Mr and Mischief (16 page)

‘Jason’s?’
Emily repeated in incredulity. Another bolt of pain rocketed through her.

‘Yes, he said to make sure to lunch in style.’

Emily silently digested this little bit of information, wondering why on earth Jason would offer such a thing. Was it to show how much he didn’t care, or how much he did? And why would she even think he cared, when he’d made it so painfully clear that he didn’t? Was she still living in pointless, impossible hope?

‘I’m coming,’ she said and, still rather reluctant, followed her sister out of her darkened office.

They ate at the Ivy and, while Emily toyed with her chicken, Isobel leaned over the table, her expression rather fierce and said, ‘So you did love him.’

Startled, Emily looked up. For a shocked second she thought Isobel knew about Jason, but then she realised her sister was just speaking in generalities. ‘Yes,’ she admitted quietly. ‘Did you think I didn’t?’

Isobel shrugged and poured them both more wine. ‘Well, you haven’t had all that many relationships, have you? And the ones you have had haven’t been spectacular. No one you even wanted to bring back to us.’

‘No,’ Emily agreed slowly, ‘they weren’t.’ The two boyfriends she’d had seemed mere shadows compared to Jason; she could barely remember them now.

‘Do you think that was on purpose?’

‘Them not being spectacular?’ Emily asked in surprise and
then, after a moment’s quiet reflection, she nodded. ‘I suppose … it was safer that way. I didn’t get hurt.’ Disappointed, but not destroyed. Not like now.

‘And now?’ Isobel asked quietly.

Emily let out a small, sad sigh. ‘Now I feel completely wrecked … but I’ll get over it. I will.’ She smiled, a gesture with more will than actual feeling behind it. ‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’

‘I’d bash his head in if I knew who it was … or I’d tell Jason to! It’s someone from work, isn’t it? I asked Jason if he knew who it was, but—’

‘Oh, Izzy.’ Emily let out a trembling laugh. ‘I don’t suppose he told you, did he?’

‘No. He said it was your business and to butt out, actually. Typical Jason.’

‘It
is
Jason.’

The look of shock on her sister’s face would have been comical if Emily still didn’t feel so awful.
‘Jason?’
Isobel finally repeated in a hushed whisper. Emily nodded miserably and Isobel sat back in her chair. ‘But … of course. That’s why you were so miserable all holiday! And that’s why Jason left …’ Emily could practically see the wheels spinning in her sister’s brain. ‘But why did he break your heart?’ she demanded. ‘And how dare—’

‘Don’t.’ Emily held up a hand. ‘Don’t drag the family into this, Izzy. This is about Jason and me. And the simple truth is we want different things out of life.’

Isobel arched an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. ‘That different?’

‘Different enough.’ Emily drew in a shaky breath. ‘He’s not interested in love, Izzy. Not the way I am.’

Isobel cocked her head. ‘And how are you interested in love?’

Emily didn’t want to go over the agonising details of her conversation with Jason; it had been hard enough the first
time. She shook her head, meaning it as a dismissal. ‘I want what Mum and Dad had. The real thing. True love.’

‘How do you even remember what they had?’ Isobel asked reasonably. ‘You were three when Mum died, Emily.’

‘I know, but you can tell how much they loved each other when Dad talks about Mum. He adored her, Isobel. He told me she was perfect—’

‘And you want someone to think you’re perfect?’ Although her tone was gentle, the question felt like a rebuke … and all too similar to what Jason had told her.

‘No, of course not—’

‘In any case, it was twenty years ago, Emily. Don’t you think Dad’s memories might have become a bit rosier over time?’

Emily stared at her sister in shock. ‘Are you saying they didn’t love—’

‘No, I am saying what they had was
real.
They disagreed. They argued. I can remember. Mum was a good deal more emotional than Dad. He did love her, but he didn’t think she was perfect. Not when she was alive, anyway. And it wasn’t roses and romance all the time either. It isn’t for anyone.’

Roses and romance. It was far too close to what she’d said, what she’d felt. And maybe she had held a few naive dreams about what love really meant, but it still came down to the hard truth that Jason didn’t love her. He didn’t even want her to love him. No love, full stop.

