Back in the Soldier's Arms (30 page)

“That’s when you want to join a war,” Dan commented, “close to winning it.”

Rosemary chuckled. She was picking carelessly, tearing the fruit off stems and leaving behind tufts of exposed inner rind, torn fragments of veined white. “Georgie loathed fruit and vegetables,” she said. “He’d only eat potato. When I was chipping away at the frozen earth to plant the bloody things in Somerset I’d tell myself he needed them in Normandy.”

She cupped a mandarin in her hand, as though trying to warm herself with it. “At least it was summer when he died. The soil would have turned more easily when they buried him.” Nan dropped the mandarin on the grass. “You have to keep planting,” she said, her voice as rusty as an old wheelbarrow, “you have to bring life back from the earth.”

He caught her hands. “I’d like to grow fruit trees,” he said, “but I’m not sure which fruit makes the best jam. I could really do with some advice.”

He could almost see her coming back, her face breaking into a smile of relief as she recognized him. “Well,” she said happily, “you’ve come to the right person. You can make good jam out of any fruit if you know the secret.”

“Secret?” Picking up the bucket, Dan led her back to the house. His heart ached for Georgie, for Steve and Lee, for all the men who died in foreign lands.

“Methylated spirit …” Her eyes g lñ€†sparkled. “You use it to test for pectin. Take one spoon of boiling juice from the pan, then add three spoonfuls of meths when it’s cool. If a large clot forms, then your jam will set well.” They entered the kitchen. “You can put the mandarins in the pantry.”

He hadn’t been in the pantry since he was a kid. Dan found himself looking on the second shelf for the biscuit tin, caught himself and smiled.

“Is that Polly you’re talking to?” he heard Jo say. “Pol, don’t laugh but I tried Nan’s wedding dress on last night and wouldn’t you know it, the zip got stuck.”

Intrigued, Dan walked out of the pantry. His bride stood with her back to him, getting a glass of water, her short curls a riotous tumble and wearing a beautiful, if crumpled, gown.

“Isn’t this bad luck before the wedding?”

Jo gasped and spun around. “You’re early.”

“You know what they say about the early bird.” His appreciative gaze traveled down the dress and up again to Jo’s blushing face. “Wow.”

“Don’t read anything into this,” she warned.

“Actions speak louder than words.” He remembered this feeling—optimism.

“Nan asked me to try it on and—”

“I did no such thing, young lady.” Tutting, Rosemary started smoothing out the wrinkles. “Good heavens, it looks like you slept in it.”

Jo’s blush deepened. “And then I couldn’t get it off.”

Dan smiled. “I’ll help you take it off.”

She frowned at him as Rosemary tugged at the zip. “What on earth have you done here?” she scolded. “The chiffon’s caught.”

Or maybe he’d leave it on, slide his hands down the silky fabric covering her delightful butt, then lift that pretty skirt…. “Would you like me to try?” Dan suggested meekly.

“No!

“Good idea.” Rosemary propelled her reluctant granddaughter closer.

Jo turned her back on him. “I mean it,” she muttered. “This has absolutely no connection with us.” The blush even tinted her neck. He wanted to bite it.

“Uh-huh.”

The dress smelled of lavender, the silk felt blood-warm. The back cut away to a modest V but he still had to fight the impulse to lean forward and lick the smooth skin it exposed. Dan took his time freeing her. This was the longest he’d been this close to her since his return and he made the most of it. Jo squirmed under his caressing fingers.

“Don’t fidget,” said Rosemary, hovering anxiously. “You’ll tear it.”

“Listen to your grandmother,” said Dan, enjoying himself immensely. Rosemary nodded her approval.

“You know, I sewed every bead on by hand. Hours and hours it took. I’ll never forget Graham’s face when he saw me.” In Nan’s face, Dan caught a glimpse of the young bride she’d once been. Jo nodded but tensed. How many times, he wondered, had she heard this story? He lifted his hands to her shoulders in silent supportimeñ€†, all teasing gone.

Rosemary was still talking. “His family never thought I was good enough but we were a great team. You two make a great team, too. I’ve always thought so.”

Jo moved away from his hold. “Nan, we’re not getting married.”

“And when she’s with you, Daniel, I never worry. Now … what was I …?” Her voice trailed off; her attention turned inward. Her hands fluttered around her apron as though searching for a hold; she looked down at the cherries printed on it and her face cleared.

