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‘Is that why you’re sad? Mum said…’ Embarrassed, he broke off.
‘Mum said?’ she prompted.
‘That you cried a lot. Are you from London?’
‘No, Bavaria…Well,’ she qualified and wondered why on earth she was bothering, ‘from Surrey really, but I’ve been living in Bavaria.’
‘Where’s that?’ he asked without much interest.
‘Germany. I think they’re going.’
‘What? Oh, great.’ Scrambling to his feet, he hoisted his school-bag onto his shoulder. ‘See you.’
Yes, she thought almost blankly, see you, but it had been a start, hadn’t it? Talking to someone. With a gentle sigh, she got to her feet.
How had his mother known she cried a lot? Sarah wondered as she retraced her steps. Because Mrs Reeves had told her? Her, and everyone else in the small community? As she reached the road she saw that the street lamps had been lit, and now sparkled on the rain drifting silently across their yellow beams. The boy had gone, home to his own fireside, his mother. Had she ever followed a boy home from school? She couldn’t remember doing so; it had always been the other way around. Until Jed. Jed she would have followed to the ends of the earth. Still would. If he wanted her.
Grasping the rail, she hauled herself up the steep steps than ran parallel to the house. Opening the front door, she found Jed waiting for her.
‘You’re wet,’ he said quietly as she entered. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I met a boy—two girls were following him home from school.’
He gave a small smile. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘girls can be the very devil.’ Helping her off with her raincoat, he hung it on the rack.
Was she the very devil? she wondered as she followed him towards the kitchen. Perhaps that was what he had thought when she’d plagued him in Bavaria—no, not plagued, she hadn’t done that, but she hadn’t tried to hide the tension he’d generated in her.
She slowly sat at the kitchen table and watched her husband. His face was sad, his green eyes dull in this light. And the mouth that used to quirk in humour was straight now, uncommunicative. ‘Did it used to happen to you?’ she asked quietly. ‘Girls following you home from school?’
‘Sometimes. A long time ago. Are you really all right?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed and quickly changed the subject. ‘How far did you get? To the crossroads?’
‘Yes.’
She knew better than to ask how his leg was, if it was painful.
‘Shall we eat?’
She nodded, sat quietly and waited for him to dish up the meal that Mrs Reeves had left. She saw that he was trying very hard not to limp.
The accident should have brought them closer together, she thought sadly. The injury to his leg, the loss of their baby, she concluded in a little mental rush, should have strengthened their love, but it hadn’t. He’d closed himself off, whether from guilt, or anguish—or a realisation that he no longer loved her. Was that the reason? And she didn’t know, now, whether she had closed herself off because he had, or because she just couldn’t cope with thinking about it. He was such a strong man, so determined, so—self-willed. She wished she could be like that. Wished she could be like she used to be.
He looked after her, carefully tried to anticipate her needs, was kind and thoughtful, but not loving. Not once since the accident had he kissed her on the mouth. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, even her hand, but not her mouth. He trod around her as though she were made of glass, but he didn’t talk to her; didn’t—communicate. Only on a superficial level. But then, she didn’t communicate with him, did she?
Staring down at the stew and vegetables he placed in front of her, she felt the familiar lump form in her throat that always preceded a meal. It made it difficult to swallow. ‘Jed…’ she began with some half-formed idea that maybe now they would talk, but he quickly interrupted her, as though afraid of what she might say.
‘We’ve been invited to a party,’ he said quietly.
She looked up in panic.
‘I had a letter this morning. It’s a week on Friday. I’ll say we can’t go.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘But I suspect they won’t give up. It’s Fiona and Duncan’s fifth wedding anniversary. Old friends of mine. Eat your meal.’
And she tried, she did try, but after two small mouthfuls she lay down her fork. Feeling miserable and desperate, she got quickly to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’ Without looking at him or waiting for any comment, she hurried out and up to her room. Closing her door, she leaned back against it, felt the hot flood of tears to her eyes. They couldn’t go on like this. Five o’clock was no time to go to bed, but it seemed easier to lie alone in her room than sit with him downstairs not talking.
Feeling weak and shaky, she moved across to the old-fashioned dressing table and sank down onto the stool. Propping her elbows on the surface, her chin in her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair, that had once been so pretty, hung limp and dull round her small face. Her eyes looked too big, too dark, with bruised shadows beneath them. She looked gaunt and ill. And it couldn’t go on. Other women had lost babies…but it wasn’t only the baby, was it? It was Jed.
CHAPTER TWO
MOVING her eyes, Sarah stared at the framed photograph of herself and Jed on their wedding day. The camera had caught them staring at each other as though both were surprised at where fate had brought them.