‘I understand what you’re saying, Izzy. But I still want someone to love me and be able to say it at least, and Jason wasn’t capable of that.’

‘But if he shows you—’

‘He didn’t.’ Emily spoke sharply. ‘It’s over, okay? Let me just recover in peace.’ She placed her napkin on the table. ‘Now, how about a bit of retail therapy? And you can thank Jason for me for the lunch.’

March dragged on and Emily found herself recalling her conversation with Isobel, as well as just about every moment she’d shared with Jason. She remembered little things, things she’d dismissed or forgotten that suddenly seemed important now. The way he smiled, and how sweet his touch had been. His gentle teasing, which she’d always enjoyed until her heart had got tangled up in it. She thought of how she’d always trusted him, always known he would keep her safe.

The memories ran through her head in an endless reel and left her restless and wanting, wishing she could at least see him again. Ask him … what?

What could she possibly say?
I don’t care if you only love me a little bit. I don’t need any grand gestures …

But she didn’t even know if he loved her at all. She was quite sure he didn’t, and gestures didn’t even come into it. They had no relationship. No future.

Nothing.

Jason ran his hands through his hair, every muscle in his body aching. He’d been working twelve-and fourteen-hour days in an effort to wrap up the consulting work in Brazil … and in a useless attempt to forget Emily.

It wasn’t working. Even in the middle of the most complicated, mind-consuming work, she slipped into his thoughts. He could hear her laughter, picture the way her eyes glittered jade with amusement. He imagined he could smell her strawberry shampoo. And at night she came to him in his dreams. He woke up restless and painfully unfulfilled. Four months of celibacy had taken their toll on his temper to boot. His staff tiptoed around him; the only one whose mood hadn’t soured was Richard, who had celebrated his engagement last night.

At least
someone
had seen sense.

The trill of his mobile had him turning away from his laptop screen, as irritable as ever. He glanced at the telephone’s
little screen, intending not to take the call, when he saw who it was. Isobel.

‘Izzy?’

‘Oh, Jason, I’m so glad I reached you.’ Isobel sniffed, and with a lurch of alarm, Jason realised she must have been crying.

‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, Jason, it’s …’

‘Emily?’ Alarm turned to panic and he felt as if his heart had stopped, suspended in his chest, refusing to beat. ‘Is Emily all right?’ Already he pictured her lying pale and lifeless on a stretcher, broken on a road.
Something
must have happened—

‘No, no, Emily’s all right. It’s our father. He’s had a stroke. They don’t think …’ Isobel swallowed. ‘They don’t think he’ll recover. I thought you’d want to know.’

‘Of course. Oh, Isobel, I’m so sorry.’ He thought of Henry’s kindly face, his ready smile and ever-present good humour. And then he thought of Emily, her father’s spoiled darling, and he realised how agonising this must be for her. And, as he listened to Isobel give more details about Henry Wood’s condition, he knew what he needed to do. What he wanted to do.

Emily stared at her father’s still form on the hospital bed. He suddenly seemed so
small
, barely making a hump under the bed covers. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her body aching with fatigue. Ever since Isobel had rung her yesterday, she’d maintained this vigil by her father’s bed, praying that it might make a difference. That he might come back to them. She couldn’t lose another person she loved, not like this. She rested her hand on top of his, felt the thin, papery texture of his skin. ‘Oh, Daddy,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t leave me, not yet. I love you so much.’

A nurse came in, pausing in the doorway. ‘There’s a visitor
here, miss, but as he’s not immediate family I didn’t know whether—’

Emily turned to her with an audible sniff. ‘Is he outside? I’ll talk to him.’ There had been a steady stream of well-wishers coming to visit Henry, old work colleagues and family friends, and the thought of greeting another one made her spirits dip even lower. She was tired of answering the same questions over and over when her own grief still threatened to overwhelm her.

She headed out into the fluorescent-lit hallway, blinking in the bright light. And then she thought she must be seeing things. She was tired enough to start hallucinating, and perhaps her exhausted mind had manufactured the one person she wanted to see more than anyone.

Jason stood in the hallway.

