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‘Will—it’s Rob. Just making sure that you haven’t forgotten the party.’
His heart sank, the gratitude evaporating. ‘No, I haven’t forgotten,’ he lied. ‘When is it?’
‘Friday—seven-thirty onwards, at the house. You are coming, aren’t you? Emma will give me such hell if you don’t.’
And him too, no doubt. ‘I’ll try,’ he promised evasively. ‘I might be able to get away for an hour or so, but I’m still lambing, so don’t rely on me.’ He didn’t need anyone else relying on him. He felt as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders as it was, and the party was just one more thing he had to do out of duty.
‘Stuff the lambs.’
‘With garlic and rosemary?’
‘Smartass. Just be there,’ Rob said firmly, and the dial tone sounded in his ear.
He dropped the receiver back into the cradle and scowled at it. If it was anybody else, any way on God’s earth he could get out of it, he’d do exactly that. He couldn’t, though. It was Rob and Emma, their tenth wedding anniversary and thirtieth birthday joint celebration, and he had no choice.
That didn’t mean, however, that he had to enjoy it or stay longer than was strictly necessary!
Two hours, tops, he promised himself. And duty done, honour satisfied, he’d be able to come home and—
And what? Sit here in the empty house on his own and stare morosely at the four walls? Go alone to his big, empty bed and lie staring at the ceiling, equally morosely, until sleep claimed him?
He snorted. He could always tackle some of the endless paperwork that dogged his life and drove him to distraction. God knows, there was enough of it.
Shooting back his chair, he went through to the kitchen, noting almost absently that Michael was now doing his homework, albeit in front of the television, and Rebecca was curled in the big chair with the dog squeezed up beside her and a cat on her lap, her eyes wilting.
‘I’m just going outside to check the sheep,’ he told them, hooking his elderly jacket off the back of the door and stuffing his feet into his muddy Wellington boots. ‘Beccy, bed in twenty minutes. Michael, you’ve got one hour.’
He went out into the cold, quiet night and made his way across to the barns. There were warm sleepy noises coming from the animals, soft bleats and shufflings in the straw, and he could hear the horses moving on the other side of the partition that divided the barn.
He did a quick check of the lambs, made sure none of the ewes was in trouble, then, satisfied that all was quiet, he cast an eye over the other stock: the chickens and ducks all shut up for the night, the house cow and the few beef calves out in the pasture behind the house. Then he checked the horses that were not his but were there on a DIY livery. He always included them in his late-night check, just to be sure they had water and none of them had rolled and got themselves cast, stuck firmly up against the side wall and unable to stand up again.
All was well, though, and with his arms folded on the top of the gate he paused for a moment, drinking in the quiet night.
A fox called, and in the distance he could hear a dog barking. Owls hooted to each other, and the pale, ghostly shape of a barn owl drifted past on the night air, on the lookout for an unwary mouse.
Vaulting over the gate, he left the stockyard and walked round to the old farmyard on the other side of the house, looking round at all the changes that had been made in the last few years.
The old timber cowshed and feed store had been turned into a thriving farm shop and café, selling a range of wonderful mainly organic foods, many of them cooked by his mother. She ran that side of the enterprise, while his father supervised the timber side of the business, the garden furniture and wooden toys and willow fencing which were now manufactured on-site in the old milking parlour.
Diversify, they’d been told, and so they had. Instead of boggy, indifferent grazing down by the river, only usable in the height of the summer, they now grew coppiced willow, cutting it down to the ground every winter and harvesting the supple young shoots while they were dormant. They were used to make environmentally friendly and renewable screens and hurdle-style fencing panels, now hugely popular, and all sorts of other things, many to special order.
He still grew crops on the majority of the farm, of course, but it was going organic, a long process full of bureaucracy and hoops of red tape that he had to jump through in order to satisfy the stringent requirements of the food industry, and then there were the sheep. In a few weeks, when the lambs were a bit tougher, he’d move them down to the saltmarsh pasture on the old Jenks’ farm, because organic saltmarsh lamb fetched a huge premium in the specialist restaurant market.
Buying up the farm from Mrs Jenks had been a major investment at a time when they couldn’t really afford it, but it had been a one-off opportunity and there had been no choice. It had spread their resources even further, however, and made more work, and it would be years before they got a return.
Small wonder, he thought, that he was tired all the time. Still, the farm was thriving again, their futures were secure, and that was all he asked.
With one last glance round to make sure that nothing had been overlooked, he went back inside. There was a little scurry and he saw the tail-end of his daughter disappearing through the doorway. He suppressed a smile and laid a friendly hand on Michael’s shoulder.
‘How’re you doing, sport?’
‘OK, I suppose. Just got my French to do now.’
Will chuckled ruefully. ‘Not my strong point, I’m afraid. You’ll have to ask your grandmother if you get stuck.’
He put the kettle on, and went upstairs to check on Rebecca. She was already in bed, with very little sign of having washed her face or cleaned her teeth, and he chivvied her through the bathroom and then tucked her up in bed.
