Holiday with the Best Man (11 page)

So what now? Would her feelings have changed this morning? Would she regret it? Would she want things to be different? Or would they both be able to blame it on the romance of the sunset and the music?

She was shy with him when she woke, and he knew he had to break the ice.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I, um...I guess last night shouldn't have happened. I apologise.'

‘Don't apologise. It was just as much my idea as yours,' she said. ‘It wasn't part of our deal. We got carried away by—well, by Venice. So we can pretend it didn't happen.'

If she'd wanted last night to be the start of something more, now was the perfect time to say so. The fact that she hadn't made it clear to him that she intended to stick to the terms of their arrangement.

So today was their very last day together.

This was going to be goodbye.

As far as he knew, the landlord hadn't contacted her any more about the situation with the flat, so she might still need to be his house guest for a while. But Bella and Hugh were due back from their honeymoon tomorrow, and it was more than likely that as soon as Bella learned what had happened, she would insist on Grace moving in with her.

And then he and Grace would be polite and distant strangers.

That was what they'd agreed, so why did it make him feel so antsy?

‘I, um— There was something I wanted to show you this morning,' he said. ‘Shall we go exploring straight after breakfast?'

‘That sounds good,' she agreed.

A shower helped him get some of his equilibrium back. Strong Italian coffee helped even more.

And then, with the help of a map, he found the Sotoportego dei Preti. ‘This is what I wanted to show you,' he said. ‘It's the
cuore in mattone—
the heart in the brick.'

‘I should've guessed it would be something architectural,' she said with a smile, looking at the brick just below the lintel. ‘A heart-shaped brick is very appropriate for Venice. What's the story behind it?'

‘You're meant to touch it and make a wish—so the legend goes, if your wish is respectful and harms no one, it will be answered within the year,' he said.

‘So have you known about this for years, or was this like the tangoing in Paris?'

‘Like the tangoing. I looked it up on the Internet,' he admitted. ‘Shall we?'

They touched the brick together and made a wish. Roland couldn't help asking, ‘So what did you wish for?'

‘I imagine it's like the wish you make on a star or when you blow out the candles on your birthday cake,' she said. ‘So I can't tell you, or it won't come true.'

‘I guess.' And that meant he didn't have to tell her what he'd wished for, either.

For love to fill his life again. For this thing between them to become real.

They took the water bus over to Murano to see all the pretty painted cottages and to see a glass-blowing demonstration.

‘You and your glass,' she teased afterwards.

He spread his hands. ‘You can't come to Venice without seeing glass being blown or lace-making.'

‘I guess. And it was pretty spectacular—I've never seen anything like that before. Do you mind if I take a quick look round the shop?'

‘Sure. Though shopping's not really my thing, so I'm going to sit in the sun while you're looking round. Don't rush,' he added. ‘Just come and find me when you're ready.'

* * *

Grace was glad
that Roland wasn't planning to shadow her in the shop, because she'd hoped to find a gift for him to thank him for taking her to Venice. And there was a beautiful modern paperweight that was absolutely perfect. Better still, the sales assistant wrapped it beautifully for her, so he wouldn't have a clue about it.

Roland found a little
osteria
that sold
cicheti—
Venetian tapas—for lunch, and the choice was breathtaking: tiny
polpette
, stuffed olives, tomato bruschetta, white asparagus wrapped in pancetta, baby octopus in lemon, slices of grilled polenta with salami,
arancini
, spider crab,
zucchini
stuffed with tomatoes and cheese, and marinated artichokes. Between them, they tried a little of everything, sharing a plate and feeding each other little morsels; again, it felt like being on a honeymoon, and Grace had to remind herself to keep her feet on the ground. To go back to being sensible, quiet Grace.

But on the flight back to England, Roland went quiet on her.

And that in turn gave her time to think. Today was the last day of their arrangement. Their last day together. Grace and Roland had agreed that once Bella and Hugh returned tomorrow, from then on they'd be polite strangers.

A few weeks ago, that had seemed perfectly reasonable. But, last night, they'd made love. So would he still want to stick to their original deal, or would he suggest that they try to make a go of things?

She knew what she wanted. She'd wished on the heart-shaped brick that things would be different—that this thing between them could turn out to be real. But she wasn't quite brave enough to bring it up. This morning, she'd woken to find him looking full of panic, clearly having second thoughts. What else could she have done but pretend everything was just fine and let him off the hook?