S
HE
stared at him, half-expecting him to disappear or dissolve, the product of an overtired mind—and a still-broken heart. But he didn’t vanish; he was real. He came towards her, his expression serious, his arms outstretched.

‘Emily, I’m so sorry about your father. I came as soon as I heard.’

And naturally, without even questioning what she was doing, Emily walked into Jason’s outstretched arms. It was the only place she wanted to be. He held her, his chin resting on top of her head, his arms around her and Emily closed her eyes. It felt so good to be held like this. By Jason. ‘Has there been any change?’

She shook her head, her eyes still closed. ‘No … but they say there’s still a chance he might recover.’ Belatedly, Emily realised it was probably not a good idea to be held by Jason like this. It made too many longings rise up inside her, caused her heart to hurt with fresh, raw wounds, when it had numbed to a steady ache over the last four months.

‘I thought you were in Brazil,’ she said, stepping out of his arms.

‘I was. I flew directly from there.’

Emily saw the shadows under his eyes, the lines of fatigue etched onto his face. ‘You didn’t have—’

‘I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.’

She stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. And her own feelings. She’d needed him, and he’d come. She hadn’t even admitted to herself that she needed him, yet somehow Jason had known. And that was better than any words he could—or couldn’t—say.

‘Thank you,’ she said simply, because her heart was too full and fearful to say—or think—anything more.

‘How is Henry?’

Jason jerked his gaze away from the darkened windows of the drawing room to gaze at his father. He’d come to Weldon directly from the hospital, but his mind was still with Emily. She’d looked so tired, so pale, so
sad.
He hated seeing her that way. ‘The same. He hasn’t been responsive since the stroke.’

‘Will he recover, do you think?’

Jason suppressed the stab of irritation he felt at his father’s dispassionate tone. Henry Wood was one of Edward Kingsley’s oldest friends, yet you’d hardly know it to hear his father talk. His face was expressionless, his gaze on the fire.

‘I don’t know. They said it could go either way at this point, although any recovery he has will be limited.’

Edward rubbed his jaw, his expression still inscrutable. ‘Hard to believe,’ he finally said. ‘Makes you think.’

‘Oh, does it?’ Jason couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from his tone. Emily’s haggard face flashed across his mind.

‘Yes, it does,’ Edward said. He turned to look at his son, and Jason saw a surprising bleakness in his eyes. ‘Makes you look at your own life a bit, when you realise how the clock is winding down for us all. My health hasn’t been good. You know that.’

Jason didn’t think he’d ever heard his father speak so many words in one go. He almost sounded maudlin. ‘And have you come to any conclusions?’ he asked, his tone diffident.

‘Not as such.’ Edward glanced back at the fire. ‘I suppose I have a few regrets. Things I should have said. Never did.’ Each sentence was said in staccato, with clear reluctance.

Jason’s body tensed, and he realised he wanted to know what his father thought he should have said over the years. He wanted to know very much, more than he’d ever realised. ‘You could say them now,’ he said after a moment.

Edward gave him a fleeting smile, no more than a grim twisting of his lips. ‘No, I can’t. The person I should have said them to is dead.’

Jason’s fists clenched of their own accord. He strove to keep his voice neutral. ‘You mean my mother?’

‘Yes.’ Edward was silent for a long moment, gazing into the fire. ‘I loved her, you know. I never said it.’ Jason made himself unclench his fists. ‘Why not?’ Edward shrugged. ‘I don’t know. No one ever said it much to me. Wasn’t the thing. And I suppose I didn’t like the thought of admitting something that seemed like weakness.’ He let out a long, slow breath. ‘Perhaps it’s weaker not to say it at all.’ He faced Jason again, his expression more open and vulnerable than Jason had ever seen it. ‘I can say it to you though, can’t I? I never did.’ Edward smiled again, even let out a little laugh. ‘God knows it’s still damned difficult. I love you though, Jason. I’m sorry I’ve never said.’ He spoke gruffly, averting

his head quickly, yet the words still flooded through Jason. Just words.

Powerful words. A powerful
feeling,
one that completely swept him off his feet.

Not meaningless sentiments. Not just grand gestures. Hearing his father’s simple, heartfelt statement made Jason realise the truth of his own feelings. The truth about love. It was powerful, strong, real. And he needed to tell Emily.

