Fragrance of Violets (12 page)

“We’ve heard all your views for the last hour, and we could probably listen to them for the next two or three hours, but I said we’d finish this meeting by nine-thirty, so it’s now time for you to make up your minds. Do we repair the Old School or do we build a new community centre? Those in favour of—”

Another voice echoed through the church. “Before you vote, would you allow me to say a few words?”

Edwina jerked her head around and groaned, “Oh, no.”

Abbey knew the voice before she even turned. A mixture of alarm and curiosity shot though her when she saw Jack standing at the back of the church.

“Mr. Tremayne,” Tom said. “You’re rather late—”

“I apologise, but I think you might be interested in what I have to say.”

Tom ignored Dolly’s attempt to intervene and nodded. “You have two minutes, Jack, after which I will resume the vote.”

“Thank you.”

Jack strode down the aisle and turned to face the audience. In his jeans and navy jacket over the blue polo shirt that stretched across his firm chest, he looked good. More than that, he seemed to be completely at ease as he surveyed the sea of faces. It gave him an air of quiet authority, and Abbey clenched her hands as she waited for him to speak.

“Many of you here know me,” he started. “For those who don’t, I’m Jack Tremayne, and I grew up here. So did my mother, and her parents, and their parents. My roots are deep in the Rusthwaite valley and, even though I’ve been to many different places in the world, I still consider this village as my home.” He gave a small smile before his expression became serious again. “Eight years ago, as I’m sure you’ll remember, I wrote a newspaper article which people here considered a betrayal of my home. I want to tell you now that I regret some of the things I said in the article, and I want to apologise to you all for the problems it caused.”

Abbey swallowed hard. It took a big man to stand up in a crowded church and make such a public and sincere apology. Her eyes misted and she blinked a few times. At the same time, she sensed the reaction from the audience. Half resentful, half intrigued. What was he going to say now?

“In the article, I said the Lake District needs tourism, and I don’t think anyone here can dispute that,” he went on. “Tourists, holidaymakers, climbers and hikers, and water sports enthusiasts are our lifeblood now the old industries have died out. We don’t mine copper any more, the slate industry has declined, we don’t sell our wool in the local market, or burn charcoal in the forest. Many people in this village are now dependent on visitors.” He paused, glanced around, and continued, “However, what I didn’t address in the article was, firstly, that there should be a balance between the needs of tourists and the needs of the people who live and work here. Secondly, I didn’t acknowledge the importance of Lakeland’s heritage, and specifically this village’s history and heritage.”

Abbey tightened one hand around the other so hard that it hurt as she waited for his next words.

“During the past few years, I’ve done a lot of research into the history of this area and I appreciate it far more than I did when I was a cub reporter with the
Chronicle
. It has rightly been said that men dwell here as well as mountains. Nature has created our landscape, but our history has been created by the people who have lived here through the ages. I believe we owe it to those people—the ancestors of many of you here tonight—to preserve and not destroy what they created. Yes, we could abandon the Old School, but if we do so, we destroy something which has been an integral part of this village for over a hundred years. Even though it’s no longer a school, it’s still the heart of the village, the place where people meet for social events and to pursue their various interests. I believe it should continue to fulfil this role in Rusthwaite.”

A shiver of delight raised the hairs on the back of Abbey’s neck, and she gave her mother a relieved smile.

Jack turned to Tom Williams. “I guess I’ve overrun my two minutes, but if you’ll allow me one more minute. There’s an old saying—
Put your money where your mouth is
—and that’s what I intend to do.”

She drew in a tense breath as he put his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out what looked like a cheque. There was a murmur of interest around her.

He faced the audience again. “Please don’t think this is an attempt to obtain your forgiveness for the problems I caused in the past. I understand if you can’t forgive me, but this
is
the strongest indication I can give of my firm belief in the preservation of this village’s heritage for future generations. I’m giving it on the condition that it is used for the Old School. I’ve not examined your financial statements in detail, but I think it should be enough for the roof repairs, as well as any other necessary modernisation of the facilities.” He handed the cheque to Tom and nodded briefly at the audience. “Thank you for listening to me.”