It was pretty clear that her feelings were one-sided. Last night, they'd simply got carried away with the romance of Venice, the gondola and dancing through St Mark's Square. It hadn't been real.

So it was better to leave this situation with her dignity intact.

And she'd get over this.

She would.

Back in the airport at London, she switched on her phone to find that it was dead. ‘I must've left an app on that drained the battery,' she said.

‘You can use my phone if you need to,' Roland offered.

‘Thanks, but I didn't tell my family I was away so they won't be worrying. It can wait,' she said.

Back at Roland's house, there was a pile of post. He set his coffee machine working, then sat at the kitchen table to go through his mail, while Grace plugged in her phone and waited for it to charge for long enough that she could switch it on again, then checked the messages that came through.

She was about to tell Roland the good news when she noticed that his face had blanched. ‘Is everything OK?' she asked instead, concerned.

‘Sure.' But he didn't move. He just sat there, staring at the table.

She finished making the coffee and brought his mug over to the table. ‘You don't look sure,' she said gently.

‘I...' He sighed and gestured to one of the envelopes. ‘This came from Mindy, Lyn's best friend from school. They're moving house and she found these photos and thought I might like them.'

‘That was kind of her,' Grace said. Or was it? He looked as if someone had ripped his heart out. Roland had clearly loved his wife deeply. Despite the fact that he'd said he was ready to move on, from his reaction to getting those photographs Grace didn't think he was. Was he feeling guilty that he'd taken her to Venice—as if he'd betrayed Lyn's memory? Though asking him would be like stomping over still-fresh wounds, and she didn't know what to say.

In the end she reached over to squeeze his hand. ‘I didn't know Lyn, but you said that she wouldn't want you to be sad. Why don't you look at the photos and remember the good times?'

‘I...' His voice sounded thick with emotion. ‘But you...'

‘We had a deal,' she said. ‘It finishes today. And I'd like to think that we've become friends.' More than that—they'd been lovers, and it had shown Grace exactly what she'd been missing in her life. How wrong she'd been when she'd thought she could settle for nice enough instead of the real thing.

Roland could so easily have been her real thing.

But she knew that he wasn't ready to move on, and she wasn't sure if he ever would be.

‘Friends,' he said.

‘I'd like to see the photos,' she said. ‘Talk to me, Roland. Tell me about Lyn. Tell me about the good times.'

* * *

Roland knew he
ought to tell Grace the truth. About the bad times. But he didn't want her to think badly of Lyn. Or of him.

He took the photographs out of the envelope. ‘They're from years ago. Just a weekend at the beach with friends.'

‘She looks nice,' Grace said. ‘As if she was fun. And you both look so happy.'

They had been. Once.

‘Yeah.' His voice cracked.

Grace pushed her chair back and walked round the table to wrap her arms round him. ‘Don't focus on the fact that she's gone. Focus on the fact that you were together and you loved each other.'

And it hadn't been enough.
But how could he explain?

‘Grace, I wish...'

As if her thoughts were totally in tune with his, she held him just that little bit tighter. ‘Roland, these past few weeks have been amazing. You've swept me off my feet—but, better still, you've shown me that I don't have to settle for being sensible all the time. That it's OK to dream and to reach for those dreams. And your dating skills are just fine—but I don't think you're ready to move on. Not yet.'

No. Because his guilt still held him back, making him feel that he didn't deserve a second chance. Not when he'd messed up so badly. ‘I guess,' he said.

But, even if they could get over that hurdle, there was another sticking point. The one that had cracked his marriage. He and Lyn had had trouble conceiving, and he didn't know if the problem had lain with him. What if Grace wanted children—and, just like it had happened with Lyn, their love got bogged down in the problems of conception? He couldn't bear to go through that nightmare again. And, even though he knew Grace was sensible and down to earth, even the most sensible person could be sideswiped by emotions.

He had to let this go. For her sake as well as for his own. He had to get out of her way and let her find the happiness she deserved. Even if it was with someone else.

‘Those messages that came through—one was from my landlord,' she said. ‘Thanks to your restoration expert sucking up the water and putting a dehumidifier in early, the flat's all dried out now. It seemed they don't need to strip the plaster back after all, so I can move my stuff back whenever I like. Which is perfect timing,' she said brightly.

