Книга - Marriage For Real

Marriage For Real
Emma Richmond


Sarah and Jed's marriage is in jeopardy. Their wedding had been hastily arranged–but afterward they'd lost their unborn baby, and with it the reason for their marriage. Yet Sarah knows she's deeply in love with her husband….Jed is the strong, silent type; Sarah has no idea what he feels for her, and she's afraid to ask. After weeks of polite, awkward tolerance, they've reached a make-or-break situation. One of them must reach out, communicate, declare their true feelings. But will it be Sarah or Jed? And will they at last make their marriage real, a marriage that could lead to a family?









“Oh, Sarah,” Jed exclaimed raggedly, “we can’t go on like this.”


Past thinking about what he wanted, needed, only knowing that it was what she wanted, Sarah ran to him and buried herself against his chest.

Slowly, really quite slowly, his arms came around her, and with gentle soothing motions, he held her against him.

Scooping her up, he carried her to the bed and laid her gently down. Lying beside her, he pulled her back into his arms.

“I haven’t known what to do,” she mumbled against him. “How to talk to you, what to say.” She compulsively ran her hand up and down his chest. “Let me kiss you.”

She continued to stare at him with worried eyes until he slowly lowered his head and gently kissed her mouth.


Emma Richmond was born during the Second World War in north Kent, England, when, she says, “farms were the norm and motorways nonexistent. My childhood was one of warmth and adventure. Amiable and disorganized, I’m married with three daughters, all of whom have fled the nest—probably out of exasperation! The dog stayed, reluctantly. I’m an avid reader, a compulsive writer and a besotted new granny. I love life and my world of dreams, and all I need to make things complete is a housekeeper—like, yesterday!”


Books by Emma Richmond

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3505—ONE BRIDE REQUIRED!

3580—A HUSBAND FOR CHRISTMAS


Marriage for Real

Emma Richmond






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u6b620022-896a-597a-9af9-09ebce68fdc9)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4478165f-7b72-51ff-9ff8-c463b7b9d781)

CHAPTER THREE (#u9e3aa8de-6281-5bbe-94ae-4351337067ff)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


FIGHTING back tears, Sarah watched the tall figure below her limp awkwardly down the steps. John Erskine Dane. Jed. Her husband. There would be a look of determination on his face, a grim fierceness not to give in to the pain in his leg; the weakness. How far would he get today? To the crossroads?

I love him, she thought. I love him so much it hurts—but loving him didn’t take away the pain of what had happened, the anguish. She didn’t blame him for the way he was behaving, of course she didn’t. None of it had been his fault. Tomorrow would be better, she promised herself. Tomorrow. Or the day after. And then everything would be all right.

As he disappeared from view, she stared out over the lake. Loch, she mentally corrected. Rain pitted the pewter surface, dripping forlornly off the naked trees. Be patient, the doctor had said. But it was six weeks now, nearly seven, and still the tears kept coming. No warning, no control, just suddenly tears, and that tight ache in her chest. Perhaps they should have returned to Bavaria to be with their friends, but she had thought it would be so hard to weather the sympathy, the kindness. She knew no one here, and no one knew her, or what had happened. They knew Jed, of course. He’d spent part of his childhood here.

‘Will you be wanting anything else, Mrs Dane?’

The soft Scottish burr took her by surprise, and Sarah gave a little start. Refusing to turn, she shook her head. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Reeves.’

‘I’ll be away, then.’

‘Yes.’

Sarah heard the door close and then resumed her contemplation of the loch. No monsters in this one. All the monsters were in her head. And if she didn’t pull herself together soon…Mrs Reeves probably thought she was a pale, weepy little thing; and felt sorry for Jed for having such a wife. Sarah wanted to tell her that she wasn’t really like this, but words seemed to have gone the way of her wits.

There would be other babies she tried to tell herself. Next time would be all right—but how could there be a next time when her husband slept in a separate room? How could there be a next time when he couldn’t seem to even bring himself to talk to her? Hold her? Kiss her? All the warmth and laughter seemed to belong to another life. And yet, she could remember how she had been. She could see herself so clearly: laughing, happy, confident. Young? Immature? she wondered. Perhaps, but for all her slenderness, her seeming fragility, she had always been so strong. Her light brown hair had curled enticingly round her small face, deep brown eyes always so full of mischief. She had always known what she wanted—and she had wanted Jed. Not in a dark, calculating sort of way. She hadn’t set out to woo him, trap him, but from the first moment she had seen him awareness had sprung between them, tension.

