Fragrance of Violets (22 page)

“I don’t suppose it makes up for all the fights she had to get child support from him while we were growing up, but at least it means she’ll have no financial worries for the rest of her life. And the house is left to us three, so if you fancy living in Reigate—?”

“I’d rather live in Rusthwaite any day.”

“Well, if we sell it, you’ll be able to buy yourself a house there, no problem.”

“What about you and Ellie?”

“We’re both willing to sell, if you are. Oh, and I almost forgot, there’s a bulky package with your name on it.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t open it.”

Abbey met her sisters for lunch at a pub in Chelsea, but resisted the urge to open the package. Instinct told her she had to do it when she was on her own.

Instead, they talked about the funeral arrangements.

“A small private one at the crematorium next Monday,” Louise said, “and donations to St. John’s Hospice rather than flowers. Okay?”

Abbey agreed. The show finished on Saturday, so she wouldn’t have to worry about getting to the theatre afterwards.

When she sat down in her dressing room later that afternoon, she stared down at the parcel before she untied the string. Inside was a thick lever arch file. Curiously, she opened it.

Her mouth dropped as she flipped through the pages of clear plastic covers. They contained all the reviews, articles, and photos from newspapers and magazines about every TV show, stage play, and film in which she’d ever appeared, even her school and drama college performances, as well as print outs of internet articles and photographs.

On the last page was a short, handwritten note:
To my beautiful and talented daughter Abbey—You probably have all these press cuttings but I collected them because I’m so very, very proud of you. I can’t tell you how much I regret not being the father you should have had. I hope and pray you’ll find a much better man than me to make you happy. With love from Dad.

The memory of him struggling to say sorry and telling her he was proud of her caused her eyes to brim. She swallowed several times as she tried not to cry, but it was the words
a much better man than me
that brought a painful lump to her throat.

She’d ruined everything with that much better man because she’d assumed he’d betrayed her and let her down. Jack was right when he said she jumped to her own conclusions and prejudged people.

She looked down again at the folder. Had she forgiven her father? Or had she decided, like Louise, that she wasn’t going to let the past affect her life in the future? She wasn’t sure.

“God rest you, Dad,” she whispered. “You threw away what you really wanted, and I guess I’ve done the same.”

Her eyes filled. Jack
was
that better man. He’d been patient with her, he’d been trying to protect her from disappointment, he was caring and unselfish, but she’d lost him. And she only had herself to blame.

CHAPTER 21

“Farrell, do you know where Jack is?” Abbey said after the funeral. They were in a small hotel in Hampstead where they’d been joined by some of her father’s colleagues for a buffet lunch. She was relieved none of his ex-girlfriends had decided to attend.

“He’s in Paris,” Farrell replied. “He sent me an email last Thursday saying he’d be there for about a week.”

“Paris?”

Her heart rate accelerated. The previous day, while she relaxed after the final night of the show, she’d made a decision. Once the funeral was over, she would find out where Jack was, and fly over to America to try to explain what had happened in her life, and in her mind, too.

Now Farrell had told her he was much nearer home. She checked her watch. Twelve-thirty. “Do you know where—? No, it’s okay.” She knew where Jack would be staying. “Excuse me, Farrell.”

She crossed to the buffet table where Louise and Ellie were talking to a couple of dark-suited men. By the time she reached them, she knew what she was going to do. There was nothing to stop her, now the show and the funeral were both over.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said with a polite smile to the men, “but could I have a word with you, Louise?” Once they were out of earshot of anyone else, she went on, “I’m going to Paris.”

Louise’s eyebrows shot up. “When?”

“Now. There’s a Eurostar train every hour. I can get to St. Pancras for the three-thirty one and be in Paris by about six.”

“But why Paris?”

“Because Farrell told me Jack is there.”

The mystified frown cleared from Louise’s face. “Okay, but how are you going to find him?”

“He said he always stays at the Clemenceau.” Abbey checked her watch again. “I need to pick up some clothes and my passport, so I’ll have to leave now. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not. Most people will be leaving soon. Do you want me to come to St. Pancras with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll take a taxi back to my apartment and another to the station. Explain things to Ellie, will you?”

“Yes, and call me when you get there.”

“Will do.”

* * * * *

Abbey arrived at St. Pancras Station with plenty of time to buy her ticket and some Euros. Once on the train, she collected a coffee from the buffet bar and sank down into her seat.