Meaning she was going to walk out of his life. Roland didn't want her to go—but he knew she was right. He wasn't ready to move on. It wasn't fair to ask her to wait indefinitely.

‘I'll get a couple of the guys to move the heavy stuff for you in the morning if you don't mind lending me your key,' he said.

‘Thank you.'

‘No problem,' he said. ‘And thank you. You've helped me, too, these last few weeks.'

* * *

But not enough, Grace thought. Not enough for him to be able to move on from the sadness of his past and ask her to stay.

‘Great,' she said. ‘I guess I'd better start getting my stuff together—and let you get on.'

‘Uh-huh.' He gave her an awkward smile. ‘Let me know if you need anything.'

She did. She needed him. But it wasn't fair to put that extra burden on him. ‘Sure,' she said.

‘I'd better check my emails,' he said.

‘Yes. So life goes back to normal tomorrow for both of us,' she said. ‘You get your space back. And I get to stand on my own two feet again.'

‘Well—good night.'

‘Good night. And thanks for everything.' This time, she didn't hug him—because it would hurt way too much to let him go. Instead, she had to go back to the fall-back position. Sensible Grace.

If only it could've been otherwise.

CHAPTER TEN

G
RACE
SPENT
THE
morning moving her things back to the flat. Just as Roland had promised, he'd sent a van and two of his workmen to move the heavy stuff for her, and she'd bought them both a case of beer to thank them for their help.

When she'd put the last of her things in the car, she took the gift-wrapped paperweight she'd bought in Venice from her bag and went into Roland's office. She put the parcel in the top drawer of his desk, along with the card she'd written earlier, and closed the drawer again.

Once he'd finished grieving for Lynette, he'd make someone a wonderful partner.

If only it could've been her.

But he wasn't ready to move on; and she was still up in the air after her break-up with Howard. Being the one who'd called everything off didn't mean that she'd escaped any feelings of hurt and loss. She still needed to work out what she really wanted from life.

Besides, it was way too fast for her to have fallen in love with Roland. She'd just responded to the way he'd swept her off her feet, that was all. She couldn't possibly be in love with him.

She set the alarm and locked the door behind her, then posted his door key through the letterbox.
Have locked up and left your key
,
she texted.

Back in her own flat, she spent her time cleaning the place from top to bottom and then moving everything back into its rightful place. She called in to see Bella and Hugh with a bottle of champagne, and thought she'd managed to fool Bella into thinking that everything was fine; though the next evening her sister turned up unexpectedly, bearing a seriously good walnut cake from her local bakery.

‘Spill,' Bella demanded.

Just like Roland's sister had demanded last week, Grace thought wryly.

‘There's nothing to tell,' she said, giving her best fake smile.

Bella coughed. ‘You look worse now than when Mrs Concrete Hair used to do a hatchet job on your confidence with her sly little insinuations. So what's happened? Has Howard had an epiphany and asked you to go back to him, and Mama Dearest has stuck her oar in?'

‘No to both,' Grace said. ‘And I'm not going back to Howard. We wouldn't make each other happy. And he's a nice guy, Bel. He deserves to be happy.'

‘And he needs to grow a backbone, but OK,' Bella said. ‘So if it's not Howard, it's someone else. You might as well tell me, Gracie, because you know I won't shut up until you do.' Bella cut them both a large piece of cake.

Grace knew that her sister meant it, so she gave in and told Bella about her deal with Roland. ‘And it's fine,' she said. ‘We both did what we promised. He swept me off my feet and I helped him with his dating skills. End of story. If we see each other again, we'll be polite but distant strangers.'

‘Which obviously isn't what you want.'

Grace denied it, though she knew full well that Bella wasn't going to believe her.

‘Just call him,' Bella said, rolling her eyes. ‘Tell him how you feel. What have you got to lose?'

‘Bel, he's still in love with Lynette. I can't compete with a memory,' Grace said. ‘And don't get any bright ideas about inviting us both to dinner and trying to fix us up. It'll just be embarrassing. I'll be fine. I've got my new job to look forward to, and that'll keep me busy.'

And if she kept telling herself that, eventually she'd believe it.

* * *

Over the next
couple of days, Roland threw himself into work and refused to admit to himself how much he missed Grace. How empty the whole place felt without Grace around.

