Saving Saffron Sweeting (36 page)

I couldn’t answer, pressing my lips together and shaking
my head slightly as I gazed at him, having trouble meeting his
eyes. He was looking surprisingly non-scruffy, in inky blue jeans
and a black zip-neck jumper.

James rocked back on his heels and pondered my ankle for a few
seconds. I was still massaging it with both hands.

Then he said softly, ‘You’re wearing your wedding
ring again.’

I finally managed to look at him and in that moment we both saw
in the other the mirror of our brittle hopes.

‘Gruff …’ James put his arms around me and I
felt the firm reassurance of his chest as I leaned my head against
him. I breathed out, a long sigh that felt like it had been
churning inside me for the last six months. As he rubbed my
shoulder and kissed my forehead, I let the tears roll down
unchecked onto his lambswool sweater.

We sat like that for several minutes, before James pulled away
slightly. He waited for me to look up, then kissed me gently on the
lips. Ankle forgotten, I began kissing him back, and I’m not
sure where that would have led had we not been disturbed by a
politely assertive cough from Amelia.

‘Sorry to interrupt, you two.’ She didn’t look
sorry at all, grinning down at us from on high. ‘But did you
say something about buying a house?’

The pub had just opened for the evening, so
James and I were able to tuck ourselves away in a secluded corner.
Amelia had shooed us out of the Hargraves office, suggesting that
as we were clearly in no fit state to buy a home, James could start
by buying me a drink.

I had remembered to comb my hair and wipe away the tear streaks,
but I still felt shy and awkward. Once again, my name was proving
ironic.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ James asked, as he
returned from the bar with a glass of red wine and a pint of pale
ale.

‘I don’t know where to start.’ I gave a
hesitant smile.

‘Were you in Menlo Park?’

I nodded. ‘Where were you?’

‘Well, with my mum, for Christmas. Then I made a quick
trip up to Holt.’

‘To my parents?’ I hadn’t seen that
coming.

‘Don’t worry, they were very loyal. But they did say
you’d left for Heathrow in a hurry. I didn’t know what
that meant, so I decided I’d just have to visit all the
estate agents in Cambridgeshire.’ He grimaced.
‘I’ve been shaking eager hands ever since.’

I drank some wine, careful to sip although I wanted to glug.

‘Then,’ he continued, ‘I got lucky. Your name
and something about a malt house came up. So here I am.’

I frowned. ‘Your office said you don’t work there
any more.’

‘No. Did you get the emails I printed?’

‘I did. They – um – they helped. I wish
I’d seen them sooner.’ I couldn’t manage more. My
feelings were still complex, multi-layered, but reading the
messages between him and Rebecca had reduced my inner storm. It
still wouldn’t fit in a teacup, but a bucket might now be big
enough.

‘I’m kicking myself for not thinking of them
before.’ James took a drink of beer. ‘The thing is,
I’d deleted my own copies. So to get them, I sort of had to
access the central mail server.’ His tone was sheepish.

‘What do you mean, access?’ I had been married to
him long enough to know when to dig further.

‘I hacked it. Totally worth it, though,’ he added,
as he read the dismay on my face.

‘And that’s when they fired you?’

He nodded, with a what’s-a-guy-to-do type shrug.

‘Oh no.’ I forgot about sipping my wine and took a
big gulp. ‘Do you think they’ll prosecute?’

‘Nah, I doubt it.’ He genuinely didn’t seem
bothered. ‘Once they check the system logs, they’ll
realise I was after personal emails, not their precious source
code. It’ll be okay.’

I was silent, amazed and alarmed that he would do something like
that to salvage our marriage.

‘Sweetheart, don’t panic,’ James said after a
minute or two, covering my small hand with his much larger one.

‘When did you put your wedding ring on?’ I
asked.

He looked down at the platinum band. ‘I always wear
it.’

‘No. You weren’t wearing it the day I saw you in
London.’ I tried to pull my hand away.

‘Yes, I was.’ He added his right hand to our pile of
fingers, keeping mine trapped. ‘But – well, I took it
off in the park, after you said you were seeing someone.’

I swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said in an
undertone.

James looked at me carefully. ‘Are you still
…?’

‘No! Hell, no. No, I’m not.’ I told him the
basics about Scott. ‘So, as our American friends would say,
he’s a jerk.’