With three months left of the year she had taken off after gaining her degree, she had visited all the places she had so long wanted to see. With the funds generously given by her grandmother, she’d visited North America, the Far East, China, Columbia, Australia, and then returned to Europe. With her brown hair lightened almost to fair by the Antipodean sun; her skin tanned to gold, she’d flown into Bavaria—and found Jed.

‘I’ve won a what?’

‘Balloon trip.’

‘Balloon trip?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ The young man smiled at her, his blue eyes amused. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready?’ she echoed. ‘What, now?’

‘Certainly now.’

‘But I’ve only just arrived!’

‘I know.’ Taking her knapsack, he walked towards a blue Land Rover with the picture of a balloon on the side. A bemused Sarah slowly followed, and then burst out laughing. This was crazy!

‘Nervous?’ he asked as he helped her into the vehicle.

‘No,’ she denied. ‘Bewildered, astonished, flabbergasted…And how on earth do I know you’re who you say you are?’

‘Because in a moment you will see the field, and the balloon and all the people.’ He grinned, put the car in gear and drove off. Five minutes later he pulled into the field.

‘You can leave your kit in the car; it’s the support vehicle.’

Meaning, she assumed, that it was going to follow the flight. Still puzzled, still bewildered, she collected her camera, made sure her bumbag with her money and passport was safely strapped round her waist, and climbed down. ‘I didn’t buy a raffle ticket or anything…’ she began hesitantly.

‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but we had a spare place and we thought it would be nice to offer it to someone. We watched you get off the coach and we thought you looked like someone who might enjoy it.’

‘I will, but…’ With a small grin, a little shake of her head, she followed him towards all the activity round the slowly inflating balloon. It was a lot bigger than she’d expected.

She was introduced to the other passengers, the female navigator and the pilot, all of whom spoke excellent English, which was fortunate, because her German was virtually non-existent. They were given instructions on what to do in the event of this or that, including the position to adopt if there should be a crash-landing, and then, before she was sure she was ready, she was boosted into the basket. They were told to duck down as the burner was fired, which was very hot, she discovered. No wonder the pilot and navigator wore hats—she was sure she could smell singed hair! And then, without drama, just as the sun nestled against a distant peak, they began to rise. Gently, almost imperceptibly, the basket left the ground.

Allowed to stand once more, they all stared down at the rapidly retreating ground. No jerking, no sudden lurch, just a gentle rise that took them ever higher. Shadows lay along the fields and everywhere looked mystical as the slowly setting sun spread its dying light across the beautiful landscape. Well, she had wanted to see Bavaria, and this was certainly a very good way of doing so.

The driver of the support vehicle waved and they all waved back, like children. It was one of the most incredible experiences of her life. She didn’t think she had ever known such an utter feeling of peace. Apart from the intermittent flare of the burner, the whoosh of sound, the heat, everything was silent—and then a dog began to bark somewhere below, and she smiled. She didn’t want to talk to the others, and perhaps they felt the same, because they were all quiet. A time to think, reflect on the insignificance of human beings.

With very little room to move in the basket that was divided into four sections for the passengers and navigator, and a smaller section for the pilot, they all politely shuffled round so that each could get the best view, take their photographs. The pilot began to explain in both English and German where they were, their speed, pointing out distant towns and villages. But Sarah was barely listening as they floated in a sky that was that beautiful blue that sometimes occurred before darkness descended. Soaring across peaks and valleys, Sarah watched it all and thought she could stay up here for ever, free, unhampered, and tried to impress everything into her mind so that she would always have these feelings.

The hour they were allotted soon passed and as the sun dipped to the distant horizon they were instructed to put their belongings into the pouches provided before they began their descent.

‘Do you land just anywhere?’ she asked the pilot curiously.

‘Sometimes,’ he laughed. ‘Unable to control the wind, we go where we must. Look for a field where the crops have been lifted or cut. Somewhere smooth without power lines or too many trees. Most of the farmers or landowners know us, and we generally offer them a free balloon trip in thanks…’ Breaking off, he stared down in concentration, and then instructed them to assume the crash positions. He spoke to his navigator, who was trying to raise someone on her walkie-talkie, and Sarah heard something about a ten-knot wind before they were suddenly thrown sideways as they rapidly picked up speed. Unable to see from her crouched position, eyes wide, she waited for whatever was going to happen. A small bump, she assumed.

