Never Too Late (23 page)

He came to her then and caught hold of her shoulders, circling his thumbs over her bare skin in a soothing massage. “It’s sorted. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Sorted? How?” she asked with a frown.

“I’ve arranged for a catering crew tomorrow, and the pub landlord will be supplying all the drinks.”

“You have been busy,” she murmured. “And I bet you’re a hero down at the pub now, giving them a contract like that.”

He laughed, his hands tightening on her shoulders. “I’m definitely flavour of the weekend.”

She gazed into his amber eyes that sparkled with amusement, and placed a tentative hand on his chest. His muscles contracted beneath her touch.

His eyes softened and stepping closer, he raised a hand to cup her face. “I want everyone to see what you’ve done here, Molly. It’s your vision that breathed life back into this house.”

“Don’t tell people I was involved in the renovations, Jake. It’ll only complicate things.”

“In what way?”

How did she tell him that each and every person in Appleby would look at her tomorrow and condemn her as a gold digger circling him like prey? Why pour fuel on that fire? She wanted nothing more than to hide from the spotlight of innuendo that was about to shine on her. 

His gaze hardened. “You’re done taking a back seat, Molly. I’m proud of you, and I want everyone to see it. Barrowdene needs a fresh start. It’s been isolated for too long. The people in the village need to know it’s a part of Appleby and that they have you to thank for it.”

He was right. Barrowdene stunned. It was a modern family house now, and her touches had seen that its Georgian heritage and charm had been woven into its new ultra-modern comfort. It deserved to be seen.

She nodded. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” he said, swiping a swift kiss over her lips before returning to the wardrobe and pulling out a black shirt.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked as he shrugged it on.

“London.” His back was to her as he did up the buttons. “I’m meeting some people there.”

The black cotton stretched across his broad back and he tucked the shirt into his trousers, then casually rolled the sleeves to his elbows. 

“Tonight?”

He turned to her, looking like a dark angel ready to grace the trendiest of nightclubs. “It’s the only time to catch these people.”

“I see.” She fought to keep any hint of clinginess out of her voice.

“I’ll be bringing a few of them back with me tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? Just in time for the open evening? In a flash the jigsaw pieces fell in place and the cold light of clarity hit her. “Are any of these people buyers for Barrowdene?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

She wanted to scream and cry out. Everything he was doing, for Barrowdene, for the villagers, for her, was purely in the service of finding a buyer as soon as possible. It was all a performance. As soon as his demanding buyers walked into Barrowdene tomorrow they’d be greeted by the sight of happy smiling locals ready to welcome them into their quaint little village, with Barrowdene displayed like a rare crown jewel in the middle of all the countryside charm. Nan was right. It was a smart move. 

But when had he ever promised more than this? He didn’t owe anything to her or Barrowdene. She was the one who’d overstepped the mark and brought in love where it didn’t belong.

“I hope it all goes to plan then,” she said, conjuring a smile. “You’ll be wanting me to see to the caterers tomorrow, won’t you? What time will they be here?”

Was that a flash of relief in his eyes? The ever efficient secretary role came naturally to her now. It was her armour, a rock for her breaking heart to hide behind as it bled.

He came to her and cupped her face again, the softness she craved back in his gaze. “I’ll be back before you know it, Molly.” And pressing a kiss to her trembling lips, he was gone.

* * *

Jake glanced into the car’s rearview mirror at Barrowdene house receding into the distance as he drove down the driveway. Sometimes Molly would stand on the front porch watching him leave, but she wasn’t there now. Clenching his jaw, he pulled his gaze back to the road ahead. She made him weak with need. Too weak.

The car reached the end of the drive and he eased it on to the quiet main road, then switching gears, he let the engine enter a smooth cruise. He’d stayed at Barrowdene longer than he’d planned and it should be relief to leave, but he battled the urge to turn the car around and go back. With a grunt of irritation he pressed a button on the steering wheel and music drifted into the car. Cool jazz played from the surround speakers and he relaxed back into the soft leather seat trying to keep his mind on the beautiful countryside scenery slipping past. 