As he set off up the aisle, Edwina stood and started to applaud. Abbey did the same and others began to stand. Jack’s face was neutral, and he didn’t acknowledge anyone as he strode to the back of the church. By the time he reached the door, the applause had risen to a crescendo, and she brushed away the tear that slid down her cheek. She was so proud of him she felt as if she would burst.

Tom Williams held up his hand, and gradually the applause died as people sat down again. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I can hardly believe what I’m holding in my hand.”

“Come on, how much?” someone called from the audience.

“This is a cheque for two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

A stunned silence was broken when Dolly Garside, beaming from ear to ear, stood and started to applaud again.

Abbey turned to her mother. “Mum, I need to go and find him.”

Edwina nodded. “Yes. Go on.”

Oblivious to everyone in the church, she ran up the aisle and out of the door. She had no idea which way Jack had gone, but dashed toward the lychgate and down the sloping path to the market square. As she reached the square, she saw his dark figure turning the far corner into the main street.

“Jack! Jack—wait!” He didn’t stop, and she started to run. “Jack!” she called again.

He slowed but didn’t look around. Eventually she caught up with him and matched his pace. Her words came out in short gasps. “Jack, that was amazing. Not the cheque—but everything you said. Even Dolly Garside was smiling and clapping, and—oh, I was so proud of you.”

“Really?” His voice was thick with sarcasm. “So why didn’t you tell me about the meeting, Abbey? Did you think I’d say all the wrong things? Things you and your mother and Dolly Garside might not want me to say?”

“No, of course not. I—” She stopped and pushed her hair back from her face. It
was
part of the reason she hadn’t called him earlier.

He halted and fixed her with a cold glare. “I told you I’d changed my views since I wrote the article, but you obviously didn’t believe me. Maybe one day you’ll learn to trust me, Abbey.”

Turning, he carried on walking, leaving her standing open-mouthed.

CHAPTER 12

“Jack, please stop.”

Jack heard the pleading in Abbey’s voice, heaved a sigh, and slowed down again. His frustration with everything and everyone threatened to boil over.

First, there’d been his lunch meeting with Farrell. His agent hadn’t been able to report any further progress in the negotiations about the contract offered to the other actress, Marsha Hewitt, and Jack banged his fist on the table, causing everyone in the restaurant to look at him.

“Offer her a juicier role or buy her off,” he snapped. “Dammit, Farrell,
I’ll
buy her off if necessary. Either Abigail Barton plays Maggie Rycroft, or I tear up
my
contract with Horizon Films.”

He’d deliberately not called Abbey during the week because he hoped to be able to give her the good news when they next met. Now he’d have to wait even longer before he could tell her about
The Rycroft Saga.

He called her anyway, at about seven-thirty, and swore under his breath when he was diverted to her answer service. “Sorry I couldn’t ring you sooner,” he said briefly, “but please call me when you get this message.”

A brisk walk into the village only added to his disgruntlement. As he passed Eagle Croft, he saw Abbey’s red car parked outside the house and was tempted to knock on the door, but knew he probably wouldn’t receive any welcome from her mother.

Why did everything have to be so damned complicated? Earlier in the week, he’d started to hope he and Abbey had taken the first moves toward rebuilding their friendship. Admittedly, they were small steps, not long strides, but he couldn’t rush her. He needed to curb his impatience, even though he realised he was as much in love with her as he’d been ten years earlier.

Instead of continuing his walk to the lake on the far side of the village, he decided to go into the White Lion, and surveyed the almost deserted pub in surprise.

“Where is everyone?”

“There’s a meeting at the church,” Mike said. “Didn’t you know?”

“Nope. What’s it about?”

As Mike explained the purpose of the meeting, Jack narrowed his eyes. Obviously no one had told him because people didn’t trust him. One mistake in his youth and he was damned forever. The uncharitable thought ran through his head that Dolly Garside had probably instructed everyone not to tell him.

More to the point, Abbey hadn’t told him. Did that mean she didn’t believe him when he told her he’d changed his views? His annoyance increased to a simmering anger. So much for thinking they were finding their way back to each other.