A tree thrashed against the side of the basket and then they hit something, and it wasn’t a small bump at all. The edge of the basket caught the ground first and Sarah stupidly assumed that was it, that they were down and relaxed her grip, only to be thrown violently against the man next to her as they rose again and then hit even harder. With the basket at an angle, her back pressed against the wicker side, and her arms braced, they bounced, hard, five times in quick succession before the basket finally came to rest—and fell over onto its side.

Lying on her back, bruised and disoriented, Sarah watched as everyone scrambled free and slowly relaxed her death grip on the safety rope. Someone squatted down beside her and she quickly turned her head. Green eyes examined her with almost hypnotic intensity—and time was suspended.

‘Are you hurt?’ he finally asked quietly.

‘You’re English,’ she stated stupidly.

‘Yes. Are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hurt?’

‘No, English. Sorry. Shall I get out now?’

‘I think so.’

So solemn, so serious, this stranger with the devastating eyes. He looked cynical and mocking, experienced, older. Competent, as though he’d seen it all, done it all. Perhaps he had. But attractive, and she felt herself tremble. He also looked vaguely familiar.

He helped her to stand, and still she couldn’t break her gaze. Never in all her twenty-four years, she thought in bewilderment, had someone had this effect on her.

He nodded with an indifference that hurt, released her, and walked away. He had looked as though he didn’t like her. Puzzled, not only by his reaction, but her own, still standing by the basket, she continued to stare after him, and only gradually became aware that everyone, including several unknowns, were helping to squash the air out of the balloon. Leaning into the basket to retrieve her camera, she went to put it down safely, and then changed her mind and quickly snapped a picture of the man who had helped her. Feeling daft, glancing furtively round to make sure no one was looking, she took another one before going to help with the balloon.

‘You find him interesting?’ a soft voice asked from beside her.

Startled, Sarah turned to the fair-haired young woman standing next to her.

‘I am Gita,’ she introduced herself shyly, ‘from the nearby village.’

Smiling, Sarah shook the proffered hand. ‘Sarah Beverley, from England. And, yes,’ she finally answered. ‘I find him interesting.’

‘We also,’ she agreed. ‘His name is Jed. Our own very important claim to fame. John Erskine Dane. He is now a writer. We like him very much.’

Absently kneading the balloon fabric to get out all the air, Sarah tried the name out on her tongue—and then she remembered. John Dane. ‘This is John Dane’ from the Middle East, or Africa, or wherever. She’d seen him on the television covering wars, strikes, civil unrest. Crumpled, and sometimes unshaven, he’d stood before a camera and told them what he had seen.

‘Now he’s a writer?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Gita responded as both girls continued to watch the tall, dark-haired man who was working at the far end of the balloon. Gita with gentle affection, Sarah with interest.

‘He lives here?’

‘Yes, for about one year now. He was out walking when he saw the balloon landing and came to help. Perhaps one day we will put up a little plaque,’ she teased gently, ‘to say that he wrote one of his best-sellers in the calm and peace of our lovely Bavaria.’

‘Would he like that?’

‘No, I think not. He is a very private man, not one for—extravagance?’ she asked doubtfully, unsure of a word that was not in her native tongue. ‘He walks in the mountains,’ she continued fondly, ‘and sits in the café, smiles his quiet smile, and we do not bother him because we think perhaps he is writing in his head and it is best not to interrupt such important thoughts. So we smile and nod and he stays for a little bit more. You will not disturb him?’ she asked worriedly.

She would very much like to disturb him, Sarah thought, but not in the way Gita meant. ‘No,’ she denied absently. ‘I will not disturb him.’

Leaning her forehead against the glass, Sarah wondered, now, if she ever had. Certainly it had never been with the same degree that he had disturbed her. In fact he still disturbed her with his narrow, intelligent face, long-fingered hands that, when he touched her, could play such havoc with her emotions. Dark, thick, silky hair that always seemed to need cutting.

She never had finished touring Europe. She had stayed in the little Bavarian village, not because of Jed, she didn’t think—not at first, or not consciously—but she had stayed, and fallen in love. But she had always known, or thought she had known, that she loved him more than he loved her.

And now? Now, she didn’t seem to know anything, and soon it would be dark. They would make a pretence at eating, and then she could go to bed. Another day she had got through. What a wretched way to live your life, just getting through it.