It had been a long, exhausting week. Emily cradled her mug of coffee in the kitchen of Hartington House, fatigue making
her whole body ache. Yet even amidst the exhaustion she felt a sweet, sweet relief; last night her father had finally regained consciousness. It was going to be a long, arduous road, and he would never see a complete recovery. Emily knew that, had heard the specialists talk about limited speech and mobility, the use of a walker or a wheelchair. It was hard to accept that, but it was better than the alternative. It was something.

And something was enough.

Jason had visited Henry every day this week, commuting from London, and Emily had welcomed and appreciated his presence more than she could say.

She
hadn’t
said, because part of her wanted to tell Jason how much he meant to her, how much she loved him. Yet surely there was no point. Jason had shown up as a family friend, nothing more. It didn’t change things between them.

Except
she
felt changed. The last week—the last four months—had made her realise just how childish and naive her dreams about love had been. Love wasn’t about words or gestures, it was about action. Connection.

Anyone can tell you he loves you.

But not everyone would travel thousands of miles to be with her in her moment of need. Not everyone would be so trustworthy, so solid and steady and safe. The exact thing she needed. Wanted.

Jason.

She still loved him, would always love him. Yet, even so, it didn’t change how he felt. He didn’t love her, and even if she could have accepted that, lived with it, she knew Jason would not accept what she had to offer.

He didn’t want love. He didn’t want her.

A knock on the front door jolted her out of her gloomy thoughts. Sighing, Emily prepared to accept another casserole from one of the village’s well-meaning widows. She’d had no idea her father was so popular.

Yet when she opened the door, there were no widows in sight. Jason stood there, smiling. Looking wonderful.

Emily stared at him in shock. ‘I thought you’d returned to London—’

‘I came back.’

‘Why?’

‘I have something to say to you.’ He suddenly looked so serious that Emily felt as if her heart had frozen in her chest. Cold and lifeless. Was he going to tell her he’d found his sensible wife at last? Was she going to have to pretend to be pleased? It had been four months, after all. Plenty of time.

Reluctantly, she moved from the doorway. ‘Come in, then,’ she said, knowing she sounded ungracious.

‘Actually, I want you to come with me.’

Emily blinked. ‘Where?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

A surprise? She eyed him warily. Jason didn’t generally do surprises. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to going anywhere, Jason. I’m expecting a call from the hospital—’

‘I just checked in with the nursing station. Your father’s sleeping. And we can visit him afterwards, if you like.’

‘Afterwards?’

‘Come on.’ He smiled and tugged her hand and, still uncertain, a little suspicious and even afraid, Emily let him lead her to his Porsche.

She sneaked a glance at him as he drove; his jaw was tense, his gaze fixed straight ahead. He looked determined, fiercely so, and the thought gave her a little lurch of alarm.

They drove in silence towards London, skirting the south side of the city before heading towards Greenwich. Emily only just kept herself from asking where they were going. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Jason finally turned into a small park next to the Thames; the water glinted silver under the fragile spring sunlight.

‘So where have you brought me?’ Emily asked as she got
out of the car. The wind breezing off the river blew her hair into tangles and she pushed the unruly mass back from her face.

‘One of my favourite places in England,’ Jason said ruefully, ‘although it might not seem like very much. Walk with me.’

Obediently, Emily fell into step alongside him, her curiosity rising like a tide inside her. Why had Jason taken her to one of his favourite places? And
why
was this one of his favourite places? She glanced around; it looked like a rather bland park, nothing more than a couple of picnic tables and benches on a bit of green.

Jason stopped on the pavement that ran alongside the river and, bracing his forearms on the rails, he gestured out towards the flat expanse of water. ‘There.’ Emily glanced at the river; there were a few large bulky silver things positioned across the water. ‘Do you know what that is?’

‘Er …’ She had a feeling she
should
know, considering she worked for the foremost firm in hydraulic engineering. ‘Some flood … thing?’