It had been such a magical summer, the summer of the balloon. Walking into the village with all the others from the trip, she had felt immediately at home. Flower-decked balconies, pretty buildings that had looked medieval, and kindness and warmth from the people. The small inn where they had gone for coffee to wait for the support vehicle had been warm and friendly, and she’d impulsively decided to stay. They’d had a small room in the eaves she’d been able to rent very cheaply, and she’d been able to tour Bavaria from a very nice base.
Jed had been staying there, too. At first, he’d been distant, contained, merely giving a small nod when he’d seen her, which, despite the tension he’d generated, had thoroughly irritated her. For days it had gone on like that, until she’d nearly killed him.
She’d been dashing down the stairs in her usual impulsive fashion, and because the stairs had dog-legged, meaning you hadn’t been able to see who’d been coming up if you’d been coming down, there’d been no intimation of danger, only a violent collision on the first landing. Such had been her speed that, even though she’d been lighter than him her momentum had taken them both to the waist-high railing and only his swift action had prevented them both going over into the foyer below. Holding her tight, he’d dropped to the landing and it had been their shoulders that had hit the railing instead of their hips.
Shaking with shock, she’d just stared at him. ‘Sorry,’ she finally apologised breathlessly. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Perfectly,’ he drawled. Getting to his feet, he walked away and she watched him run lightly up the stairs she’d just descended.
Sitting where he’d left her, she continued to stare after him long after he’d gone. ‘Perfectly,’ she echoed to herself. She didn’t think she was all right; she could have killed them both. She could still almost feel the imprint of his hands on her arms, the tension he generated in her, and despite his relaxed manner, his slow drawl, he’d been as tense as she was, hadn’t he?
Still shaking, searching round her for her sketch-pad and charcoal she’d been carrying, she got slowly to her feet and retrieved them. Rather shakily descending the stairs, she went out to her usual seat, and really just for something to do, to take her mind off what had happened, she began sketching a small boy who was playing with a toy car beneath one of the tables. Not that her mind was on what she was doing. It was still on Jed.
The child’s father saw what she was doing, and came over to look.
‘How much?’ he asked in English.
‘Sorry?’
‘How much do you want for it?’
‘As much as you think it worth,’ a deep voice said from behind them.
Swinging round, she stared up at the man she’d just almost injured. ‘No,’ she denied in horror. Shaking her head, smiling at the man, she handed the picture over. ‘Please, you’re very welcome to it.’
Looking absolutely delighted, he thanked her and went back to his own table.
‘Not very businesslike,’ Jed disparaged mockingly.
‘I don’t care. I can’t charge people!’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘If people want something, let them pay. You’re very good.’
‘Thank you, but I still can’t charge. Anyway, it’s probably illegal. Trading without a licence, or something.’
With a little shrug, he walked off.
Puzzled by his behaviour, wondering why he had spoken when he didn’t normally, and feeling even more shaken by an encounter with a man who was seriously beginning to disturb her, she stared rather blankly down at her pad.
‘You will do one of my wife?’ a soft voice asked.
Snapping her head up in surprise, she stared at the young man before her. ‘Sorry?’
‘Will you please sketch my wife? At that table over there.’ He pointed.
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ A bit bemused, she did as she was asked, and then another for someone else, and then another.
Frau Keller, who owned the inn, and nobody’s fool, took Sarah to one side when she’d finished sketching and offered a proposition.
‘You draw, for one hour or two, a day, and I will pay you. More people come, I make more money. It’s good for business.’
‘Oh,’ Sarah said inadequately.
Frau Keller grinned. ‘Yes?’
‘Am I allowed to take money?’ she asked dubiously. ‘Don’t I have to have a permit or something?’
Frau Keller made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. ‘You stay here rent-free, then. Meals included. Now you be happy?’
Relieved, Sarah smiled. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ If she didn’t actually take money, it was probably all right.
‘Good, all is settled. Go draw. More people are waiting.’
And so she did. She also wondered if Jed had been behind the offer, and then dismissed the thought. Why would he bother? He didn’t even seem to like her. And she strongly doubted he spent any time thinking about her the way she continually thought about him. Every moment not taken up with something else, he was in her thoughts. Irritated and alarmed, she wanted to touch him, discover what it would be like to press her mouth to his, and she kept thinking she ought to go away, leave, before she made a fool of herself. Maybe she would have done if he hadn’t come to her room that day. That very hot day.
She’d been out with a party of tourists who had been staying at the hotel. Returning to the inn, hot, sticky, she’d run up to her room in the eaves, longing only for a shower and a cold drink. She’d opened all the windows, left the door open to create a draft, and gone into the minuscule bathroom, the door of which was beside the main door. She emerged naked a few minutes later just as Jed walked in. They met; in fact they collided, and he automatically put out his hands to save her, or himself.
Time slowed, almost to a stop, as they stared at each other, and then he kissed her. No obvious forethought, no plan, he just kissed her. With hunger, as though he had been wanting to do so for a very long time.