She heard the soft snick of the back door closing and panic flared in her eyes. She wasn’t ready to face him, not yet, not now. She would go for a walk, she suddenly decided. Without waiting to deliberate the matter, she turned abruptly away, snatched her raincoat off the hallstand and hurried out the front door. Descending the steep steps, she turned in the direction Jed had taken. The soft drizzle soaked her hair in seconds, darkened her raincoat as she walked blindly down to the shore. Waves lapped agitatedly at the pebbles, little slaps of sound that beat counterpoint to her pulse. She tired so quickly now. Not enough exercise, not enough air in her lungs. Feeling dizzy, she halted, looked around for somewhere to rest, and seated herself on a large rock.

With her mind empty, her eyes unfocused, she stared blindly at the loch. You’re being so silly, Sarah. All you have to do is talk to him, explain how you feel. Ask him how he feels…And that was the problem, wasn’t it? She was afraid to ask him how he felt; what he was thinking, because she had the awful, mind-numbing suspicion that he no longer loved her.

An RAF jet tore through the air above her from the nearby base and nearly frightened her to death. She didn’t think she would ever get used to that thunder of sound that seemed to rip the air apart. Hand to her racing heart, she vaguely heard the crunch of pebbles as someone ran along the shoreline, the laboured breathing, but it wasn’t until a satchel thudded onto the ground beside her that she bothered to turn her head. A young boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, was staring at her, all eyes and red face from his exertions. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. They examined each other in silence for a few moments, and then he hunched down onto his school-bag and wrapped his arms round his knees.

‘They’ll go in a minute,’ he said with almost humorous resignation.

Who? Who would go in a minute? Glancing beyond him, she saw two young girls, just hovering, but she didn’t want to get involved in this, didn’t want the distraction.

Breath still labouring, he muttered. ‘They are driving me insane!’

‘Who are they?’ She hadn’t meant to ask.

‘From school.’ He shrugged. ‘They want to know where I live.’ Picking up a handful of pebbles, he began throwing them towards the water. ‘And you can imagine what will happen then, can’t you? It’s bad enough now.’ He gave a gloomy sigh. ‘Are you the lady who lives with Jed?’

‘Yes. You know him?’

He shook his head, glanced furtively sideways to see if the girls were still there. ‘What time is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘Just after half-past three, I think.’

‘Will his leg get better?’

‘Jed’s? Yes.’

‘Mum said he was in a car crash.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed quietly.

‘Is that why you’re sad? Mum said…’ Embarrassed, he broke off.

‘Mum said?’ she prompted.

‘That you cried a lot. Are you from London?’

‘No, Bavaria…Well,’ she qualified and wondered why on earth she was bothering, ‘from Surrey really, but I’ve been living in Bavaria.’

‘Where’s that?’ he asked without much interest.

‘Germany. I think they’re going.’

‘What? Oh, great.’ Scrambling to his feet, he hoisted his school-bag onto his shoulder. ‘See you.’

Yes, she thought almost blankly, see you, but it had been a start, hadn’t it? Talking to someone. With a gentle sigh, she got to her feet.

How had his mother known she cried a lot? Sarah wondered as she retraced her steps. Because Mrs Reeves had told her? Her, and everyone else in the small community? As she reached the road she saw that the street lamps had been lit, and now sparkled on the rain drifting silently across their yellow beams. The boy had gone, home to his own fireside, his mother. Had she ever followed a boy home from school? She couldn’t remember doing so; it had always been the other way around. Until Jed. Jed she would have followed to the ends of the earth. Still would. If he wanted her.

Grasping the rail, she hauled herself up the steep steps than ran parallel to the house. Opening the front door, she found Jed waiting for her.

‘You’re wet,’ he said quietly as she entered. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. I met a boy—two girls were following him home from school.’

He gave a small smile. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘girls can be the very devil.’ Helping her off with her raincoat, he hung it on the rack.

Was she the very devil? she wondered as she followed him towards the kitchen. Perhaps that was what he had thought when she’d plagued him in Bavaria—no, not plagued, she hadn’t done that, but she hadn’t tried to hide the tension he’d generated in her.

She slowly sat at the kitchen table and watched her husband. His face was sad, his green eyes dull in this light. And the mouth that used to quirk in humour was straight now, uncommunicative. ‘Did it used to happen to you?’ she asked quietly. ‘Girls following you home from school?’

‘Sometimes. A long time ago. Are you really all right?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed and quickly changed the subject. ‘How far did you get? To the crossroads?’

‘Yes.’

She knew better than to ask how his leg was, if it was painful.

‘Shall we eat?’

She nodded, sat quietly and waited for him to dish up the meal that Mrs Reeves had left. She saw that he was trying very hard not to limp.

