Jackie came a little closer, but not so close that she was within touching distance. He didn’t have any more words at the moment, so he just looked at her. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her fingers so tense he could clearly see the tendons on the backs of her hands.
He came full circle again. ‘Why?’ he whispered. ‘Why have you never told me?’
‘I thought I had.’
Her answer turned his pain into anger. And when he was angry his usual good humour became biting and sarcastic. ‘That’s funny,’ he said, aware that the set of his jaw was making it blindingly obvious he was anything but amused, ‘because I think I would have remembered that conversation.’
Jackie walked over to a low stone bench and sat down, staring at the floor. Reluctantly he followed, sensing that keeping close, pushing her, would be the only way to uncover more facts.
As he sat there staring at the fountain bubbling away she told a ridiculous story of lost letters, secret rendezvous and missed opportunities. She told him she’d waited at the farmhouse for him. Waited for him to turn up—and dash her hopes, he silently added, because, surely, that was what she’d expected.
‘Why didn’t you try to reach me again when I didn’t show up? You had no way of knowing if I’d been prevented from meeting you there.’
Jackie leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. For a long time the only sound she made was gentle, shallow breathing.
‘I wondered about that at first,’ she said through her hands, and then she sat up and looked at him. ‘I waited for hours, way past when I should have been back home. Just in case you were late. And I would have come back day after day until I saw you. I wanted to believe you were coming.’
The look of exquisite sorrow in her eyes tugged at him. It felt as if she were pulling at a knot of string deep inside him, a knot that was just about to work itself loose. He refused to relax and let it unravel.
‘I thought you knew me better than that, Jackie. If I’d got the letter, of course I would have come.’
She made a tiny little noise and he couldn’t tell whether it was a laugh or a snort. ‘And you would have done…what?’
‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘We would have worked something out.’
Jackie stopped staring straight ahead and turned her whole body towards him. ‘You’re not saying that you would have stood by me?’
‘Yes.’
‘No!’ She blinked furiously. She spoke again, softer this time. ‘No.’
‘You can’t know that!’
He would have stood by her. He would have. At least that was what the man he was now wished he would have done.
‘Think about this, Romano! You’re saying you would have wanted to keep her, that you would have put a ring on my finger and we have had our own little teenage Happy Ever After?’
He looked deep inside himself, saw a glimmer of something he’d hoped he’d find. ‘Maybe.’
Instead of her laughing in his face, Jackie’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let a single one fall, not even as her hands shook in her lap. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.You’re just daydreaming.’
He jumped up, started pacing. All this sitting around, keeping everything in, was far too British for him. He needed to move, to vent.
‘Is that so hard to believe? Am I that much of a disappointment?’
Jackie opened her mouth to answer, but there was a sudden rustling and the sound of voices further up the path. Without thinking about how or why—maybe it had been the memories of all that sneaking around in the past—Romano grabbed Jackie by the arm and manhandled her into the shelter of the grotto, silencing her protests with a stern look. This was one conversation neither of them wanted to have overheard.
He was close to her again now, pressed up against her, her back against the wall of the grotto. If they stayed in exactly this position they couldn’t be seen from most of the sunken garden. She was rigid, all of the soft sighing, the moulding into his arms, over and done with. Just as well. Any desire to fling with Jackie Patterson had completely evaporated.
But how much worse would it have been if she’d told him afterwards? She’d been right to put a stop to what had been going on. However, that one small mercy in no way balanced out her other sins.
‘It’s Lizzie and Jack,’ she mouthed at him, obviously recognising the voices.
He nodded and tilted his head just a little to get a better view, hoping that the happy couple weren’t looking in his direction. He was lucky. Bride and groom were too wrapped up in each other to spot an inconsistency in the shadows at the far end of the garden.
Lizzie laid her head against Jack’s shoulder and let out a loud sigh. He stroked her back, kissed her hair. Romano and Jackie weren’t the only ones who had needed a bit of fresh air. He hoped, however, that the newly-weds’ walk was going to turn out better than his had done.
Jack and Lizzie wandered briefly round the sunken garden, hand-in-hand, stopping every now and then to kiss, before moving on down the path towards the small beach.
Romano stepped out of the grotto as they disappeared out of view and stayed there, staring at the spot where he’d last seen a flash of white dress.
They seemed so happy.
From his short observation of the bride and groom, they were a wonderful complement for each other. They had so much to look forward to: their honeymoon, starting a new life together, raising the twins Lizzie was carrying and building their own little family.
He realised he was outrageously jealous, which surprised him. He’d never expected to want all of that. He’d got on quite well since the death of his mother without feeling part of a traditional family, and he’d never guessed he’d harboured a longing for it, preferring to keep his relationships light, his ties loose.
How ironic. He could have had it all along. He could have been the man in the morning suit looking captivated by his fresh-faced bride. He could have been the one looking forward to seeing his child born, to rocking her when she cried and, when she was older, scaring the monsters away from under her bed. But now, when he realised how much he wanted those things, those moments were gone, never to be salvaged. They’d been stolen from him by the woman steadying herself against the grotto wall with wide-spread hands, looking as much like an out-of-her-depth teenager as he’d ever seen her.
The sight drew no pity from him. He wouldn’t allow it. Instead he looked away.
Marry her? Have a Happy Ever After with her? Right at this moment it was the last thing he wanted to do. In fact if he never saw her again he’d be ecstatic. But that wasn’t an option. She was his sole link to his daughter. A daughter he could still hardly believe existed.
He spoke without looking at Jackie. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Kate,’ she said blandly.
Kate. Very English. Probably not what he would have chosen, given the chance. But he hadn’t been given the chance—that was the point. He wanted to shout, to punch, to…do something to rid himself of this horrible assault of feelings. Normally he could bat negative things away, dissolve them with a joke or distract himself—usually with something female and pretty—but this just wouldn’t go away and he didn’t know how to handle it.
Facts. Stick to facts.
‘Kate,’ he echoed. ‘Short for Katharine?’
She didn’t answer. He let out a rough sigh. How could she still be playing games with him after what she’d revealed? How did she have the gall to make him work for the answers?
Because she’s Jackie. She sets tests. You