Jason smiled faintly. ‘The Thames Flood Barrier. The largest in the world. My father brought me here when it opened, when I was about ten.’ Emily nodded, wondering why he’d brought
her
here, what he was going to say. ‘I was fascinated by its strength,’ Jason said slowly. ‘Water is one of the most powerful forces in the world, and yet when these gates go up this barrier is able to stop it. Control it. I thought that was what drew me to engineering—the ability to control a powerful force. But I realise there’s another side to it—the sheer power and beauty and even unpredictability of water.’ He must have seen Emily’s rather blank look for he laughed softly and said, ‘I’m not making much sense, am I? And here I was, trying to say something romantic about love and how it overwhelmed me, a far more powerful force than any river.’

‘Love?
‘ Emily echoed in both disbelief and dawning hope. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t get that at all.’

‘I told you I wasn’t good at this.’

‘Good at what?’

‘Grand gestures. Words. Three words in particular.’

Emily’s heart seemed to stop right in her chest, as if a huge fist had clenched around it. ‘And here I thought you were wittering on about flood barriers,’ she managed weakly.

‘Waxing poetically, actually.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Ah, just about time.’

‘Time for what?’

He pointed upwards and Emily looked uncomprehendingly at the pale blue sky, a few fleecy clouds scudding across its surface. ‘What …?’ And then she saw the plane cutting across the blue, making recognisable loops. Spelling letters.

‘Sky writing?’ she exclaimed, and Jason smiled selfconsciously.

‘To be honest, I didn’t know if you’d go for it. But I wanted to make a statement.’

She watched in silence as the plane spelled the words, words she’d longed to hear.
I. Love. You.
She turned to him, hope and disbelief warring within her. ‘Jason—’

‘Of course I can’t take the easy way out and let that do the talking for me,’ he said, pointing to the words emblazoned in smoke across the sky. ‘I need to say it myself. I want to, because God knows I feel it. And that’s what I
didn’t
want, what I’ve been fighting against for a long time now.’ Emily waited, her heart seeming to squeeze inside her chest, as Jason turned to her, smiling although his eyes were dark and serious. ‘I love you, Emily. And loving you means loving all of you, including the part of you that wanted more from me than I was willing to give.’

She stared at him, her mind dazed and body rocked by this admission. ‘But all I wanted was you to love me, Jason,’ she whispered. ‘And I didn’t think you did—’

‘I didn’t want to,’ Jason admitted. ‘Loving someone is, I’ve discovered, scary. You open yourself up to all sorts of risk and hurt.’

‘I know.’ Did she ever. She’d felt the same way … even if she’d expressed it differently.

‘I’d convinced myself for so long that I didn’t want it, wasn’t capable of it,’ Jason continued. ‘Just like my father.’

‘What made you change your mind?’ Emily whispered.

‘You did. Wanting you, just being with you. I still fought it, of course. I’m stubborn.’ He smiled wryly before his expression grew serious again. ‘But you gave me a wake-up call when you asked me if I’d ever told someone I loved them, and I was going to tell you I hadn’t. Of course I hadn’t.’ He shook his head in memory. ‘And then I suddenly remembered telling my mother I loved her. She’d been crying because she was so unhappy with my father, feeling he never loved her, always wanting more. She was depressed, I realise that now, but as a child … I just wanted to make her feel better.’ He let out a shaky breath. ‘So I told her I loved her, and that night she killed herself.’

Emily let out a little gasp of shock. She’d had no idea Jason lived with a memory like that, felt its terrible pain through the years. ‘I’m sorry—’

‘So am I. Sorry for my mother, who was so desperately unhappy, and sorry that her experience—and mine as a child—made me doubt the power of love and only acknowledge its pain. I convinced myself that loving someone was a bad idea. That words and gestures could never be enough, just like my father’s love wasn’t enough for my mother. Like my words—my love—hadn’t been enough.’

‘Oh, Jason—’

‘So I convinced myself I wanted a convenient marriage on both sides because I didn’t want anyone to be disappointed, but I see now I was just protecting myself from being hurt. But it didn’t work, of course, because love is like that water
out there.’ He gestured to the river. ‘An unstoppable force.’ He reached for her, his arms coming around her, drawing her to him. Emily went into the embrace, dazed, still disbelieving. ‘My heart has no flood barrier,’ Jason said softly. ‘And love—
you
—overwhelmed me.’