‘He sounds like it, if he’s kicking you out of your
cottage.’

‘Yep.’ I gazed down at our matching beer mats.

‘Shame,’ James said casually. ‘I was hoping
you might have room for one more.’

I shook my head, but caught his meaning. I leaned in to kiss
him, magic and heat flaring inside me as his hand stroked my face
and he rubbed his thumb over my lip. We sat for a minute, foreheads
touching.

‘Well, there’s nothing else for it.’ James sat
back and finished his beer, setting the empty glass down
purposefully.

‘What?’ I smiled at him and drank the last of my
wine.

‘We really will have to look at buying a house.’

‘Don’t be daft. You’ve got no job and prices
are insane. We’d be lucky to get a chicken shed.’

‘That’s what I love about you, Gruff.’ He
pulled me to my feet and into his arms, pushing a strand of hair
behind my ear. ‘You always look on the bright
side.’

‘We have to get up,’ I said.

It was a Saturday evening in late January, and we were due at
the first fund raiser for the malt house. It had been dark for
hours and the cottage bedroom was lit by a single soft lamp. From
the bedside table, my diamond earrings winked knowingly. I had
dropped them there in a delicious hurry.

‘No, we don’t.’ James stretched out beside me
in bed and then pressed his long legs against me. He reached around
and wrapped his hand over mine, kissing my naked shoulder as he did
so. I sighed and let him nuzzle the back of my neck, enjoying the
heat of his body and the quiet rhythm of our breathing. I felt as
though I’d been dipped in melted chocolate, my whole body
bathed in warm, sensuous pleasure.

My breath grew more shallow as the nuzzling became kissing and
James ran a lazy hand down over my arm, then hip.

‘Mmm.’ I closed my eyes and enjoyed the bliss of the
two of us hiding from the world. Reluctantly, I shifted.
‘That’s lovely. But we have to get up.’

‘We can’t get up,’ James murmured. His warm
fingers had reached the top of my thigh.

‘Why not?’ I wriggled and turned over, trying to sit
up.

Mungo, who had been snoozing on the rug at the bottom of the
bed, got to his feet lazily and stretched. He and James had become
firm friends and had spent happy hours exploring the countryside
while I was at work.

My husband propped himself on one elbow and leaned over me,
preventing my escape. ‘Because,’ he said, eyes bright
with tenderness as he looked into my face, ‘I haven’t
told you how much I love you.’

Unsurprisingly, we arrived late.

‘You look stunning,’ James said, as we scurried from
the car towards Saffron Hall, where the fund raiser was being held.
We’d had to park almost in Suffolk.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Clinging to his arm for safety, I
was making a valiant effort to trot in strappy heels. My hired
cocktail dress was dusky lavender, beaded and slinky. I made a
swishing sound as I walked. ‘You look pretty hot,
yourself.’ I couldn’t remember the last time I’d
seen James in a suit. He certainly hadn’t owned one in
laid-back California, but here he was, smoothly groomed in charcoal
grey. To my amazement, he’d even polished his shoes.

We ran into Bernard and Daphne as soon as we entered the
ballroom. I held my breath, but their faces were pleasantly neutral
as I introduced James. Probably a sign of their impeccable
breeding.

‘Thank you for hosting tonight,’ James said, his
hand pressing gently into the hollow of my back. ‘It’s
really important to Grace.’

Bernard, charming as ever, inclined his head. ‘And Grace
is very important to us.’

Daphne said nothing but smiled and touched me lightly on the
arm. I smiled back.

‘You’re a very lucky man, if I may say so.’
Bernard nodded to James, as if he were merely making small
talk.

‘I know.’ James glanced at me fondly.

‘Thank you,’ I said to them both, and blushed as
Bernard reached to kiss my hand.

‘No, Grace,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

I looked around the room, wondering if an awkward encounter with
Scott was on the cards. But of course, he wasn’t there. He
was hardly likely to pay fifty pounds for a ticket to help save the
malt house.

The rest of the village, however, was getting stuck into the
sparkling wine and canapés as if they hadn’t eaten
since Christmas. Violet came over and kissed James warmly on the
cheek. She had been a fan since he’d rescued her home
computer from a virus last week.

‘Are you well?’ I asked. I hadn’t seen her for
ages.

‘Never better,’ she said cheerfully, twinkling at
James. ‘I’m surfing the net and plotting my
retirement.’