She thought he couldn't move on because he was still in love with Lyn. It wasn't true. But he'd let her go because he came with baggage and he hadn't wanted to drag her down with it.

Had he made a mistake?

If he'd opened up to her properly, told her the whole truth instead of just parting, would she have understood? Could she have helped him start his life all over again—give him a second chance?

He shook himself. No. He was being selfish. He'd done the right thing—even though it hurt.

He tried distracting himself with a magazine. On one page, he saw a photograph of the heart-shaped brick he and Grace found in Venice. According to the paragraph beneath the photograph, Roland had got the legend completely wrong. It wasn't about wishes coming true. Allegedly, if you pressed the brick you fell in love immediately; if you pressed it together, you'd be devoted for ever.

And he and Grace had touched the brick at the same time
.

A pretty story. That was all it was. He tried to put it out of his head and started on some preliminary sketches from his latest design brief. When the point of his pencil snapped, he opened his desk drawer to grab a new lead; but there was something he didn't recognise in the drawer. A wrapped parcel, next to a card. The handwriting on the envelope was Grace's. When he opened it, the card showed a picture of Venice at sunset, very similar to the one they'd seen on the gondola. Inside, she'd written,
Thank you for sweeping me off my feet.

The parcel contained a beautiful paperweight in shades of turquoise and blue. The sort of thing he would've chosen for himself. He handled the smooth glass thoughtfully. She'd thanked him for sweeping her off her feet and she'd bought him the most perfect present.

She understood him.

Would she understand if he told her the rest? And would she be prepared to take a risk on him?

There was only one way to find out. He called her. Her phone went through to voicemail, so he assumed that she was busy. ‘Grace, it's Roland. Please call me when you get this message.' He left his number, just in case she'd mislaid it.

And now it was up to her.

* * *

Why was Roland
calling her? Grace wondered.

Maybe she'd left something behind and he'd just discovered it. Of course he wasn't calling her to say he'd changed his mind about the terms of their deal. It was ridiculous to hope.

When she was quite sure that she wasn't going to make a fool of herself and blurt out something inappropriate, she returned his call.

He answered on the second ring. ‘Roland Devereux.' He sounded as cool and impassive as he'd been the first time she'd called him. When she'd mistakenly thought he was her landlord. And now...

‘It's Grace,' she said. ‘Returning your call.'

‘Thank you.'

‘What did you want? Did I leave something behind?' Despite her best intentions, hope flickered in her heart.

‘Yes.'

The hope sputtered and died. ‘Sorry. Let me know when it's convenient to come and pick it up.'

‘I'll come over.'

‘I can't put you to all that trouble,' she protested.

‘It's no trouble. I'll be in the area anyway.'

Why? Work? But it wasn't her place to ask. ‘OK. Thank you. Let me know when, and I'll make sure I'm here.'

‘Now,' he suggested.

Now? As in...right
now
? Then she realised he was waiting for her answer. ‘I—um, yes, sure. I guess at least this time you won't be helping me shift furniture out of a flooded flat.'

‘Indeed. See you soon.'

It took all of ninety seconds for her to tidy the flat.

And then what? Would he stay for coffee? Was this the beginning of them becoming friends?
Could
they be friends, after their fling? Or would the memories always get in the way?

When the doorbell rang, her heart leapt. She took a deep breath and reminded herself to act cool, calm and collected. ‘Hello, Roland,' she said as she opened the door. Then she noticed that he wasn't carrying anything. She frowned. ‘I thought you said I left something behind?'

‘You did.' He paused. ‘Me.'

‘What?' She couldn't quite process this. ‘I don't understand.'

‘We need to talk.'

She frowned again. ‘But I thought we'd already said it all. We had an agreement. You swept me off my feet and I can rubber stamp your dating skills. And now it's all done and dusted.'

‘There's a lot more to say,' he said, ‘but I don't want to do it on your doorstep.'

Her head was in a whirl. ‘Sorry. I'm being rude. Come in. Can I get you a drink or something?'

He shook his head. ‘I just want to talk.'

She gestured to the sofa. There wasn't anywhere else to sit, unless she opted for one of the metal dining chairs at the small table in the kitchen part of the flat, so she sat next to him.

‘I don't know where to start,' he admitted.

‘Try the beginning,' she said. ‘Or wherever you feel like starting and you can go back and forth.'