She tried to relax but her nerves wouldn’t let her. She even started to wonder whether her impulsive decision was the right one. What if he didn’t want to listen to her? What if he told her she’d had her chance and thrown it back in his face? She chewed the side of her lip nervously. She couldn’t blame him if he did, but it was the risk she had to take.

By the time the train reached the Gare du Nord station in Paris, she’d convinced herself she was on a fool’s errand, that it was far too late to repair her relationship with Jack. Her stomach churned with tension as the taxi took her from the station to the Hotel Clemenceau.

The doorman stepped forward to greet her. “
Bonsoir, madame. Votre bagage
?”

“Er—I’ll take it.” She didn’t know enough French to explain to the man that she hadn’t made a reservation.

“
D’accord,
madame.
”

The glass door slid open and she crossed to the reception desk.

The young dark-haired girl looked up. “
Bonsoir, madame. Que puis-je pour vous?
”

Abbey hesitated. “Erm—
parlez-vous anglais
?”

“Yes, of course,” the girl replied in perfect English. “How may I help you? Do you have a reservation?”

“No—I—erm—is a Mr. Tremayne staying here? Jack Tremayne?”

“Please wait a moment.” The girl tapped a few keys on her computer keyboard, studied the screen, and looked up again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tremayne checked out about two hours ago.”

“Oh.” Abbey stared at her, unable to take it in. She was sure Jack would be here, and had been prepared to wait if he wasn’t in his room when she arrived, but to be told he’d checked out? What on earth did she do now?

“Okay, I’ll—erm—I need to—sorry.” She smiled weakly at the girl, embarrassed by her stuttering. “
Merci
.”

She turned away from the desk, her mind in a whirl. It
had
been a fool’s errand after all.

So what now?

She walked across the lobby to the bar, ordered a large glass of red wine, and took it to a table in the corner.

After retrieving her phone from her bag, she rang Jack’s number, and grimaced in frustration when the answer service kicked in with the message:
Calls are not currently being connected to this number
. Damn it, where
was
he? Quickly, she clicked Louise’s number.

“Hey, have you arrived in gay Paree yet?” Louise said brightly.

“I’m here, but Jack isn’t.”

“What?”

“He checked out of the hotel a couple of hours ago, and I haven’t a clue where he is. I tried his phone but can’t get a connection.”

“Oh lord, Abbey, I’m sorry.”

“It was a crazy idea anyway. I should have called him before I set out.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I suppose I could catch the next Eurostar to London, but I’m tired, Lou. It’s been a long day, so I think I’ll check in here for the night and come home tomorrow. See if Farrell can find out where Jack is, will you?”

“I’ll do my best. And I’m so sorry, Abbey.”

Abbey gave a wry laugh. “So am I, but it’s okay, I’ll survive. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Okay. You take care, Abbs.”

After she ended the call, she hit Jack’s number again, but it was still the same message.

Obviously it wasn’t meant to be.

She took another gulp of her wine. It warmed her stomach but did nothing for the cold, aching emptiness inside her. Her eyes filled as she stared across the lobby bar at the sofa where she’d sat with Jack and laughed about the elevator with mirrors on the ceiling.

She tried not to think about the two nights they spent here together—the feel and scent of his body next to hers, his deep blue eyes, sometimes tender, other times on fire with passion, and their thrilling and wonderfully satisfying lovemaking.

She switched her mind instead to their dinner cruise on the Seine, with the accordionist playing romantic French songs.

Her thoughts stopped abruptly. That was the night he told her he loved her, and she hadn’t been able to say the words back to him.

Now she knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that she loved him, knew she’d loved him for a long time. It was her fear of hurt, disappointment and betrayal that had held her back.

She blinked the tears away from her eyes. She’d spent nearly twenty years letting anger and resentment consume her, when instead she should have understood all men weren’t the same. Least of all Jack.

It all seemed so simple now. Her anger had gone and she could move on, but to where? A life without Jack?

She took another sip of her wine. Her only hope was that he would be involved in the filming of
The
Rycroft Saga
and she might have the chance to talk to him again.

“
Bonsoir, madame.
”

The voice behind her made her jump and she jerked her head around.

“Oh God,” she croaked as her heart leapt into her throat.

He shook his head. “No, not God, just Jack. Or John Tyson, of course, if you prefer.”

“I—I thought—they—they said you’d checked out,” Abbey stammered when she managed to find her voice.

“Yes, I did. Louise called me when I was at the airport and said you were here. No, it’s okay,” he went on as she started to stand. “Would you like another drink?”

Abbey looked down at her almost empty wine glass. “Yes, please.”

