Aisling Gayle (55 page)

Her heart was racing now, and her eyes moved excitedly down the page. Then, her eyes narrowed in confusion as she turned the paper over to read the signature on the other side.

“Oh, God!” she suddenly cried out loud, her hand coming to cover her mouth. The letter wasn’t from Jameson – it was from
Verity!

She turned the letter over to the beginning again, and forced herself to read every word of the flowery, dramatic handwriting.

Dear Aisling,

I thought you might like to know that Thomas has made tremendous progress since you went back home to Ireland. He is now back in our house in Lake Savannah with a nurse in attendance.

As you will no doubt have realised from the address, I, too, am back at the house looking after both Thomas and Jameson. I know that this may come as a shock to you, but I am sure that when you have had time to think about it, you will accept that things have turned out for the best.

I took the liberty of writing to you myself, because although Jameson promised me that he would write and explain everything – he would probably never get around to it. With Jameson, I’m afraid it’s ‘out of sight, out of mind’.

By the time you receive this, you may well be in a happier situation with your own husband in Ireland. I sincerely hope that that is the case.

Thank you for your kindness to my son when he was so ill, and for helping Jameson out at that most difficult time. We both wish you all the best for the future,

Yours,

Verity Carroll

Aisling’s eyes once again froze on the flamboyant signature at the back of the letter.
It was all lies!
It couldn’t be true! It just couldn’t be true – he would never do this to her! Not the Jameson Carroll she had spent all those weeks with. Not the man she had come to know and love.

All the weeks of pushing thoughts of Jameson to the back of her mind. Telling herself that it would all work out, and eventually they would be together. All her hopes and dreams – her escape from her lie of a marriage. It was only a short time ago that he had agreed to wait for her until she had sorted things out – surely he hadn’t changed his mind? Surely Jameson hadn’t given up on her that easily?

And yet, as she lifted up the envelope again and examined the postmark, a little worm of doubt crept into her mind, because the stamp confirmed Verity’s statement about her being back in Lake Savannah. The postmark was clearly marked
Binghampton,
their nearest town. But what if Verity had driven up to Binghampton to post the letter? What if she had made the whole story up, in order to destroy the bond between Aisling and Jameson?

Aisling considered this for a few minutes – then eventually shook her head.
No one
would drive five hours to post a letter. No one who was in their right mind. Verity must have gone up to see Thomas and written and posted the letter while she was there.

But the nagging little doubt persisted, and started to conjure up all sorts of pictures in her mind. Pictures of Jameson and Thomas and Verity planning a trip to Disneyland. Pictures of them as a happy family by the lake. Just as it should be – and maybe just as it had become since she had left.

People could change. Look at the difference in Oliver since her return. Aisling certainly hadn’t expected all that. And, just as the time had come for her to face the truth about her marriage to Oliver – maybe the time had come to also face the truth about her relationship with Jameson Carroll. Maybe it was no more than a foolish, romantic fling – heightened by the beautiful surroundings and then intensified by the drama surrounding Thomas’s accident. Was it possible that that’s all it had been?

Maybe, after she’d gone, Jameson saw it for what it was. Just a pleasant – but short-lived – holiday fling. One that could easily be replaced if the woman he married – and the mother of his son – had now become the dedicated wife and mother he had always wanted.

And yet, as she considered all these options, a small ray of hope rose at the back of her mind, a small ray of hope that clung to the belief in all the days and nights they had spent together. There must be a way of finding out – of checking. She wasn’t going to just take the words of a conniving, jealous woman like Verity.

Far, far too much depended on it. Maybe even the rest of her life.

Aisling took a deep breath. She would phone Jameson and sort this all out.

* * *

Working out the time difference between the countries was automatic, as every time she looked at the clock in the kitchen or the sitting-room, she immediately transferred it into American time to work out what Jameson was likely to be doing. It was now around ten o’clock, and according to his regular routine he would be at home, probably downstairs working in his studio. It was unlikely that he would be anywhere else, as Thomas would still not be fit enough to go very far.

Aisling’s heart was in her mouth as she waited for the operator to dial the number for her, and then she seemed to wait an awful long time until she was eventually connected. Making phone calls to America was no everyday thing, and as she waited she wondered how good the line would be when they eventually spoke.

But the phone rang and rang until the operator came back onto the line. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no reply. It might be best to try later. Have you checked the time difference, because it’s still fairly early in New York?”

“Yes, I have,” Aisling said, sorely disappointed. “I’ll ring again later, thanks.” Then a thought suddenly struck her. “Sorry!” she said quickly. “Could you hold the line for me to try another number in America?”

“No problem,” the cheery operator said. “Have you the number handy, or do you want me to check it out for you?”

“If you give me one minute,” Aisling said, slightly breathless, “I have it just beside me.” She pulled a drawer in the hall table out and quickly located the address book and Jean’s number. She read it out to the operator. Within a minute or so, the phone was ringing at the other end. Like Jameson’s phone, it rang and rang.

And then, her aunt’s voice sounded across the surprisingly clear line. “Harpers’ – this is Jean speaking.”

“Hello, Jean . . . it’s Aisling here – “

There was a pause as it took a second or two for their voices to travel over the line. “Aisling!” her aunt’s voice rose high with delight. “How wonderful to hear from you? How are things back in Ireland?”

“Well . . .” Aisling started, her voice dropping, “it’s a bit difficult . . . I wanted to ask you something . . . to see if you could help me out with some information.”

“Well, honey,” Jean said, “you know I’ll always do anything I can do to help you. I’m just so happy to hear your voice. You just shoot now with the questions.”

“It’s about Jameson,” Aisling said, “or to be more specific – about his wife.”