The accident should have brought them closer together, she thought sadly. The injury to his leg, the loss of their baby, she concluded in a little mental rush, should have strengthened their love, but it hadn’t. He’d closed himself off, whether from guilt, or anguish—or a realisation that he no longer loved her. Was that the reason? And she didn’t know, now, whether she had closed herself off because he had, or because she just couldn’t cope with thinking about it. He was such a strong man, so determined, so—self-willed. She wished she could be like that. Wished she could be like she used to be.

He looked after her, carefully tried to anticipate her needs, was kind and thoughtful, but not loving. Not once since the accident had he kissed her on the mouth. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, even her hand, but not her mouth. He trod around her as though she were made of glass, but he didn’t talk to her; didn’t—communicate. Only on a superficial level. But then, she didn’t communicate with him, did she?

Staring down at the stew and vegetables he placed in front of her, she felt the familiar lump form in her throat that always preceded a meal. It made it difficult to swallow. ‘Jed…’ she began with some half-formed idea that maybe now they would talk, but he quickly interrupted her, as though afraid of what she might say.

‘We’ve been invited to a party,’ he said quietly.

She looked up in panic.

‘I had a letter this morning. It’s a week on Friday. I’ll say we can’t go.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘But I suspect they won’t give up. It’s Fiona and Duncan’s fifth wedding anniversary. Old friends of mine. Eat your meal.’

And she tried, she did try, but after two small mouthfuls she lay down her fork. Feeling miserable and desperate, she got quickly to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’ Without looking at him or waiting for any comment, she hurried out and up to her room. Closing her door, she leaned back against it, felt the hot flood of tears to her eyes. They couldn’t go on like this. Five o’clock was no time to go to bed, but it seemed easier to lie alone in her room than sit with him downstairs not talking.

Feeling weak and shaky, she moved across to the old-fashioned dressing table and sank down onto the stool. Propping her elbows on the surface, her chin in her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair, that had once been so pretty, hung limp and dull round her small face. Her eyes looked too big, too dark, with bruised shadows beneath them. She looked gaunt and ill. And it couldn’t go on. Other women had lost babies…but it wasn’t only the baby, was it? It was Jed.




CHAPTER TWO


MOVING her eyes, Sarah stared at the framed photograph of herself and Jed on their wedding day. The camera had caught them staring at each other as though both were surprised at where fate had brought them.

It had been such a magical summer, the summer of the balloon. Walking into the village with all the others from the trip, she had felt immediately at home. Flower-decked balconies, pretty buildings that had looked medieval, and kindness and warmth from the people. The small inn where they had gone for coffee to wait for the support vehicle had been warm and friendly, and she’d impulsively decided to stay. They’d had a small room in the eaves she’d been able to rent very cheaply, and she’d been able to tour Bavaria from a very nice base.

Jed had been staying there, too. At first, he’d been distant, contained, merely giving a small nod when he’d seen her, which, despite the tension he’d generated, had thoroughly irritated her. For days it had gone on like that, until she’d nearly killed him.

She’d been dashing down the stairs in her usual impulsive fashion, and because the stairs had dog-legged, meaning you hadn’t been able to see who’d been coming up if you’d been coming down, there’d been no intimation of danger, only a violent collision on the first landing. Such had been her speed that, even though she’d been lighter than him her momentum had taken them both to the waist-high railing and only his swift action had prevented them both going over into the foyer below. Holding her tight, he’d dropped to the landing and it had been their shoulders that had hit the railing instead of their hips.

Shaking with shock, she’d just stared at him. ‘Sorry,’ she finally apologised breathlessly. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Perfectly,’ he drawled. Getting to his feet, he walked away and she watched him run lightly up the stairs she’d just descended.

Sitting where he’d left her, she continued to stare after him long after he’d gone. ‘Perfectly,’ she echoed to herself. She didn’t think she was all right; she could have killed them both. She could still almost feel the imprint of his hands on her arms, the tension he generated in her, and despite his relaxed manner, his slow drawl, he’d been as tense as she was, hadn’t he?

Still shaking, searching round her for her sketch-pad and charcoal she’d been carrying, she got slowly to her feet and retrieved them. Rather shakily descending the stairs, she went out to her usual seat, and really just for something to do, to take her mind off what had happened, she began sketching a small boy who was playing with a toy car beneath one of the tables. Not that her mind was on what she was doing. It was still on Jed.

The child’s father saw what she was doing, and came over to look.

‘How much?’ he asked in English.