“I’m making jam today.”

“The mandarins for the marmalade are in the pantry,” he reminded her.

“Excellent.” Rosemary bustled into the larder. Dan returned to untangling Jo’s zip.

“She was up in the night and wouldn’t settle until I tried it on,” said his bride defensively. “I haven’t changed my mind about marrying you.”

“You know what I think?”

“I know I’m not going to like it.”

He freed the last of the delicate fabric and pulled the zipper down slowly. “Your subconscious is on my side.” He brushed his lips along the bumps in her spine.

Jo jumped and tried to tug away. “No, it’s not.”

Holding the opened zip, Dan smiled at the goose bumps his kiss had raised. “And so is your body.” She bowed her head. “Jo?”

Rosemary staggered out of the pantry with the bucket of citrus. Releasing the dress, Dan went to help. “Daniel, how nice of you to visit,” she exclaimed. “You knew I was making your favorite marmalade, didn’t you?”

“I could never sneak anything past you, could I?” Taking the bucket, Dan turned back to Jo.

She was gone.

JO STOOD AT HER BEDROOM window, watching Dan wield a chainsaw, slicing through the tangled hedge like it was a pat of soft butter. Why couldn’t he simply accept her refusal? Why did he have to persist with this ridiculous wedding deadline? She didn’t want to humiliate him.

When she’d finally fallen asleep she’d dreamed of him standing in the church, waiting for her, his expression drawn and anxious. The congregation’s whispers becoming titters, then laughs until everyone howled. She’d woken up crying.

In a stupid wedding dress.

With a sigh, Jo returned it to storage, repacking it in tissue and laying the stalks of dried lavender through the folds to protect it. It was a battle of nerves and she had to win for the sake of a friendship neither of them could afford to lose.

She glanced out the window again, this time at her grandmother, sitting in an armchair in the glass conservatory adjoining the kitchen where she was “supervising the work.” Rosemary had dozed off—God knows how with that racket—but she was sleeping so little at night now. Picking up a blanket, Jo went downstairs and laid it gently over her knees. Nan didn’t stir. In repose she looked like she always had.

Polly poked her head in and Jo raised a finger to her lips. Closing the door gently behind her, Jo returned to the kitchen.

“Tea?” suggested Polly.

“Coffee please.” Jo yawned. Lately she existed on the stuff.

While Polly set up the coffeemaker, Jo eyed the bucket of mandarins, then with a shrug found a couple of bowls and started slicing them.

The chainsaw stopped. Glancing through the kitchen window, she saw Dan taking an armful of clippings to the compost heap behind the shed. He’d taken off his jacket and his damp navy T-shirt clung to the muscles of his back. She remembered the touch of his lips on her neck and shivered.

“How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?” Polly found clean cups in the dishwasher. The smell of fragrant coffee mingled pleasantly with sharpsweet citrus.

“He’ll give up eventually.”

“I’m not talking about Dan,” said Polly, “I’m talking about Rosemary. How many nights this week has she been up?”

Jo scraped a sliced mandarin into a bowl, then reached for another. “I’m coping.”

“Are you?” Polly picked up her hand holding the knife. She was trembling with exhaustion. “How many, Jo?”

She pulled her hand free. “A few,” she admitted and concentrated on slicing.

Polly folded her arms, her expression set to charge nurse. “We talked about this.”

“Let’s see how next week goes.” Her slices were getting thicker and thicker. “It could be a passing phase.”

“You made a commitment,” Polly said quietly.

The mandarin fell open; Jo gouged out the pips. “Look, I haven’t got the energy to discuss this now.” No, don’t reinforce Polly’s argument. “I mean, I’m too busy with the Chronicle.” She and Kev were spending hours analyzing CommLink’s annual reports and crosschecking profit forecasts with actual performance. Trying to work out whether CommLink was bluffing by a process of deduction. Because thanks to Dan, Kev no longer trusted Jo’s instincts. She’d begun to question them herself.

“You promised me,” repeated Polly. “And more importantly, you promised Rosemary.”

Something inside Jo snapped. She threw down the knife. “If you haven’t got the guts to see this through, Pol, then quit! I can do this alone.”

“Ha,” the nurse retorted. “You’re so damn tired you’re delusional!”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Jo gripped the table edge. “You know I don’t mean it. You’re the best thing that happened to both of us.”