‘Then I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone—not even my family or my best friends.' He took a deep breath. ‘It's about Lyn. Everyone thinks I've been mourning her for the last two years.'

‘And you haven't?' she asked, surprised. But Lynette had been the love of Roland's life and he'd lost her in horrible circumstances. Of course he'd been mourning her. He didn't even have any of the wedding photographs on display in his house because it clearly hurt too much. And the way he'd reacted to the photographs Lyn's friend had sent had signalled very clearly that he was still in love with Lyn.

‘More like nearly three,' he said.

He'd mourned her for a year before she'd died? But why? Grace bit her lip. ‘Was she ill but you hadn't told anyone?'

‘Sort of.' He sighed. ‘She wanted a baby.'

Which wasn't remotely the same as being ill. Or did he mean a different sort of problem? But Roland hadn't seemed the selfish type. She didn't understand. ‘I take it from that, you didn't want a baby?' Grace guessed.

‘No, I did,' he said, ‘but I always thought love would expand along with my family. With Lyn, it narrowed. Right from the moment we first talked about it and started trying, she changed. All her friends who started trying fell pregnant the very first month, which made it even harder for her when she didn't.'

‘Did you talk to a doctor about it?'

He nodded. ‘He said we were both young and they wouldn't even consider offering us fertility treatment until we'd tried for at least another year. And it broke her, Grace. Every month when her period started, it was like the end of the world. And every time we made love, it was timed by her ovulation chart. I tried taking her away for the weekend and being spontaneous to take her mind off things, but nothing worked. She was driven. It was as if our relationship was only there for the sole purpose of having a baby, and I hated that I was letting her down all the time.'

She took his hand. ‘Hey. You tried. You were there for her.'

‘Not enough,' he admitted, ‘and that's the really shameful bit. I don't like myself very much, Grace.'

‘Hey. We all have things that make us feel that way,' she said gently. ‘I'm not squeaky clean, either. I broke off my engagement three weeks before the wedding day, remember?'

‘Which was the right thing to do,' he said. ‘Whereas I...' He sighed. ‘We stopped seeing my family. Will and Susie have a little girl, Matilda, and when Lyn couldn't get pregnant she couldn't handle being around children. It made her feel a failure, even though I tried to tell her that she wasn't a failure and nobody was ever going to judge her. But I couldn't exactly explain to everyone why Lyn didn't want to be anywhere near Tilda, not without telling people the truth—and she'd sworn me to secrecy because she didn't want anyone pitying her or judging her. So we used my work as an excuse, saying I was too busy for us to see people.' He grimaced. ‘My mum even rang me to say she was worried about us—she said that I was neglecting Lyn for work and she asked if she could do anything to help. I hated having to lie to my family.'

‘But you weren't neglecting Lyn—you were trying to protect her,' Grace protested.

He shook his head. ‘Actually, my mum was right. Because it got to the point where I was glad to have an excuse to be away. I did end up neglecting Lyn. I accepted invitations to give lectures abroad so I didn't have to face all that pain. And that's why I was away when the accident happened.'

‘The accident wasn't your fault, Roland.'

‘I know,' he said. ‘And I keep telling myself that, even if I had been in London, the accident might still have happened. But at least then I would have been there to say goodbye to her before she died, instead of being thousands of miles away.'

‘I'm sure Lyn knew that you loved her.'

He nodded. ‘And I did, even though our marriage was cracking at the seams. But the very worst bit was what the doctor told me, something I couldn't bear to tell anyone because it was just so...' He caught his breath.

She squeezed his hand. ‘Roland, you don't have to talk about this. And it's understandable that you're still in love with Lyn.'

‘I'm not,' he said. ‘I miss her. But I missed her for a year before she died. I missed the closeness of being with someone. And it's taken me a while to work through all the guilt and misery I've been feeling. I wasn't sure that I'd ever be ready to put my life back together again, but...' He drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed the backs of her fingers. ‘I've worked out for myself that the only way to finally get past the pain and heal again is to talk about it. I don't want to have any secrets from you, Grace.' He closed his eyes for a moment, and her heart bled for him. He'd been through so much. ‘I haven't been able to say this to anyone, because—well, I know what Lyn meant about not being able to face all the pity. I've been there. But I know you won't pity me.'

‘I won't pity you,' she promised. ‘But I do reserve the right to give you a hug.'