“His
wife?
” Jean repeated, her voice suddenly serious. “I’m not too sure I can help you there, honey . . . I’ve only spoken to her a couple of times.”

Aisling’s heart lurched. Jean had never met Verity. At least she had never met her up until Aisling had left America. She made herself go on and ask the questions, although she was dreading the answer she felt now was going to come. “I just wanted to check if Verity is back up at the house – Jameson’s house in Lake Savannah.”

There was a silence, longer than was necessary for the line distance. “I’m not too sure on that one,” Jean said, “I know she was around the last couple of weeks . . . she brought Thomas over to visit me and Bruce.”

Aisling suddenly felt weak. “Is she back . . . is she back living with Jameson and Thomas?” she made herself ask. “It’s just that I need to know . . .”

“I’m a little confused here, honey,” Jean said. “I thought that this was all sorted out . . . I thought that you guys – you and Oliver – had made things up, and were hoping to go ahead and adopt a child? I thought you’d put that thing with Jameson Carroll out of your mind.”

Aisling groped for the chair by the phone table and sank down into it. “Where,” she gasped, “
where
did you hear that from?” And even as she said it, she knew she didn’t have to ask.

“Your mom.” Jean’s voice was starting to sound strained. “I spoke to her just the other week . . . and she was so relieved that everything had worked out with you and Oliver.”

Aisling shook her head, and struggled to keep the tears from spilling out. “Jean,” she said urgently, “It’s really important – I need to know if Jameson and Verity are back together. Back together as man and wife . . . ”

“I’m gonna be straight with you now, Aisling,” Jean said. “And I have to say that she’s sure been spending a lot of time recently across the lake.”

Aisling felt nauseous at her aunt’s words. She didn’t want to hear any more – but she had asked for the information, and now she had to listen.

“How long she plans on staying, and whether she’s still there or not, ” Jean continued, “I don’t rightly know. All I do know is that she and Thomas called here last week with flowers and a ‘thank you’ card for the support we’d given Jameson – as if we wanted
thanking
! That poor boy, and all he went through.”

“Did Verity mention me?” Aisling asked in a low, strained voice.

“She did,” Jean stated, “and asked for your address for her or Thomas to send a note to you, to thank you for all your help. To be honest, I was a little wary of giving it to her, but I couldn’t do anything else with Thomas there and all . . .”

“And Jameson?” Aisling dared to finally ask. “Have you seen him or spoken to him? Did he mention me?”

“Yes, he came across once since you left, on his own. He asked if I knew anything about what was happening with you back in Ireland. I said I didn’t know, and it wouldn’t be usual for me to phone up and find out. Truth to be told . . . I didn’t want to get too involved. It’s not my business . . . but I thought about it and I did ring your mom.”

Aisling groaned inwardly. “And that’s when she told you about the adoption and everything?”

“Yes,” her aunt confirmed, “and I’m getting this real awful feeling that I shouldn’t have meddled – because I had to make the call back to Jameson and tell him that news. He said very little – just listened. He said that deep down he probably knew you wouldn’t come back. He said that once you’d gone back to Ireland, he reckoned that you would make it up with your husband. It was shortly after that conversation that Verity appeared up at Lake Savannah.”

Aisling took a big, deep breath. “I think,” she said now, “that it’s all beginning to make sense . . . I think I know what’s happened.”

“Aisling,” Jean said, her voice full of concern. “Do you really still have feelings for him?”

Aisling hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know what to think any more, Jean. I’m just very confused.” She halted. “I’m not feeling too good, so maybe I just need time to work it all out.”

“You look after yourself now, Aisling,” her aunt said kindly. “Look after yourself real good.”

Tears sprung into Aisling’s eyes. “Thanks, Jean,” she said quietly. “Thanks for everything.”

* * *

After hanging up, Aisling sat by the phone for a long time. She ran over the news that Jean had told her, trying to come to terms with it all. She moved into the sitting-room, clutching Verity’s letter in her hands, and once again sat there, going over and over everything.

Then, as the awfulness of the situation became clearer, a sudden rage rose up inside her and she ripped both letter and envelope in two. Then she tore it again into smaller pieces, letting it fall to the floor like confetti.

“What a fool I’ve been,” she whispered to herself. “What a silly, bloody fool!”

And then, in the absence of any other human contact, she wrapped her arms tightly around her body, in a small, pathetic attempt to bring some comfort to herself. And then she rocked back and forth in the chair, the motion keeping time with her sobs.

She cried for the comfort and passion that she had found in Jameson Carroll’s arms – and for the love she thought she had found. She cried with regret for the marriage vows she had broken with him – and for the knowledge that he was unworthy of her sacrifice.

Whatever happened between her and Oliver now, she wished with all her heart that it had not been coloured by her affair in America.

But it was too late for regret now. Much too late.

* * *

Later, she forced herself to go out into the garden, to walk round and round it – as though looking to the flowers and shrubs for an answer. But she found none. Eventually, the sound of the phone ringing forced her back into the house.

“Hello,” a female voice sounded on the other end of the line. “Is that you, Oliver?”

“No . . . no, it’s not,” Aisling said, her voice hoarse from crying. “He’s not in from work yet.” She stepped back a bit to look through to the kitchen clock. “He’s not usually in until around six o’clock.”

“Is that . . .” the girl said, “is that Oliver’s wife?”

“Yes,” Aising replied dully. “Can I take a message?”

There was a silence on the line for a few moments, then the voice came back. Almost a whisper this time. “I was hoping that Oliver or some of the others . . . from the drama group would drop by the hospital this evening. There’s a few things I need.”