“Then listen to my advice. You can’t continue like—”

“What’s going on?” Dan said casually. Neither of them had heard the back door open. Arranging himself next to Jo, he glanced from one woman to the other. “I could hear you arguing from the garden.”

Jo sent Polly a warning look. “We’re discussing the best way to make marmalade.”

The older woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jo, but I need reinforcements.” She faced Dan I&ñ€†. “When Rosemary was first diagnosed she chose a residential facility and had herself put on a waiting list for a place there when she needed full-time care.”

“Polly, stop there.” Jo tried to sound calm and authoritative but her heart hammered against her ribs.

“When the time came, Jo increased my hours instead,”

said the nurse. “I only found out when Pinehill phoned last month to see how things were progressing. Apparently Rosemary even made Jo promise to respect her wishes in front of the director.”

Jo went to the sink and rinsed her juice-covered hands. “She’s not a burden,” she said to no one in particular.

“When I challenged her, Jo talked me into another deadline.” Polly continued to look at Dan. “Once Rosemary was getting up through the night more than once a week, then Jo would accept the need for residential care. I suspect that’s been happening for some time.”

“She raised me. I’m not turning my back on her now.”

“Someone needs to talk some sense into you before your health suffers,” Polly said to her.

Jo concentrated on drying her hands but said fiercely, “I’m coping.”

Polly picked up her bag. “We need more sugar from the store if we’re making this marmalade. Anything else you want me to pick up?”

Yeah, a new caregiver. Jo bit her tongue against the sarcastic retort and shook her head. This betrayal was exactly why she kept her own counsel. She waited until Polly was out of earshot and snarled at Dan instead. “This is none of your business.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Any chance of breakfast? I’m starving.”

Surprised, Jo blinked at him. “There’s eggs … a loaf in the breadbox.”

He opened the fridge, taking out the eggs, butter. “You eaten yet?”

“Uh, no, not yet.” Has Nan? “I’ll be back in a minute.” Rosemary was still sound asleep, her mouth slightly open like a child’s. Jo stood for a moment composing herself. After a few deep breaths the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach receded. She returned to the kitchen. Dan had already greased the skillet with butter and was mixing eggs in a bowl with a little milk.

“There’s some cheese and tomatoes,” she said, “if you prefer an omelet.”

“Scrambled’s fine. Got any parsley?”

“Tons.” Jo went out to the overgrown garden. The parsley patch had rioted through summer; now in autumn it had gone to seed. She was mixing her seasons up as badly as Nan. But she found some spring onions that hadn’t been harvested and took them inside. Soon the pungent green onion mingled with the scent of buttery eggs. Jo realized she was hungry.

“I’ll make toast,” she suggested.

“Good idea.”

She sent him a sidelong glance as she dropped two slices of wholemeal bread into the toaster. Maybe he was biding his time, lulling her into a false sense of security.

“Relax.” His back to her, Dan stirred the eggslasñ€†. “I’m not going to hassle you about Nan.” He turned off the element; found plates and cutlery. “Polly doesn’t know you like I do. Of course you know how to juggle multiple obligations, not to mention keeping yourself healthy.” Jo concentrated on the toast. “You still jogging?”

“When I can fit it in.” Which is never. She resisted the urge to check her reflection in the toaster.

“And Rosemary seemed fine when she let me in this morning. She was off for a walk but postponed it.”

Jo’s head shot up. She must have forgotten to dead-bolt the front door. The last time Nan had wandered they hadn’t found her for three hours.

Dan glanced over. “Bread.”

A wisp of smoke rose from the toaster. Jo rescued the toast and joined him at the table.

Her stomach had started churning again.

Dan picked up his knife and fork. “Mom asked Dad for a divorce last night.”

“What!”

“I guess my appetite should be affected but frankly after missing dinner, I’m starving.” He handed Jo her cutlery. “I told them I was sick and tired of acting as an intermediary and to sort out their own mess. That worked really well.”

“Oh, Dan, I’m sorry.” Stunned, Jo started to eat. “I’m sure Pat regrets what she said this morning.”

“Dad doesn’t.” Between mouthfuls, he related his conversation with his father.

“Poor Herman. Yet I kind of understand where your mom’s coming from. Your dad started this by reneging on a promise … and don’t even try to bring this back to the promise I made to marry you. I was drunk.”

Across the table, his eyes were very blue. “So both parties have to be sober for a promise to be binding?”