Even as she issued the invitation Sophia remembered with a jolt that Jarrett was paying her a visit after lunch, and that she’d promised to tell him the whole story of her bitterly unhappy marriage. She wouldn’t put off the visit, but she’d rather her brother left before he arrived. All morning, whenever she’d reflected on seeing him again, she’d felt almost sick with nerves. Yet underneath the nerves was growing a distinct sense of excited anticipation, and it was that pleasurable expectation that worried her far more than being judged on making such a terrible marriage and enduring it for so long, when she should have found the courage to get herself and Charlie away from the situation as soon as possible … whatever the threatened or imagined consequences.
Jarrett had hardly slept. He’d risen early and busied himself with inconsequential activities, like browsing the Sunday newspapers, surfing the internet and drinking enough coffee to raise a person from the dead, simply to kill the time before he could drive over to High Ridge Hall and see Sophia. It was as though someone had put a spell on him. He could hardly think about anything else but her beautiful face, and the realisation that he was a different man when he was in her company—a man who was far more in touch with his feelings than he usually managed.
The mere idea of being so vulnerable to a woman would have normally had him running for the hills. God knew he’d had a lifetime of doing just that, fooling himself that long term relationships were best avoided because he didn’t want to deal with the grief he might feel if things didn’t work out. Losing his parents in a car accident when he was young had taught him that loving someone wasn’t always enough to keep them by your side. Better to not risk being hurt, should that ever happen again. Yet what was happening to him now as far as Sophia was concerned was completely out of his control. And while it was undoubtedly frightening, it was also the most wonderful thing that he’d ever experienced.
Now, drawing up outside the familiar manor house, he reached over to the back seat of the car to collect the enormous bunch of flowers he’d brought for Sophia. They were all hand-picked from his own well-planted gardens. He and his gardener had walked the stone paths between the colourful beds together to select and cut them. Jarrett smiled to himself, shaking his head in bemusement as the heady floral perfume drifted up to him.
Even his gardener—the elderly but still sprightly Alfred—had winked knowingly up at him when he’d asked him to help choose some of the most beautiful blooms for a ‘friend’. As the gnarled hands had reverently cut stalks with secateurs, the gardener had said, ‘Your friend is a very lucky young lady indeed, Mr Gaskill. I hope she knows that.’
Stepping out onto the pavement, Jarrett walked up to the rusted iron gate that was positioned between tall hedgerows scattered with pink and white blossoms. It opened directly onto the house’s path. Inside his chest, his heart was infused with optimism and hope for a good outcome to his visit—an outcome that would herald the start of what could be a genuinely meaningful relationship between him and Sophia Markham. But as he put his hand out to open the gate, up ahead the front door opened and a tall fair-haired young man stepped onto the stone porch with Sophia. His thoughts suspended in shock and surprise, Jarrett froze as he observed the man envelop the small slender brunette in a tight bear-hug and pull her head down onto his chest. He then proceeded to stroke his hand lovingly over her hair.
A harsh breath that was akin to the aftermath of being punched exited his lungs. She’d lied to him. Above the white noise that drowned out all other sounds that was the thought that pounded Jarrett’s brain. Was she even a widow, as she’d claimed? If she was, then she obviously hadn’t wasted any time in finding herself a replacement for her husband.
Engulfed by jealousy and rage, he felt his heart thunder hard. When he saw Sophia step back to cup the man’s face tenderly between her hands, and smile up at him as if he was infinitely dear to her, it became too much for him to linger there a second longer. His mind teeming with desperately furious thoughts about what an idiot he was to be taken in by her beautiful face and bewitching company, he turned away and strode quickly back to the car—the need to escape that hurtful, bitter scene was paramount. On the way, he deliberately let the lovely bouquet he’d brought her fall carelessly onto the ground, as though the carefully handpicked blooms were nothing but an unwanted and ugly bunch of weeds.
‘Why didn’t Jarrett come and teach me to play cricket today, Mummy?’ her small son asked plaintively as Sophia tucked him into bed.
Her hand shook slightly as she smoothed it over the patterned eiderdown, thinking hard what to say. In truth, she’d begun to believe that Jarrett had reneged on his agreement to visit because he’d suddenly got cold feet. The thought was hard to bear after he’d been so kind the evening before, and as the day had worn on she hadn’t been able to help becoming close to despondent when she’d realised he wasn’t going to show.
He could have at least dropped a note through the letterbox to tell her that something else had come up. He could even have made up some not too hurtful excuse as to why he’d changed his mind, Sophia reflected. But could she blame him? After all, what man in his right mind would seriously contemplate taking on a woman like her? A woman who wore the battle scars of her bitter experience in her eyes every time she met anyone’s glance?
It didn’t matter that she’d resolved never to put herself in the path of such a dangerous liaison again—that she would stay alert and awake round anyone who had the slightest propensity to mistreat her. Somehow Jarrett Gaskill had got under her skin—even made her long for something she could never have.
Her self-confidence had already been shattered by the hard and lonely years spent with Tom, and her ability to trust had been severely tested—perhaps beyond repair. It had taken a huge leap of faith on her part even to invite Jarrett into the house, let alone contemplate deepening their association. She’d become used to assuming a shield as strong as toughened steel to fend off anyone who tried to get too close or pry into her business. Protecting herself and her son from harm or hurt had taken priority over everything, and rightly so. She should definitely take it as a warning that she’d dared to relax her guard round Jarrett so soon, only to be paid back by his letting her down.
Why had she done such a thing?
The answer came immediately. She’d risked trusting him because hope had started to stir in her heart that he was cut from a finer cloth than her husband, and now it hurt all the more that he’d disappointed her. It was a fruitless exercise, but Sophia couldn’t help wondering why again. Was it because he’d concluded that she just wasn’t worth the risk or the potential heartache?
‘I don’t know why he didn’t come, my darling, I really don’t,’ she answered, tenderly stroking back her son’s corkscrew curls from his forehead. ‘Perhaps he wasn’t feeling well. Anyway, I don’t want you to worry about it, because I’m sure we’ll find out what happened very soon. In the meantime, you’ve got your stay with Uncle David and Aunt Lindsay to look forward to. You’re going to have so much fun, spending some time with your cousin Oscar, I’m sure. Now, get some sleep, my angel. You’ve had an exciting day, what with building a den in the garden and seeing your uncle again. I can see that you’re tired. I love you so much, Charlie.’ Affectionately brushing her lips against her son’s soft cheek, Sophia got up from his bedside and moved across to the door.
‘I love you too, Mummy … more than anybody else in the whole wide world!’
As she quietly closed the door behind her the distressing sting of tears pressed against her eyelids like a painful burning brand.
Jarrett had been in a foul mood all week. Each day he’d risen practically at dawn to seek refuge in work, and he lingered late in his office when he didn’t have to—just to escape the mocking reality of his empty home. However desirable the executive-style house might appear from the outside, with its panoramic windows, the Ferrari, vintage Bentley and Range Rover parked on the drive outside the garage, and its landscaped gardens encompassing almost three acres of prime countryside, there was no getting away from the fact that inside