‘Read me a story,’ she pleaded, and although he was exhausted, he picked up the book from beside her bed, settled down next to her with his back propped against the headboard and his arm around her shoulders, and started to read.
‘Dad?’
Will sucked in a deep breath and forced his eyes open. ‘Michael? What time is it?’
‘Nearly ten. You’ve been here for ages.’
Will glanced down at Rebecca, snuggled against his chest fast asleep, and gently eased his arm out from behind her and settled her down onto the pillow. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, getting to his feet. ‘I just sat down to read her a story—I must have dropped off.’
‘You look knackered,’ his son said, eyeing him worriedly. ‘You work too hard these days.’
Will ruffled his hair affectionately and gave him a brief hug. ‘I’ll live,’ he said, and wondered if it was only to his own ears that it sounded like a vow.
‘Good grief. Emma?’ Rob pushed his chair back from the computer and turned towards the study door as his wife came in.
She propped herself against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest, and tipped her head on one side. ‘What is it?’ she asked him. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
He gave a shaky chuckle. ‘Well—in a way. It’s Isabel Brooke. She’s sent me an e-mail. She wants to get in touch. I’ve got her phone number—shall we ring her?’
Emma shrugged away from the doorframe and came and stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder, peering at the screen. ‘Well. Wow—the famous Isabel Brooke! You could always ask her to the party.’
Rob gave a startled cough of laughter. ‘You have to be joking! Why on earth would she want to come up here to our boring, pedestrian, provincial party?’
Emma slapped him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Hey! This is our party. It’s going to be the best party this county has seen in a long while. Boring and provincial, my foot. Anyway, she might like it.’
Rob chuckled again. ‘I stand by to be amazed. So, shall I ask her?’
Emma shrugged slightly. ‘Why not? She’ll either say yes or no.’
‘Sometimes, my darling, you are so profound.’ Rob stood and wrapped his arms around his wife. ‘It’s too late tonight. I’ll ring her tomorrow. Just now, I have better things to do…’
‘Isabel? There’s a call for you—somebody called Rob. I told him you were in a meeting, but he said it couldn’t wait.’
Kate was hovering, her head stuck round the meeting room door, waiting for her answer. Izzy frowned and rubbed the little crease between her brows with a small, blunt fingertip. ‘Kate, I really don’t have time for—’ She hesitated, a thought occurring to her. ‘Did he give a surname?’
Kate shook her head. ‘He just said you go way back.’
Izzy smiled apologetically at the people gathered around the table. ‘Would you excuse me?’ she murmured. ‘I won’t be a moment. Kate, could you be a love and see if anyone needs more coffee?’
She went out into her office and picked up the phone. ‘Isabel Brooke,’ she said, curiosity vying with wariness.
‘I was beginning to think you weren’t serious about getting back in touch with us—or were you just making me cool my heels so I know my place?’ the familiar voice said laughingly, and Izzy felt her mouth kick up in a smile.
‘And hello yourself,’ she said, settling down in her chair with her feet propped on the edge of her desk, crossed at the ankles. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. She picked a little bit of fluff off her trousers and smoothed the fabric absently. ‘I’m sorry, I really was in a meeting, and I’d said no calls. I didn’t realise I’d given you my office number.’
‘You didn’t, but I didn’t want to leave it too late, so I got my secretary to do a bit of sleuthing. How are you?’
‘I’m fine. Great. How are you? And Emma? Three kids now! I’m impressed.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t be. They were the easy bit. We’re all fine—really good, but nothing like as spectacular as you! Talk about a meteoric rise in the world.’
Izzy shrugged, then realised he couldn’t see her. ‘It’s only money,’ she said dismissively, realising that it was true. What was her success when measured against Rob and Emma’s happiness and the birth of their three children? She swallowed a lump of what had to be self-pity, and put her feet back on the floor.
‘Look, Rob, I really am rather tied up this morning, but I’d love to see you all. Is there any way we can meet up?’
‘Actually, that’s why I’m phoning you. Emma and I are having a party to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary and our thirtieth birthdays, and we want you to come. The trouble is, it’s tomorrow night. Not very much notice, I’m afraid, and I expect you’re so busy you won’t be able to make it, but loads of us will be there and it would be really great to see you.’
Something big and awkward was swelling in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe, and there was a silly smile plastered to her face that she couldn’t seem to shift.
‘That would be fantastic. Of course I’ll come—I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll hand you back to my secretary and you can give her all the details, and I’ll see you on Friday. Thanks, Rob.’
She spoke briefly to Kate and asked her to get all the relevant information from Rob and book her a hotel room nearby, and then, ruthlessly suppressing a twinge of guilt, she also asked her to contact Steve and cancel the dinner engagement he’d talked her into at her party. Then, forcing herself to concentrate, she went back into the meeting and smiled brightly at the assembled company.
‘Sorry about that, everybody. Now, where were we?’
Izzy was a mass of nerves. It was quite ridiculous. She did very much more scary things than this every day of her life, and yet, for some reason, this whole event had taken on the most enormous significance.
Because of Will? What if he was there? And Julia? Oh, Lord.