By the time he finished his pint, his decision was made. He needed to show them all, even Dolly Garside, that he’d been wrong when he wrote the infamous article. Several years of research for his novels had opened his eyes to the lives and work of his ancestors, and helped him realise the past was as important as the present.

He stood at the back of the church, listening to all the arguments, and pulled out his cheque book. As he walked to the front, he had no firm idea of what he was going to say but, once he turned to the sea of faces, some frowning, some curious, the words had come.

The applause rang in his ears as he strode back up the aisle. Any elation he felt about putting right what he’d previously got so wrong dissolved when he saw Abbey, standing and applauding, and his anger returned in full force.

* * * * *

He carried on walking as she caught up with him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me on Tuesday night about the meeting?” he said again, his voice still icy.

“I didn’t know anything about it on Tuesday. It was only arranged when the trustees met on Wednesday evening.”

“You could have called me.”

“I was going to, honestly I was, but—”

“Why didn’t you?”

She tossed her hair back, and her voice took on a sharper edge. “Well, for one thing,
you
said you’d call me, but you didn’t.”

“I called you earlier this evening. Your phone was switched off.”

“Oh.” Flustered, she pulled her phone from the pocket of her fleece jacket and clicked it. “I had to turn it off when we were in the church.”

He watched as she tapped the screen to retrieve her voicemail messages. “Okay,” she said eventually, “you rang me at seven-thirty. That was too late for me to tell you about the meeting, wasn’t it?”

Her voice was so caustic that he suppressed a grin.
She hadn’t changed
. After her initial pleading, she’d turned it around and was back to her usual feisty self, exactly as she used to do when they were teenagers. Hitting back, defending her corner. He’d always admired the way she did that, but still wasn’t prepared to make it easy for her. “You’re saying it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t mean that. I was going to call you this afternoon.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Partly because I didn’t know why you hadn’t called me.”

“And the other part?”

“Okay, I need to explain something.” She ran her fingers through her hair and cleared her throat. “I admit you were half right. I wasn’t sure what your opinion would be and, of course, you had every right to support the idea of a new building, but—”

“But it wasn’t what you or your mum wanted.”

“What we wanted was irrelevant, and it wasn’t the reason I didn’t tell you about the meeting. It was because—”

She stopped, and Jack waited. A quick glance at her told him she was struggling.

“Go on,” he said.

She nodded a few times. “Okay, it was because I didn’t want people to start remembering your article in the
Chronicle
.”

“Why should—?” he began, but she held up both hands in what he recognised as a typical Abbey gesture when she was trying to clarify her thoughts.

“Hear me out and I’ll try to explain. You’ve offered the barn for meetings while the school can’t be used, and people are grateful. Not only me, but the other youth groups who can’t meet in the church because they need more space or because meeting there would inhibit the kids. The playgroup, for example, and the cubs and brownies. And I
wanted
them all to be grateful to you. I didn’t want them to be reminded of the article, which might have happened if you’d supported the idea of a new community centre.”

* * * * *

Jack was silent, and Abbey clenched her hands. Would he understand?

He tilted his head to one side. “You’re saying you didn’t care whether I was in favour of the Old School or a new building?”

“No, it wasn’t about that. Oh, I know Dolly thinks she’s right and everyone else is wrong, and there are others in the village who are the same, but most people aren’t. They might enjoy a good discussion, but they accept there are two sides to any argument, each equally valid. But—and I have to say it, Jack—a lot of people
were
incensed by your article. Even Jeannie Dixon, who’s probably the most open-minded and fair person I know, was angry at the time.”

“Were you?”

The question took her by surprise and she considered it for a few moments. “I was down in London, so I suppose I wasn’t as closely involved as the people here. I don’t think I was angry. More curious about your reasons for writing it.”

“Which I explained to you.”

“Yes, and you were right about this area needing tourists.” She gave him a tentative smile. “But not completely at the expense of the local people or the traditions and heritage of the Lake District.”

“No, I told you I agree with you about that now.”

“What made you change your mind?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and gave a small shrug. “I started to appreciate what my home meant to me once I moved away. Let’s leave it at that for the moment.” His eyes narrowed. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t want people to be reminded of my article.”