‘Sorry?’

‘How much do you want for it?’

‘As much as you think it worth,’ a deep voice said from behind them.

Swinging round, she stared up at the man she’d just almost injured. ‘No,’ she denied in horror. Shaking her head, smiling at the man, she handed the picture over. ‘Please, you’re very welcome to it.’

Looking absolutely delighted, he thanked her and went back to his own table.

‘Not very businesslike,’ Jed disparaged mockingly.

‘I don’t care. I can’t charge people!’

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘If people want something, let them pay. You’re very good.’

‘Thank you, but I still can’t charge. Anyway, it’s probably illegal. Trading without a licence, or something.’

With a little shrug, he walked off.

Puzzled by his behaviour, wondering why he had spoken when he didn’t normally, and feeling even more shaken by an encounter with a man who was seriously beginning to disturb her, she stared rather blankly down at her pad.

‘You will do one of my wife?’ a soft voice asked.

Snapping her head up in surprise, she stared at the young man before her. ‘Sorry?’

‘Will you please sketch my wife? At that table over there.’ He pointed.

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ A bit bemused, she did as she was asked, and then another for someone else, and then another.

Frau Keller, who owned the inn, and nobody’s fool, took Sarah to one side when she’d finished sketching and offered a proposition.

‘You draw, for one hour or two, a day, and I will pay you. More people come, I make more money. It’s good for business.’

‘Oh,’ Sarah said inadequately.

Frau Keller grinned. ‘Yes?’

‘Am I allowed to take money?’ she asked dubiously. ‘Don’t I have to have a permit or something?’

Frau Keller made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. ‘You stay here rent-free, then. Meals included. Now you be happy?’

Relieved, Sarah smiled. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ If she didn’t actually take money, it was probably all right.

‘Good, all is settled. Go draw. More people are waiting.’

And so she did. She also wondered if Jed had been behind the offer, and then dismissed the thought. Why would he bother? He didn’t even seem to like her. And she strongly doubted he spent any time thinking about her the way she continually thought about him. Every moment not taken up with something else, he was in her thoughts. Irritated and alarmed, she wanted to touch him, discover what it would be like to press her mouth to his, and she kept thinking she ought to go away, leave, before she made a fool of herself. Maybe she would have done if he hadn’t come to her room that day. That very hot day.

She’d been out with a party of tourists who had been staying at the hotel. Returning to the inn, hot, sticky, she’d run up to her room in the eaves, longing only for a shower and a cold drink. She’d opened all the windows, left the door open to create a draft, and gone into the minuscule bathroom, the door of which was beside the main door. She emerged naked a few minutes later just as Jed walked in. They met; in fact they collided, and he automatically put out his hands to save her, or himself.

Time slowed, almost to a stop, as they stared at each other, and then he kissed her. No obvious forethought, no plan, he just kissed her. With hunger, as though he had been wanting to do so for a very long time.

The initial contact had jerked her into stiffness, but as his mouth continued to touch hers, gentle and persuasive, she shuddered and flung her arms round his neck and kissed him back as though her very life depended on it. She didn’t know how long they kissed; it seemed like an eternity. She was aware of his hands on her naked back, aware that he held something, and then a stray gust of wind blew the door shut, and they both jumped, jerked apart.

He stared at her for what seemed a very long time, and then he apologised. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Why?’ she asked thickly.

He didn’t answer, merely gave a rather wry smile. ‘There was a letter for you…’ he began as he removed one hand from her back. ‘Frau Keller asked if I would deliver it.’ His eyes held hers, steady, unemotional, waiting, or so it seemed.

She stared at the white envelope he held in blank confusion, then stared back at him, at his naked chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and could think of nothing else. Want nothing else. Ignoring the letter, she touched her mouth to his collar-bone, the base of his throat, and the breath he took was deep, ragged. Her damp breasts were against his flesh, her bare thighs against the edge of his shorts, and she wanted him naked, as she was.

‘No,’ he said softly as he put her away. Pressing the letter into her hands, he turned, opened the door, and walked out.

Shaking, she stared at the closed door. She’d just propositioned him, hadn’t she? And been turned down. Embarrassed, mortified, she slumped down on the side of the bed. But he’d kissed her first, hadn’t he? Why? Because she was there? Naked? Available? She’d never thrown herself at a man in her life. Staring down at the letter she held in her hands, she shuddered.