She checked the address and eyed the house warily, reluctant to go in there yet. Twelve years was a long time, and a lot had happened. Too much? They always said you should never go back, but maybe it was time. Maybe this was just what she needed to get closure.
She checked her appearance one last time in the little rearview mirror of her car, and then with a mental shrug she abandoned any further prevarication, got out of the car and strode purposefully towards the open front door, the flowers she’d brought clutched just a little tightly in her hand.
As she drew nearer she could hear the sounds of a party in full swing—loud voices, shouts of laughter, the insistent rhythm of music that invaded her blood. It would be pointless to ring the doorbell, she realised, and so, her heart pounding in time to the beat, she walked down the hall and through the open door at the end, a smile plastered to her face.
For a moment no one noticed her, then a sudden silence fell, and everyone seemed to turn towards her. Her smile was slipping, brittle, and she stared at the room full of strangers and wondered what on earth she was doing there.
Then a man detached himself from the crowd, shorter than she remembered, his body more solid, his hair thinner, but the sparkling green eyes and the smile that encompassed the world were just the same, and he strode towards her, arms outstretched.
‘Izzy!’
‘Rob,’ she said with relief, and went into his arms with a sense of homecoming that took her by surprise.
He released her, holding her at arm’s length and studying her, then dragging her back into his arms for another bear hug. ‘Emma!’ he called. ‘Look who it is!’
Emma hadn’t changed at all. She was still the friendly, lovely girl she’d always been, and she hugged Izzy, took the flowers with an exclamation of delight and dragged her off to meet all the others.
Well, most of them. There was no sign of Will, and Izzy suppressed the strange sense of disappointment that prickled at her. She’d had no reason to suppose he would be there, so it was ludicrous to feel so bereft at his absence.
Anyway, if he’d been there, Julia would have been, as well, and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to meet her again, even all those years later.
And then there was another sudden silence, and her eyes were drawn to the doorway.
A man filled it, his dark hair untidy and rumpled as if he’d just combed it with his fingers, although they were now rammed firmly in his pockets. He looked awkward and uncomfortable, ready for flight, but before he had the chance to make his escape the spell broke and the crowd surged round him, wrapping him in a welcome as warm as it was inescapable.
And then he looked up across the crowded room and met her eyes, and her heart jammed in her throat.
Dear God, after all these years. He hasn’t changed, she thought, then shook her head slowly. No, he has changed, but he’s still—Will. My Will.
No.
Yes!
Stop it. Never mind that. Look at him. Look at the changes. He’s bigger—taller, heavier, older. His eyes look tired. Beautiful, still staggeringly beautiful, but tired.
Why so tired?
She wanted to cry, to laugh, to hug him—and because she could do none of them, she retreated, through a door she found conveniently placed behind her, and fled into the sanctuary of another hallway.
She needed time—time to think. Time to get her ducks in a row and her heart back under control before she said or did something stupid.
Oh, Lord. Will…
CHAPTER TWO
WILL was stunned. He wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that Izzy would be here. Of all the places, all the ways he’d imagined meeting her again, this hadn’t even been on the list. Somebody was pressing a drink into his hand, somebody else was slapping him on the back, saying how good it was to see him again, but all he could think about was Izzy.
His Izzy.
No. Not now. Not any more. Not for years—not since he’d betrayed her trust—
Hell, why hadn’t Rob warned him? Would he still have come?
Fool. Of course he would have come. Wild horses wouldn’t have kept him away. He needed to speak to her, but first he had to greet all these people who were so pleased to see him—good people who’d supported them through the nightmare of the last few years. So he smiled and laughed and made what he hoped were sensible remarks, and when he looked up again, she was gone.
Inexplicably, panic filled him. ‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, and, squeezing his way through the crowd, he went through the doorway at the back of the room that led out to the side hall. It had been the door nearest to her, and the most likely one for her to have used to make her escape, but he couldn’t let her go until he’d spoken to her. He was suddenly afraid that she would have slipped out and gone away, that he wouldn’t have a chance to speak to her, and he had to speak to her.
There was so much to say—
She hadn’t gone anywhere. She was standing in the side hall looking lost, absently shredding a leaf on the plant beside her, her fabled composure scattered to the four winds. The powerful, dynamic woman of the glossy society magazines was nowhere to be seen, and in her face was an extraordinary and humbling vulnerability. His panic evaporated.
‘Hello, Izzy,’ he said softly. ‘Long time no see.’
Her smile wavered and then firmed with a visible effort. ‘Hello, Will,’ she replied, and her voice was just as warm and mellow and gentle as he’d remembered. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, you know,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Still farming.’ He ran his eyes over her elegant and sophisticated evening trousers and pretty little spangled top, and his gut tightened. ‘You’re looking as beautiful as ever—not the least bit like an assassin.’
‘Still the old sweet talker, then,’ she murmured, her lips kicking up in a smile that nearly took his legs out from under him. ‘Anyway, I’m surprised you remember. It’s been a long time—twelve years.’
‘Eleven since I saw you last—but I’ve got the newspapers and the glossies to remind me, lest I should forget,’ he told her, trying to keep his voice light and his hands to himself.
