‘Hell, no. It’s my duty. And if he gets cold feet at the last minute, you can be sure I won’t advise him to head for the hills the way my best man did. I can tell him, from firsthand experience, that the only thing to do is stay put and work it out.’
‘I suppose I should say I’d do the same for Crysse. Except she isn’t as stupid as me.’
‘You’re not stupid. I was the stupid one.’ She would have argued with him, but he turned her around and gave her a little push in the direction of the cottages. ‘Go. I’ll clear up here.’ She walked a few paces, looked back uncertainly. ‘I’ll call you in plenty of time in the morning.’
‘We need to make arrangements, tell people—’
‘You can leave all that to me.’
‘At least we won’t have to pack,’ she said.
‘No, we won’t have to pack.’ Their suitcases were all ready. Waiting for the honeymoon that hadn’t happened.
She walked slowly back to the cottages. She needed Mike. Wanted him beside her, holding her, but he was right. They needed to sort out exactly where they were going. What they wanted. More importantly she needed to sort out some things with her family. Make her peace with her mother. She took a deep breath and made the call.
‘Mum? It’s Willow. I’m sorry—’
Mike cleared up the remains of their picnic, then leaned against the tree, trying to think of some way to sort out their future, make it possible. After a while, the navy blue darkness was punctuated by a square of yellow light as Willow switched on a light upstairs in her room. He imagined her preparing for her big day, lunch with Toby Townsend at the Globe. She deserved a chance at the big time. He didn’t think she’d enjoy it that much, find much heart up there, but she needed to find that out for herself.
That heart was everything.
He took out his cellphone, keyed in a number. ‘Dad? It’s Mike. I’m sorry—’
‘How was it?’ Mike had called her at the Globe, told her not to come back to the cottages but to meet him at Heathrow, at the check-in desk. He had picked up her suitcase, her passport.
‘Different,’ she said. ‘Frenetic. Crowded.’ She thought of the way everyone had been crammed into a huge open-plan space, with scarcely room to swing a cat. They had a cat at the Chronicle. He lived in the offices and was spoiled rotten and as fat as butter. ‘This is a bit of a rush isn’t it. The wedding isn’t until the weekend. What’ll Emily do without us?’
‘It was the only flight I could get us on this week. Jake’s staying on for a few more days.’ He grinned. ‘And I volunteered Cal. He’s rounding up some extra hands. Oh, and Jake has told Aunt Lucy that the interview is on hold for a couple of weeks.’
‘Weeks? I thought we were going for the weekend.’
‘It’s a long way to go for a weekend and you won’t be starting work until next month.’
‘No…’
‘So I said you’d call her when you get back.’ He put the tickets on the counter, lifted their bags onto the scale. ‘That you’ll make her famous.’ He glanced back when she didn’t answer. ‘Or wasn’t Toby Townsend that keen on the countryside issue?’
Oh, he’d been interested. Not in the issues, but he’d practically salivated at the thought of serialising Aunt Lucy’s sensational revelations about half a century of life beneath the sheets in a quiet English village. His angle had certainly been ‘different’ from hers. He wanted all the scandals, all the secrets; she was supposed to befriend the old lady, gain her confidence, extract every last, juicy detail. It would be like taking candy from a baby. Unfortunately she would never be able to look herself in the mirror again. Big time. Big mistake.
‘The clerk is waiting, Mike.’
‘Willow, is something wrong?’
‘No.’ She glanced behind, anywhere rather than meet those clear, sharp eyes. ‘There’s a queue.’ Mike followed her gaze, shrugged and gave his full attention to the check-in clerk.
She’d said, no. Nothing wrong. But as she stood there she began to wonder uneasily if she was being a little overconfident. Okay, she hadn’t mentioned the name of the village, but she’d been talking to Toby’s assistant over coffee; she’d mentioned the cottages, the Trust. It wouldn’t take a man of his resources long to put it all together. Or to find someone else to do his dirty work.
She’d thought she was joining a respected newspaper, not one about to indulge in a circulation war and with its sights set firmly on the gutter.
She should warn Lucy, put her on her guard. No, that was hopeless, the sweet old dear would never understand. She needed to warn Jake. He’d know what to do.
‘Mike, do you need me for this? I’ve been cross-legged all the way from South Kensington. I really need to visit the Ladies.’
‘Since South Ken?’ He grinned. ‘No wonder you look stressed. I’ll see you upstairs at passport control.’ Then, suddenly, he said, ‘Willow?’
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not going to run out on you. This is Crysse’s wedding, not mine.’
‘Well, thanks. I think.’
She raced to the Ladies, searched her bag for the scrap of paper Jake had written his number on. Keyed it in with shaky fingers.
‘Willow? I thought you were supposed to be on your way to the West Indies right now.’
‘Boarding in twenty minutes. Look, I need to tell you something.’
He listened without interruption until she’d finished, then said, ‘Don’t worry. Aunt Lucy needs a holiday, I’ll get someone to cover this place for a few weeks. Oh, and Willow—good luck for the big day.’
‘Er, thanks.’
She hung up. Now her only problem would be in convincing Mike that she hadn’t given up her ‘chance of a lifetime’ for him.
After her dramatic last minute ‘I want a career more than marriage’ dash for freedom, abandoning him… Okay, so she hadn’t actually abandoned him, he hadn’t been there to be abandoned, but that was just luck and good timing. But she’d abandoned her wedding, her family, three hundred wedding guests and a cake big enough to feed five thousand. After that, he was going to find it pretty hard to believe she’d give it all up for one old lady she’d met for the first time yesterday.
Somehow she’d have to convince him that Toby had changed his mind. That he didn’t have a use for a features writer whose imagination stretched no further than the village pump.
‘WHAT are you going to wear?’
Crysse, having talked non-stop for about an hour, bubbling over with excitement and happiness, full of plans for her wedding, finally drew breath and paused expectantly. She was waiting for Willow’s version of what had happened on Saturday. All the details. Including how they’d got back together. And if they were together, why they had separate rooms.
Her cousin would have to ask Mike about that. He’d made the booking. She suspected he was saying, Marry me or sleep alone. Maybe he hoped the hot tropical nights would bring her to her knees.
She was already there. She’d pulled her world down around her ears and was having to live with the consequences. No wedding. No big job. And Mike turning her own argument back on her.
But there was no way she was raining on Crysse’s parade. Or risking her telling Mike. Hence the swift interjection.
‘Have you bought a dress?’