“Because they might think your views were still the same as they were eight years ago. Old grudges could resurface, and I didn’t want that to happen.”

“Why not?”

Because I think I’m falling in love with you.

She rejected the thought in panic although her nerves continued to jangle. “I—I didn’t want people to be reminded.”

“You were protecting me?”

“No, I—yes, I suppose I was, in a sense.”

“From Dolly Garside stirring up the village against me again?”

“Yes, but—” Abbey had no idea what he was thinking.

“You were protecting me.” He shook his head slowly, and she heard the note of disbelief in his voice. “Even after all I did and said that night?”

She froze. “Jack, this had nothing to do with—”

“But you’ve never forgiven me, have you?”

“It’s all in the past.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s here in the present. It’s the brick wall between us.”

Abbey breathed deeply.
This was it.
They’d both avoided it, but now they’d have to hit the brick wall head-on. She turned to him. “Yes, you’re right, and I need to ask you a question. Why didn’t you tell me what Helen Cardew said?”

* * * * *

Jack furrowed his brow. “Helen Cardew? What about her?”

“Jack, can we go and sit down somewhere instead of doing this route march through the village?”

So she
was
willing to talk about it all. An odd mixture of relief and apprehension shivered down his spine. Were they really going to deal with what had happened ten years earlier? Or would she retreat behind the wall again?

“Want to go to the pub?” he asked.

“No, everyone will be going there after the meeting, and they’ll all want to come and thank you and—oh, whatever. We won’t be able to talk there. How about the park?”

“Okay.” His anger had subsided, replaced by both surprise and relief at her explanation of why she hadn’t told him about the meeting. She believed him, and had been more concerned about other people’s reactions. However, all that was far less important than the bigger issue they now faced. His mouth quirked in a small smile. “You mean like we did when we were kids? Sit on the swings and talk?”

“Yes.”

They reached the park at the end of the main street. The three-quarters moon high in the sky cast a silvery light over the children’s playground.

He tried to push open the wrought iron gate but couldn’t. “It’s locked.”

“Yes, Billy Neale still locks it at nine-thirty every night when he’s on his way to the pub, but when did that stop us?”

The memory rushed back. “You think we can still vault the wall?”

“I wouldn’t attempt it if I was wearing a skirt and high heels, but since I’m wearing trousers—” She giggled. “Go on, you go first, and you can catch me if I don’t make it.”

“Might need you to catch me. I haven’t done this for years.”

He took a short run, put both hands on top of the uneven stones, and lifted his legs easily over the three foot dry-stone wall.

Abbey clapped her hands a couple of times. “Nice one, Tremayne.”

“Sure you can do it?”

She smirked. “Are you doubting me?”

“Of course not.” He grinned, but still held his breath as she ran at the wall and attempted the same manoeuvre.

As she landed on the other side, she stumbled slightly. Automatically he put out his hands to catch her and gripped her arms to stop her from falling.

The laugh she started to give died as she looked up at him.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

For several seconds, they stared at each other. Jack’s heart pounded, and he didn’t even want to think about the other way his body reacted. He had to force himself not to lean forward to kiss her tempting mouth. Instead he pulled his hands away from her arms and peered around at the line of six swings.

“Isn’t there an age limit on these things? Or a weight limit?”

“You want to try the see-saw?”

He laughed. “Let’s risk the bench instead, shall we?”

They sat on the wooden bench at the side of the park, and he steadied himself. “What did you mean about Helen Cardew?”

“I didn’t know until yesterday. Louise told me what Helen said to you.”

“How did she know?”

“Because Ellie heard Helen in the café the next day, laughing about it and saying the way was open for her now.”

He thumped the arm of the bench with his fist. “Goddamit!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He turned back to her. “Because she made me promise, and I don’t break promises. She told me you wanted more, Abbey, and I believed her. I wanted more, too. I was in love with you.”

“But all the other things you said—”

“I’ve never forgiven myself. I was a crass moron that night. I wanted you and I was frustrated and—oh God, if only you knew how much I’ve regretted it ever since.”

She moistened her lips. “I said some pretty horrible things, too, didn’t I?”