She watched him as he crossed to the bar. Her heart still raced from the shock of his sudden appearance, and even his back view—thick dark blond hair, broad shoulders in his navy jacket, long legs in grey chinos—stirred a deep yearning inside her. For a moment, she wished they could simply go up to one of the hotel rooms and lose themselves in the wonderful lovemaking they’d enjoyed here before, but she doubted that was ever going to happen. He hadn’t smiled and his eyes hadn’t met hers. There were too many barriers between them, and she had no idea how she could explain everything to him. And even if she did, would he believe her?

When he returned with their drinks, she looked at him curiously. “How did Louise manage to call you when I got a message saying calls couldn’t be connected?”

He sat down in the chair across from her, and an aching heaviness descended on her. He was keeping his distance, not sitting in the chair next to hers. Not that she could blame him for being wary. For the moment, it was enough that he’d come back from the airport.

“What number were you calling?” he asked.

“Yours. The one I have stored on my phone.”

“I lost that phone somewhere between Reno and L.A. I had to buy a cheap one over there, and another one when I came back here, but I didn’t think you’d want the new number after—”

“After our last phone conversation?” She recalled how angry and bitter she’d been and nodded. “I’m sorry, I overreacted and—” Another thought struck her. “Did you get my message? Before you lost your phone, I mean.”

“When did you call me?”

“The day after opening night, after Farrell gave me the contract.”

He thought for a few seconds until his face cleared. “That was the day I lost my phone.”

“Oh.”

For the first time he looked straight at her. “You’re doing it again. Saying
oh
.”

She averted her eyes and studied her glass of wine. “It’s because I feel awkward and unsure. I had it planned in my mind what I was going to say to you, but now it’s all jumbled up.”

“How about telling me what you said in your phone message?”

“I said thank you for the
Rycroft Saga
contract.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “Thank you so much, Jack. For the contract and also for the struggle you had to get it for me. I understand now why you didn’t tell me you were John Tyson, and I’m sorry I reacted so badly when I found out. Louise showed me an email you sent to Farrell, the one where you said you wanted me for the part but thought I’d refuse when I knew you were the author.”

“
Would
you have refused?”

“Louise asked me the same question. I’ve thought about it a few times, and I still don’t know the answer. The best part I could ever hope for? Versus all the resentment that still curdled inside me? Last December, I mean. I honestly don’t know. The resentment was still there when I first met you again in March, but getting to know you again and thinking about what went wrong between us made me realise I’d been so immature in breaking our friendship.”

“I think we resolved all that.”

“Yes.”

* * * * *

Jack sipped his wine. After Louise’s call, he’d returned to the hotel not knowing what to expect. When he asked Louise why Abbey was in Paris, she said it was up to Abbey to tell him. For all he knew, she could have come to tell him she’d changed her mind about accepting the Maggie Rycroft role.

When he saw her again, sitting alone and deep in thought, all rational thought left him for a few moments. His body had its own agenda as physical longing, hot and urgent, threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms, take her to a bed somewhere, and make love to her.

Reality jerked him back to the present, and all the reasons tumbled into his mind about why he’d decided a long-term relationship between them wouldn’t work. For the moment, though, it was the John Tyson issue they had to deal with. She’d been honest with him, and he owed her the same.

“Did you see Farrell’s reply to the email I sent him?”

“No, why?”

“He said we should offer you the contract and tell you I was the author. If you turned it down, we’d move to the next on the list. That’s the way it normally works.”

“Why didn’t you do that?”

“You want the truth? Yes, of course you do.” He hesitated, but knew he had to tell her. “I didn’t want you to reject the contract because it would mean you were rejecting me. Again. That first time, ten years ago, hurt badly, and I couldn’t face going down the same road a second time.” He paused and let his eyes meet hers. “Remember the day you told me how devastated you were when you didn’t get the part?”

She nodded. “The day we cleared the barn.”

“Yes. You shocked me that day. I hadn’t realised it would have such a devastating effect on you. I thought you’d be inundated with offers, so not getting the Maggie role wouldn’t make any difference to you.”

“And I told you it had destroyed my confidence.”

He lifted his shoulders helplessly. “How could I tell you? We were finding our way back together again, and I didn’t want to ruin everything by giving you something else to hold against me. In hindsight, I’ll admit it was a stupid thing to do, but at the time I believed it was for the best. I thought if I could get the contract for you, you’d forgive me for not telling you sooner, but ending Marsha’s contract took longer than I expected, and of course you found out in the meantime. Who told you, by the way?”