He hadn’t looked at her body, that was something. He’d kept his eyes on her face. Did that make it better? She had no idea. His wry smile had been a bit shaken, his muscles tense. But not as tense as hers. His girlfriends were probably sophisticated, elegant—experienced. They would have laughed at his kiss, said something witty. And what had she done? Nothing. And now he’d gone.

How would she face him next time they met? Bravely? As though nothing had happened? Avoid him? Yes, that would be best. Except she didn’t need to. Over the next two days he was never anywhere in sight. His door remained closed, his table outside, empty. Perhaps he was avoiding her. And she couldn’t stop thinking about him, looking for him, going over and over in her mind the way he had kissed her. She could still feel it. Taste it. She’d been kissed a great many times in her life, but no one had ever made her feel like that. So special. So abandoned when he’d left.

And then, on the third day, she saw that his door was open. With no real knowledge of what she was going to do, say, she walked slowly along the landing towards it. She stood outside it for ages, just waiting, breathing slowly, and then she tapped softly. No answer. Pushing the door gently wider, she peeked inside. His room was slightly larger than her own, his bed wider, and there was room for a small table beneath the window. There was a computer, a stack of papers, and, hesitating only momentarily, she walked quietly inside.

‘Jed?’ she called softly.

Nothing.

There were no sounds from the bathroom, just noises from outside filtering up through the open window. She didn’t really remember walking to the desk, or even picking up the top sheet from the stack of papers. She really didn’t think she had been going to read it; it was just that the words seemed to leap out at her.

There has been talk of a bridge, but in this summer of 1827, if one wants to cross the river to Oberammergau, then one must brave the 250-foot gorge on a raft pulled by oxen. Courage, after all, I tell myself, is only the fear of looking foolish.

‘You wanted something?’ Jed asked quietly from behind her.

With a little cry of alarm, she dropped the paper as though it were hot, and then bent to quickly retrieve it and put it back on the desk. Warily turning to face him, she began inarticulately, ‘I…You weren’t here…’

‘No,’ he agreed unhelpfully as he stood in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee in one hand.

‘Your door was open…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’d better go.’

He stepped to one side and she began edging towards the door. Halting on the threshold, her back to him, she blurted, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’ When he didn’t answer, she turned slowly to face him. ‘I keep thinking that maybe the kiss wasn’t so special, maybe it was just my imagination, maybe it didn’t make me feel as I thought I felt…Sorry,’ she apologised with a shaky smile. ‘I must sound like a teenager. I’m not usually so…I mean, I don’t…’

‘Don’t you?’ he asked softly.

‘No. Why did you kiss me, Jed?’

‘Because I couldn’t help myself?’

Eyes wide, she just stared at him.

‘You’re a very attractive young woman.’

‘Am I?’ she asked stupidly.

His mouth quirked. ‘Yes. Go away, Sarah, I’m too old for you.’

‘No.’

‘Yes. I sometimes think I was born old. I’m too cynical, too selfish and I’ll probably end up hurting you.’

‘You don’t know that…’

‘Yes, I do.’

Still staring at him, wanting him, wishing she had more experience in these matters, she murmured, ‘You didn’t like me when we first met, did you? Your immediate reaction was…’

‘Worry,’ he said with soft amusement.

‘Worry?’

‘Mmm. You stared at me with those big brown eyes, and I knew you were going to be trouble.’

‘You were attracted?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then…’

‘No.’

‘Then you obviously don’t feel as I feel,’ she said almost crossly.

He smiled. ‘Oh, I expect I do.’

‘But you’re very strong-willed?’ she asked waspishly.

‘Very.’

‘I’m not asking you to marry me!’

‘What are you asking?’

Hesitating only momentarily, she murmured, ‘To get to know you better.’

Placing his by now probably cold cup of coffee on the desk, he asked quietly, ‘How old are you, Sarah?’

‘Twenty-four, nearly twenty-five.’

‘You look younger.’

‘Well, I’m not! And if you’re attracted to someone, well, I mean, it’s a natural progression to…’

‘Kiss?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know what will happen if we do?’

‘I hope so,’ she admitted barely audibly. ‘Please?’

‘You’d better close the door,’ he instructed softly.

Breath hitching in her throat, her eyes held by his, she reached shakily out and closed it. ‘Now what?’

‘Now you come here.’

Staring at him, clear distress in her eyes, she managed, ‘To make me feel cheap?’

‘No,’ he denied gently. ‘To try and make you realise what a fool you’re being.’