The initial contact had jerked her into stiffness, but as his mouth continued to touch hers, gentle and persuasive, she shuddered and flung her arms round his neck and kissed him back as though her very life depended on it. She didn’t know how long they kissed; it seemed like an eternity. She was aware of his hands on her naked back, aware that he held something, and then a stray gust of wind blew the door shut, and they both jumped, jerked apart.
He stared at her for what seemed a very long time, and then he apologised. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Why?’ she asked thickly.
He didn’t answer, merely gave a rather wry smile. ‘There was a letter for you…’ he began as he removed one hand from her back. ‘Frau Keller asked if I would deliver it.’ His eyes held hers, steady, unemotional, waiting, or so it seemed.
She stared at the white envelope he held in blank confusion, then stared back at him, at his naked chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and could think of nothing else. Want nothing else. Ignoring the letter, she touched her mouth to his collar-bone, the base of his throat, and the breath he took was deep, ragged. Her damp breasts were against his flesh, her bare thighs against the edge of his shorts, and she wanted him naked, as she was.
‘No,’ he said softly as he put her away. Pressing the letter into her hands, he turned, opened the door, and walked out.
Shaking, she stared at the closed door. She’d just propositioned him, hadn’t she? And been turned down. Embarrassed, mortified, she slumped down on the side of the bed. But he’d kissed her first, hadn’t he? Why? Because she was there? Naked? Available? She’d never thrown herself at a man in her life. Staring down at the letter she held in her hands, she shuddered.
He hadn’t looked at her body, that was something. He’d kept his eyes on her face. Did that make it better? She had no idea. His wry smile had been a bit shaken, his muscles tense. But not as tense as hers. His girlfriends were probably sophisticated, elegant—experienced. They would have laughed at his kiss, said something witty. And what had she done? Nothing. And now he’d gone.
How would she face him next time they met? Bravely? As though nothing had happened? Avoid him? Yes, that would be best. Except she didn’t need to. Over the next two days he was never anywhere in sight. His door remained closed, his table outside, empty. Perhaps he was avoiding her. And she couldn’t stop thinking about him, looking for him, going over and over in her mind the way he had kissed her. She could still feel it. Taste it. She’d been kissed a great many times in her life, but no one had ever made her feel like that. So special. So abandoned when he’d left.
And then, on the third day, she saw that his door was open. With no real knowledge of what she was going to do, say, she walked slowly along the landing towards it. She stood outside it for ages, just waiting, breathing slowly, and then she tapped softly. No answer. Pushing the door gently wider, she peeked inside. His room was slightly larger than her own, his bed wider, and there was room for a small table beneath the window. There was a computer, a stack of papers, and, hesitating only momentarily, she walked quietly inside.
‘Jed?’ she called softly.
Nothing.
There were no sounds from the bathroom, just noises from outside filtering up through the open window. She didn’t really remember walking to the desk, or even picking up the top sheet from the stack of papers. She really didn’t think she had been going to read it; it was just that the words seemed to leap out at her.
There has been talk of a bridge, but in this summer of 1827, if one wants to cross the river to Oberammergau, then one must brave the 250-foot gorge on a raft pulled by oxen. Courage, after all, I tell myself, is only the fear of looking foolish.
‘You wanted something?’ Jed asked quietly from behind her.
With a little cry of alarm, she dropped the paper as though it were hot, and then bent to quickly retrieve it and put it back on the desk. Warily turning to face him, she began inarticulately, ‘I…You weren’t here…’
‘No,’ he agreed unhelpfully as he stood in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee in one hand.
‘Your door was open…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’d better go.’
He stepped to one side and she began edging towards the door. Halting on the threshold, her back to him, she blurted, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’ When he didn’t answer, she turned slowly to face him. ‘I keep thinking that maybe the kiss wasn’t so special, maybe it was just my imagination, maybe it didn’t make me feel as I thought I felt…Sorry,’ she apologised with a shaky smile. ‘I must sound like a teenager. I’m not usually so…I mean, I don’t…’
‘Don’t you?’ he asked softly.
‘No. Why did you kiss me, Jed?’
‘Because I couldn’t help myself?’
Eyes wide, she just stared at him.
‘You’re a very attractive young woman.’
‘Am I?’ she asked stupidly.
His mouth quirked. ‘Yes. Go away, Sarah, I’m too old for you.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. I sometimes think I was born old. I’m too cynical, too selfish and I’ll probably end up hurting you.’
‘You don’t know that…’
‘Yes, I do.’
Still staring at him, wanting him, wishing she had more experience in these matters, she murmured, ‘You didn’t like me when we first met, did you? Your immediate reaction was…’
‘Worry,’ he said with soft amusement.