The mellow evening sun sprinkled the green trees and rolling fields with gold dust. Sheep were dotted like fluffy little clouds across the fields, and the occasional horse flicked its tail and raced along the expanse of rich grass simply for the joy of it. 

A couple of hours would see him in the middle of the rush and hustle of London, a world away from the quiet calm surrounding him now. In the past, London had always beckoned with equal promise of business and play wherever he’d been in the world, but now he was returning and only emptiness filled him. 

Glancing at the vacant passenger seat beside him, he frowned. It had taken all his willpower not to ask Molly to come with him. But that would have been a mistake. He focused back on the road. Only the occasional car passed him on the other side, barely causing a ripple in the quiet evening, as if he and they were the only ones to have discovered this stretch of undisturbed country. The peace reminded him of Molly. After months in turmoil, he’d found strength and rest in her arms. She helped him forget. But she made him weak too, made him crave more from a relationship than he knew was good. He had to get out now before either of them got in too deep, because she didn’t belong with him. She was a beautiful country flower that would wither and die if it was plucked from its surroundings, and he’d be damned if he allowed that to happen again.

The sun was lower in the sky now, casting flame colours across the wispy clouds and longer shadows on the ground. It was the same light that had spread over an open bar on a penthouse terrace in New York when a dark-haired, light-eyed, Italian beauty had noticed him and he’d noticed her. Sienna had been new to the city. She’d come to find fame and fortune as a model in the cut-throat world of fashion. He’d wanted her to soar high, to rise, and was so proud of her when she did. But at the same time he’d cherished the innocence that had drawn him to her. And then it all crumbled. She hadn’t been strong enough to survive in the world of wealth and pressure he’d helped her enter. Maybe if he had tried harder, maybe if he hadn’t been so deliberately oblivious in the end, she’d still be alive. He gritted his teeth. It wouldn’t happen again. Not with Molly.

He pressed lightly on the accelerator and the BMW sped forward, leaving Barrowdene far behind like a distant memory. He’d lined up meetings with potential buyers, people with enough money and interest to maintain Barrowdene as a family estate. He’d meant it when he’d promised Molly he’d take care of the place. He’d also take care of them. He’d see to it that she, Nan, and Nate were well provided for before he left. 

* * *

It was quiet outside as Molly walked through Barrowdene’s grounds to Rose Cottage. The sunlight was dimming into deep golds and oranges, and the trees stood still with not even a hint of breeze and only the occasional bird’s evening twitter breaking the silence. Not a soul was about. The gardeners must have packed up and left, and that meant Nan must be at the church hall. Even the stables were silent as she passed them, with all the horses safely inside. 

Friday evening, and everyone had a place to be. Her place was dinner for one in the cottage, while the person she most wanted to be with was enjoying his time with others tonight. She should be stronger, but for the life of her she couldn’t bury the clamouring in her heart for Jake to return. What would it be like when the time came and he never came back?

She turned the corner and the first she saw of the man was a dark-suited lump sprawled in front of the cottage. His face was tucked against his chest, but she immediately recognized the unkempt ginger-grey hair. 

“Martin!”

She sprinted the rest of the way, dropped to her knees beside him, and panicking, raised his ruddy sweat-soaked face, desperately checking for a reaction. Thoughts of calling an ambulance flashed through her mind until she heard a soft snore rumble through him.

Instant relief flooded her. He was asleep, not dying. Then the smell surrounding him slowly registered, an old fruity smell, like over-ripe cherries. Nate’s wine. Martin was drunk. That’s what he was. Just plain old sozzled.

Shaking her head, she regarded his slumped form with a critical eye. She couldn’t leave him to sleep it off out here. She needed to get him inside. And lifting his face again, she tapped his clammy cheek. “Martin. Martin.”

He stirred, muttered something and dropped back into deeper snores. 

She raised her voice. “Martin. Wake up.”

“Huh? What?” Blinking bloodshot eyes, he looked around him before finally focusing on her. “Molly?”

“You fell asleep. On my doorstep. You’ve got to come inside.”

“I did?” he slurred, blinking owlishly at her.

With a frustrated breath, she manoeuvred her slim shoulders under his heavy arm, trying to get him to stand up. “Inside, Martin,” she puffed. “Get inside the cottage.”

With a grunt, he pushed himself up off the ground. She helped as best she could, supporting his considerable heft on her shoulders. After some scrabbling on his feet as he tried to find his balance, he was standing, leaning against the cottage wall, and she steadied him from the other side.

“Where have you been all this time?” she asked, fiddling at the front door with her free hand. It was old and had a habit of sticking, and sometimes needed two hands to open it, but finally it swung open.

“Headache,” Martin muttered, rubbing a hand over his sweaty face.

She pulled at him, and like a brainless zombie he shuffled inside, occasionally leaning on the doorframe and then the wall, but more often leaning on her for support. 

With some effort, she managed to manoeuvre him into the little living room. They had only one couch there. It was covered in red and yellow floral chintz and was barely big enough for two people. The two armchairs opposite were plainer, with faded rose-pink upholstery, but they looked like they would each fit only half of him. She pushed him on to the couch and he collapsed down with his head on one armrest and most of the length his legs dangling over the other. He was practically falling off. Not that he noticed, because he promptly closed his eyes and started snoring again.

She looked at the squashed weight of him and groaned. “This won’t do. I’m going to have to get you upstairs.”

Her narrow bed was barely better than the couch once she somehow managed to manhandle him up the stairs to her room, but she had nowhere else to put him. Nan’s larger double bed was out of the question. Nan would shudder at the thought of a sweat-soaked Martin rolling around in her nice clean sheets.

Gritting her teeth, she turned a blind eye and nose to the pungent reminders of wine and sweat and just tried to make him comfortable. She removed his shoes, belt, and jacket, but stopped short of the sweat-marked shirt and crumpled trousers, merely undoing his shirt’s top button. He tried to help in a sleepwalking kind of way, but his sleepy fumbling was more of a hinderance, and in the end, she swatted his clumsy hands aside and tucked him up under the covers all by herself.

Exhausted, she straightened and stretched her back as he slept. His barrel-like six foot plus frame filled the entire length and width of her single bed like lumpy cake dough overflowing its pan.

He stirred then, and one of his grey sock covered feet freed itself and poked out from beneath the top sheet. She moved to tuck him back in.

But when she touched his foot, he opened his eyes and looked around him in a blinking daze. “Where am I?”

“My room, Martin,” she snapped, standing over him with her hands on her hips. And for good measure added, “You’re drunk.”

“Can’t stay. Got to…” He struggled to sit up.

She pushed him back on to the pillow. “Lie down. You’re in no state to go anywhere right now.”

Closing his eyes, he groaned and rubbed a shaky hand over his brow.

“Headache?” she asked, and when he nodded, “I’ll get you some coffee. It’ll make you feel better.” It would make him talk too. And sure as hell she was going to get answers out of him this time.

When she returned with a mug of hot coffee, Martin was far more awake. She helped him sit up against the pillow before handing him the drink, and then perched on the edge of the bed beside his knees.

He took a deep mouthful. “Ah… thank you, Molly. You always know the right thing to do.”

“Martin, what have you been doing all this time?”

He gazed into his mug, then took another quick sip. “I’ve been a bit lost, to be honest. I just got back from Paris…”

“Paris? I’ve been so worried about you, and you were swanning around in Paris?”

“I had to go,” he said, his eyes earnest. “But it was useless in the end. That’s why I came back, because I thought he’d know.”

“He? You mean Jake?”

“He can be a cruel bastard when he wants, but I thought I could convince him.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “You shouldn’t have run in the first place. Whatever you’ve done with the Barrowdene accounts, you only had to be open about it. Even Jake would have been understanding.”

He stared at her. “What’s wrong with the accounts?”

“What…” She stared back at him, perplexed. “What have you been running around for then?”

“Looking for Francine.” He sighed and shook his head. “She’s left me, and now I can’t find her. It’s like she’s dropped off the face of the earth. I’ve looked everywhere we’ve been. London. Paris. No one knows where she is. Hennessy was my last hope. He’s been helping her. He threatened to make everything public if I didn’t leave her alone.”