Chapter Three #2
Maxwell had even had the temerity to accuse Jack’s brother Jago of being obsessed with Mollie, his fiancée, when anyone could see they were well-suited and were better together than apart.
Jack had never seen Jago so happy and content before, although he and Mollie were getting a little frustrated their much-longed-for wedding was on hold until Jonas came back from wherever he was currently working.
Jack was not by nature a worrier but even his laid-back approach to life was being challenged by his youngest brother’s lack of contact over the last few months.
Jack continued to work through the paperwork Hugo Winters had given him, making notes as he went.
After another hour, he scraped his hair off his forehead and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
He was starting to realise the Winterses’ divorce was going to be a lot more complicated than he had expected.
It could take months to sort out the division of assets that were on paper, let alone the ones Sylvie suspected Hugo had secreted away out of sight via clever accounting.
He logged off his computer and pushed back his chair and stood, glancing outside his office window overlooking the view of the city.
A light shower of rain had fallen an hour ago but now the sun was back from behind the clouds, casting a golden glow over the park near his office building.
Summer had started in its tentative way, the evenings lengthening so families could make the most of the extra daylight.
Jack decided to make the most of it too.
Sylvie got home after her hot yoga session and breathed a sigh of relief the workmen next door had finished for the day.
She went out to her back garden, which was her pride and joy.
Having lived on a council estate as a child, with only concrete to play on, it was a statement of her success she now had her own green space and so did her mother in Surrey.
The garden was a combination of cottage flowers and hedged borders and a small vegetable patch and herb garden.
Sylvie watered a couple of the pots while waiting for her little visitor to appear from over the fence.
The same time each day, a young stray cat she had called Shadow would cautiously enter her garden and wait in the shadows of a weeping birch tree for Sylvie to put down some food for her.
Sylvie surmised the cat was female because of her grey-based tortoiseshell coat.
The cat had a white bib and white paws and was only half grown.
Sylvie suspected the cat was abandoned rather than feral for she seemed to want to connect with Sylvie with a look of yearning in her big green eyes.
But Sylvie couldn’t get close enough to the cat to touch her, because as soon as she approached, the cat would give a warning hiss and then disappear, hiding behind a shrub or hedge until Sylvie backed away.
Then, driven by hunger, the little cat would cautiously approach the food, eat ravenously, and between mouthfuls check that Sylvie wasn’t coming any closer.
Sylvie was patient and enjoyed the challenge of hopefully, over time, winning the little cat’s trust. All the activity and noise next door was interrupting her taming process but at least she could spend the long early summer evenings sitting out with a glass of wine, far enough away to allow the cat the comfort of food without threatening her by trying to get too close too soon.
Sylvie left her glass of wine on the sandstone flagstones near her pots of scarlet-coloured geraniums and purple stocks, and walked over to the fence that divided her property from the neighbouring one.
She stretched up on tiptoe and, clinging with her fingertips to keep her balance on the fence, she peered over, pleased to see the extension to the back of the Victorian townhouse was more or less complete.
The kitchen/living room had an open-plan theme with lots of glass overlooking the garden, which at this point only consisted of a Japanese maple tree.
The rest of the garden would need some work, which would no doubt involve more noise and disruption, but at least that would mostly happen during work hours, so Sylvie wouldn’t have to listen to it.
She was about to let go of the fence when she caught sight of a tall man entering the new kitchen/living room area and her heart slammed against her breastbone like a wildly tossed hammer.
‘Oh no!’ Sylvie hadn’t even realised she had gasped the words out loud, nor did she realise the person inside the new extension had such superb hearing, but he turned his head and saw her staring at him and smiled, and opened the bifold doors to come outside.
Sylvie let go of the fence and landed with a thump of her feet to the ground that reverberated through her body like a shock wave.
Or maybe the shock wave was more to do with the fact that Jack Wilde was her new neighbour.
Of all the houses in London, why had he bought the one next to hers?
Had he been aware of who lived next door?
She didn’t know whether to be furious or relieved she had at least got someone living beside her she knew, rather than a complete stranger but still… Jack Wilde?
Sylvie was wearing her workout gear and hadn’t showered since her hot yoga session.
Her hair was a sweaty mess piled up on top of her head.
Her cheeks were probably still red from pushing her body to the limit.
She had only ever seen Jack whilst wearing work gear, her professional uniform of tailored clothing, her face lightly made-up, lipstick on, not a hair out of place.
But here and now, every line and contour of her body could be seen in her yoga gear. She might as well be naked.