Staring down at her linked hands, she whispered, ‘You don’t really want me, do you? I’d better go.’ Turning, she grasped the door handle, and then hesitated. ‘I think I came to tell you I was leaving,’ she mumbled. ‘There’s a bus on Saturday.’ Opening the door, she halted again and turned to give him a rather shaky smile. ‘It is allowed to make a fool of yourself once in a while, isn’t it? It’s part of growing up. Goodbye, Jed.’

Hurrying out, she ran along to her own room and closed the door. Heart beating overfast, feeling stupid and young, she collapsed onto the side of the bed, and then stiffened and looked warily up as the door opened and Jed walked in.

‘I shall probably regret this,’ he said softly. ‘I just pray that you don’t.’ Closing the door, he walked across to her, sat beside her, tilted her chin up with one finger, and kissed her. A soft, gentle, mesmerising kiss. A kiss she was entirely incapable of resisting.

When he lifted his head, she just stared at him. ‘Do you want me? Really?’

For answer, he lay her back across the bed and began to kiss her properly, with experience and expertise, and hunger.

Touching his face, his neck, his back with compulsive little movements, she shook with need and a slight fear. When he finally raised his head, she whispered, ‘I don’t normally behave like this, but you make me feel—things,’ she added vaguely. ‘I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Couldn’t forget the way you touched me.’

‘And you think I can? I’ve been resisting you since you landed at my feet. I should be resisting you now…’

‘Then why aren’t you?’

‘Because, like you said, perhaps it is allowed to be a fool once in a while.’

‘And making love to me would be foolish?’

Tracing one finger round her gentle face, moving aside the wisps of hair that had escaped from her topknot, he said quietly, ‘I don’t want to hurt you…’

Putting her hand over his mouth, she said, ‘You don’t know that you’ll hurt me.’

‘No,’ he agreed.

‘Are you afraid that I’ll be like that woman in Fatal Attraction?’

He gave a quirked smile. ‘No.’

‘I won’t hassle you…’

‘You already hassle me.’

‘You don’t behave as though I do.’

‘No,’ he agreed, but didn’t explain why.

‘I’m not very sophisticated.’

‘No,’ he agreed gently.

‘Or experienced.’

Staring down into her big brown eyes, he gave a helpless sigh. He said something that she didn’t catch, and then he kissed her again. So gently, so thoroughly, so mind-bendingly sweet that she felt tears prick her eyes.

Not wanting to talk any more, with her heart beating overfast and her hands shaking, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and he began to undress her, slowly, methodically, eyes holding hers.

Feeling light-headed and wanton, barely able to breathe, she gave in to bliss.

He was so gentle, his hands so sure and experienced, and there was comfort in the fact that he was shaking too. And so began a time of magic. For her, at any rate; she had never been entirely sure about Jed. He wasn’t one given to laughter, or extravagance. He was more wry smiles and quiet amusement. She didn’t know what he thought of her behaviour; he never said. Neither did he ever say he loved her. Not then. But they were happy, and, although he never said the words she wanted increasingly to hear, he was never a reluctant lover. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Rarely looking to the future, always living for the day, she teased him, laughed at him, and made love to him with an energy he said he found astonishing.

She would leave him alone during the day whilst he worked. She would visit the friends she had made in the village, go touring by bus or bicycle. Sometimes he would go with her, show her places he had been, and in the evenings, in the warm velvet darkness of the night, they would be together, their lovemaking sometimes urgent, sometimes languorous. How long it would have gone on for if she hadn’t become pregnant, she had no way of knowing. Perhaps they would have married anyway, or perhaps they would have parted and it would have been just a wonderful memory of a magical summer.

Looking back, she knew the probable date she conceived. August twenty-fourth. They had both taken part in the yearly organised walk in King Ludwig’s footsteps, and at dusk, when the bonfires had been lit, when the world had turned red with the reflected glow off the mountain peaks, he had led her back to the inn for the party that had followed.

Eventually, they’d gone up to his room, to his big bed. Maybe they’d drunk too much wine, maybe the warmth of his mouth against hers, the heat of his slender body, had overridden the precautions they’d been taking. She had known him four months, and she’d loved him. Hadn’t been able to imagine a time when she would not be with him.

She’d hesitated a long time before telling him about the baby, and she truly hadn’t wanted to pressurise him, make him feel that he’d had to marry her, and yet, thinking about it now, perhaps she had forced him into marriage. Perhaps subconsciously she had known that his honour, his sense of responsibility, would have made him insist.

And perhaps it would have been all right if her pregnancy hadn’t been so awful, if she hadn’t felt so ill. