oh...”
Brenda was bustling across the car park towards them, her face like thunder. “Where on earth have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve been worried sick. I found your clothes and your backpack gone, and that stupid note, and when I rang the school they said you hadn’t been in.”
“No.” It wasn’t with defiance but a new-found confidence that Bez greeted her mother. “I was going to London.”
“What?”
“I changed my mind,” she announced simply. “I decided to try to get into university after all.”
“Well, I...” Brenda stared at her daughter in astonishment. “What brought that on? And what are you doing in that car?”
“I bumped into Vicky in town and she gave me a lift back.”
Vicky thanked her silently for skipping the earlier part of the episode.
“She went to university and she told me all about it. It sounds like fun.”
Brenda hadn’t yet recovered. “Well, yes, but . . .”
“I’m going to do modern languages. Vicky says it would give me lots of career options, and most of the courses include a year abroad.” She hefted her backpack out of the boot of the car. “I need to get to class. Could you take this home for me?”
“Okay . . .”
Brenda stood shaking her head in bewilderment as her daughter hugged her and strolled off with a jaunty step across the car park.
Vicky rolled down the car window. “Um... could I give you a lift?” she offered. “That pack looks heavy.”
Brenda hesitated before conceding a wary, “Thank you.” She took Bez’s place in the passenger seat, tucking the pack into the footwell. “And thank you for bringing her home. I don’t know what she was thinking, going off like that.”
Vicky let a small sigh escape her lips. “Um... I think I should tell you the truth. I saw her standing at the bus stop in the rain and offered her a lift into town before I realised what she was planning to do.”
“Oh?”
“So I drove her to the train station.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t know what else to do. I suppose I should have turned round and brought her straight home...”
“She’d only have run off again.” Brenda’s voice echoed with strained patience. “She’s been threatening to do it for a long time.”
“That’s what I thought. But I think she really has changed her mind. She asked me loads of questions about university, and she seems quite excited about the idea.” She slanted her passenger a swift glance. “For heaven’s sake don’t tell her it’s sensible.”
“Of course it’s sensible. I’ve been trying to drum that into her for months.”
Vicky shook her head. “Look, I don’t want to tell you what to do with your own daughter, but maybe trying to drum stuff into her is having the opposite effect.” Her mouth curved into a smile of wry amusement. “Did it ever work with you at that age?”
Brenda conceded a brief laugh. “Well . . . no.”
Vicky laughed too. “Teenagers — they’re always contrary. She said she didn’t want to let you run her life — I pointed out that doing the opposite of what you wanted was the same thing as letting you run her life.”
Brenda frowned. “That sounds a bit contrary.”
“I suppose it does. But it seemed to do the trick.”
They turned down Church Road, the atmosphere between them much more relaxed.
“What are you planning to do with Molly’s cottage?” Brenda asked. “Are you still going to sell it as a second home?”
“I don’t know. I’d really like to live there, but I’m going to have to find a way to pay the inheritance tax.”
“Could you get a mortgage?”
“Possibly — I’d been thinking about that. The problem is that if I stay, I won’t have a job, and mortgage companies tend not to be too keen on lending under those circumstances. Still...” She pulled up outside Brenda’s shop. “I have a little while before I have to make up my mind.”
“Well... thank you for the lift.” Brenda’s smile was now warm and friendly. “And for talking some sense into my Bethany. It’s more than I could ever do.”
“I’m not sure that it was anything I said. I just hinted at some of the difficulties she might have finding a job and somewhere to stay. She began to realise that the streets of London might not be paved with gold after all. She’s a good kid, and very bright. She’ll do all right. Just go easy on her.”
“I’ll try.”
Vicky sighed with relief as she turned the car round and drove back up the hill to the cottage. Instead of a potential disaster, that had turned out pretty well after all. Bez seemed really enthusiastic about going to university, and hopefully her mother wouldn’t nag her quite so much.
And she had a piece of very valuable jewellery in her pocket. Tomorrow she’d go up to London, to the jewellers that Mr Digby had recommended — she was too excited to wait any longer.
She turned through the gate, parked on the drive and climbed out, and reached into the back for her bag...
“Hi.”
Her heart thumped and she turned sharply, banging her head on the car roof. Tom. “Oh...” She managed to fix a smile in place. Standing there with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his well-worn jeans, he could have stepped straight out of one of her hot dreams. “Hello. You... made me jump.”
“I’m sorry. I’m looking for Rufus. He often comes into Molly’s garden. He’s been gone since before breakfast — it isn’t like him to miss his food.”
“Oh . . .” And breathe . . . “Sorry, I’ve been out — I haven’t seen him.”
“It’ll serve him right if he misses his supper too, the little rat.”
Numbly her mind sought for something casual to say. “Does he run away often?” Did her voice sound a little too bright?
“Quite often, but he never goes far.”
She took a moment to steady herself. The sensible part of her brain was warning her to freeze him out; temptation was whispering to her to stay. He’s married. She was struggling to remember that, to conjure the image of him at the cricket match with his wife and his little boy.
But when he smiled like that . . .
“Um . . . how old is he?”
“Almost eighteen months. Still a pup, really. I’m hoping he’ll grow out of the habit.”
“You can’t shut him in?”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? Houdini had nothing on him. Anyway, it isn’t really practical on a farm. At least he knows not to bother the cows. And he’s a great little ratter.”
Oh, dammit, that laugh. Low and slightly husky, it sent a shimmer of heat over her skin. And the glint in those dark eyes, the slight lift at the corner of that beguiling mouth.
That mouth... it would be warm and firm on hers, sure and confident, easing her lips apart as those strong arms drew her against his hard body...
Careful, she warned herself sharply. She suspected that Tom Cullen was far too perceptive to miss the effect he had on her. Which could make things difficult if they were going to be neighbours.
But if they were going to be neighbours, even if only for a short time, she ought to try to establish some kind of friendly relationship. She just had to ensure that she kept that simmering sexual attraction under control. She could do that.
“Have you looked in the back garden?” she asked.
“I was just going to, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” She led the way down the side of the cottage. “It’s a bit of a jungle back here.” She tried for a note of light humour. “There are probably elephants hidden in the grass.”
He quirked one dark eyebrow in amusement. “I didn’t know Molly kept a herd of elephants.”
“Well, she was pretty eccentric.” She laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
He stood with his hands fisted on his hips, surveying the area. “You’re going to need a lawnmower on this.”
“There’s one in the garage — a petrol thing. It looks pretty ancient though, so I don’t know if it still goes.”
“Let’s have a look at it.”
The garage door creaked in protest as they dragged it open. “Needs a drop of WD40 on those hinges,” Tom suggested.
Vicky flicked on the light — a single naked bulb swinging from the roof, casting weird shadows among the random junk. “It’s a bit of a tip. I think there could be a whole new species of spider evolving in here.”
There was an old spin-dryer — the top-loading sort dating from the 1960s. A broken deckchair, paint tins, garden tools. In the middle, under a dusty tarpaulin, was Molly’s motorbike and sidecar.
“Oh, I remember this old thing.” Tom flipped up the tarpaulin. “She gave me a ride in the sidecar once — I’ve never been more scared in my life. She thought speed limits were nothing more than a casual suggestion.”
Vicky laughed. “No wonder my mum would never let me go for a ride in it. Here’s the lawnmower.” She edged past the motorbike. “I don’t know if there’s any petrol in it.”
“There’s a jerrycan here.” He picked it up and shook it. “Yes, it’s full.”
“Right.”
The lawnmower was heavy. Tom came to help her manoeuvre it out of the garage and over to the edge of the lawn. “We’d better check if there’s any oil in it.”
“Ah — yes.” She wouldn’t have thought of that.
He messed about, checking the engine oil and filling the tank with petrol, and finally managed to get it started. It rattled alarmingly, but then to Vicky’s relief it settled into a steady throb.
“There you go. Try it.”
She took the handle and pulled up the starter lever... and found herself sprawling on the ground as the mower leaped forward.
“Oh... !” Laughing, she eased herself to her knees, awkwardly aware that any dignity she might have hoped for had been shattered. “What a klutz.”
“Are you okay?” Tom took her elbow to help her to her feet.
“Yes, thanks...” He hadn’t moved his hand. A small glow of heat was spreading up her arm, and when she lifted her gaze to those deep, dark eyes she felt as if she was caught in some kind of spell.
Had he stepped closer to her, or was it just that he was the only thing she could see? There seemed to be some kind of static charge in the air, like the moments before a thunderstorm. She couldn’t move, had forgotten to breathe.
His hand slid slowly up from her elbow to her shoulder...
A burst of ecstatic barking shattered the moment. A small brown-and-white terrier scrambled out of the bushes at the side of the garden and hurled himself at his master as if he hadn’t seen him for months.
Vicky stepped back sharply, alarm bells ringing in her head. If Rufus hadn’t saved her... Girl Code: Off Limits.
And what the hell did he think he was doing? He was married, with a kid — and another on the way. He had no right — no right — to play flirty games with other women. In a small village like this he was probably the number one babe-magnet, and clearly it had resulted in an outsized ego — not to mention a sense of entitlement.
Well, this was one babe who had no intention of being magnetised. She had too much respect — for herself, for his wife, for any woman — to fall for a man who collected women like teenagers collected TikTok followers.
“Ah — he’s decided to come back.” She forced a smile, cool and friendly. “That’s good. Well, I’d better get on with mowing this lawn. See you around.”
She sensed his brief hesitation. But as she started up the mower again and set off down the garden he called to the dog, and by the time she risked a glance back over her shoulder he was gone.
* * *
How had she forgotten, in just ten days, how awful the London traffic was? It wasn’t helped by the roadworks on Hammersmith Bridge. Vicky sighed as she pulled up behind yet another traffic queue.
There were two options — driving all the way across town to Hatton Garden and hoping to find a convenient parking space, or leaving the car in the car park beneath her apartment block and catching the Tube. Of the two, the latter was probably the best one to go with.
Molly’s diamond brooch was safe in her pocket, in its velvet pouch and covered by her sweater. It was a quick ride on the Circle line, thirty minutes, almost door to door. If anyone was going to mug her they’d take her bag and be satisfied.
It was a relief to turn off the main road onto the quieter side street. A few hundred yards along was the entrance to the cavernous car park beneath the apartment block. Jeremy’s car was in his allocated space next to hers.
That wasn’t unusual — most days he walked to the office. Unless he needed to go out to a viewing — then he felt it gave a more professional impression to arrive in his BMW rather than on foot.
The other advantage of parking here was that she could nip up to the apartment. After the four-hour drive from Devon she was ready for a cup of coffee and a chance to freshen up before she set off for Hatton Garden.
After she finished the business at the jewellers she’d come back and pack up all her stuff and load it into the car. By the time Jeremy got home from work she’d be ready to sit down and have a calm conversation with him, give him back his ring. And leave.
The lift took her to the fifth floor. Strange to think that after almost twelve months she wouldn’t be living here anymore. She wouldn’t miss it.
The corridor was stark but spotlessly clean and brightly lit. There were six doors, three on each side — theirs was the middle one on the right. She slid the key into the lock and opened the door.
And froze.
Something was off. The curtains were still drawn, and there were two empty wine glasses on the floor beside the sofa. A lingering hint of perfume in the air — a familiar perfume, but not hers.
A giggle from the bedroom. Then Jeremy’s voice: “You little minx.”
And as if she needed any further confirmation, there was a red leather jacket on the coat rack on the wall. Jayde’s red leather jacket.
Very quietly she stepped back into the corridor and closed the door, and stood staring at it.
There were two options. She could open the door again, storm in, catch them red-handed — create an almighty scene with them all screaming at each other and probably ending up with everything being twisted and making her the one who was in the wrong.
Or she could leave now, come back after they’d gone, collect her things and be on the road back to Devon before Jeremy came home. Leaving her engagement ring and a brief note telling him that she had decided not to marry him, leaving him to try to figure out her reasons.
She smiled grimly. Of the two, the latter was probably the best one to go with. Cold, dignified. Making it clear that she was the one doing the rejecting, not the one being rejected and cheated on.
With her own stepsister! That would certainly be an explosive relationship. They’d either be good for each other, compensating for each other’s flaws, or they’d end up killing each other.
She smiled again. Of the two options . . .