This was news to me and I murmured something non-committal, in
case I put my foot in it.

‘They’re thinking of moving the post office into the
antiques barn,’ James told me, after Violet had wandered away
to inspect the raffle prizes.

‘Really? That’s creative.’ I made eye contact
with a waiter and scored two glasses of wine. ‘I guess it
makes sense, if Peter’s there all day. And she probably likes
the idea of handing over to her son.’

Amelia sashayed up. She was looking gorgeous in a green silk
trouser suit with a plunging neckline.

‘Good evening, Mr and Mrs Palmer.’ She hugged us
both. ‘Nice dress, Grace.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You too.’

‘Well.’ Amelia clearly wasn’t on her first
glass of wine. Her eyes were shining and she was beaming widely.
‘This is all looking rather hunky dory.’

‘You think so?’ I asked.

‘Yes, darling.
Lots
of the right
people.’

I looked around, recognising several American families. Mary Lou
was in a black cocktail dress and looked like she meant
business.

‘Oh, not just them,’ Amelia said, following my gaze.
‘Although they’re important, of course. See the spindly
woman over there, who looks like she’s swallowed a
wasp?’

‘Yes …’

Amelia put her hand on my shoulder and leaned in
conspiratorially. ‘I have it on good authority, she’s
from the
Independent
.’

‘Nice,’ James said.

‘Uh-huh. And the twin stooges by the door?’ Amelia
jerked her head at two men in black suits. I nodded. They did
indeed look like hired bouncers.

‘English Heritage,’ she said proudly.

‘Wow, that’s great. Are they getting
involved?’

‘I’m not sure, darling. There’s still a long
way to go. But I have to say, things are looking promising.’
Amelia took a mouthful of wine, then seemed to spot something, or
someone, in the crowd. ‘And that … is even more
promising.’ She stood up straighter and placed a hand
nonchalantly on her hip.

James caught my eye and raised one eyebrow. Over his shoulder I
saw the handsome local journalist approaching. We all said hello
and I watched as he pulled out his notebook, but not before
he’d checked out Amelia’s cleavage.

‘Excuse us,’ I said, trying not to giggle. ‘We
haven’t bought our raffle tickets yet.’

James and I exchanged a knowing look, then made our way to where
Mary Lou was forcing people to part with large amounts of cash.

‘Do you take dollars?’ James smiled, reaching for
his wallet. Considering he was newly unemployed, he was being a
great sport about chipping in.

‘Hell yeah, you betcha!’ Mary Lou winked at me.
‘Great guy of yours, Grace.’

‘Thanks. I think so too.’ Other people had been
saying that to me, ever since James showed up in Saffron Sweeting.
Brian had said I looked like the weight of a London bus had been
lifted off my shoulders. Then he’d commented that love was
making me skinny, and sent me home with a free treacle tart.

Our transaction complete, Mary Lou tugged on the sleeve of the
man beside her. ‘Have you met Ross? Honey, this is Grace and
James.’

I had met Mary Lou’s husband just once before. He was the
size of man who looked like he played football – the American
kind, with helmets and shoulder pads.

‘Why the dollars?’ He shook James’s hand
vigorously and I hoped all his fingers were still intact. He needed
them to type. ‘Isn’t your accent British?’

‘It is,’ James said evenly, ‘but I was working
for a company near San Francisco.’

‘Oh yeah? What field are you in?’

‘Computers,’ James replied, his usual answer for our
English friends.

‘Duh. Obviously.’ Ross frowned. ‘I meant, what
field
are you in?’

‘Network security and cryptography.’

‘Who knew?’ Mary Lou had robbed another willing
villager of a twenty pound note and tore off their raffle tickets.
‘Ross is CSO at Fairmont Pharmaceuticals.’ She placed a
finger under my elbow and steered me firmly away. ‘Grace, can
I borrow you for a second?’

‘What’s a CSO?’ I muttered, as she walked me
over to a high cocktail table, where a platter of crostini was
unattended. ‘Mmm, yummy.’ I tasted one and reached for
another.

‘Chief Security Officer.’ Mary Lou winked for the
second time that evening. ‘You might want to let them chat
for a few minutes.’

I shook my head at her, smiling my thanks. ‘You’re
brilliant. Please let me know if I can help with your
shop.’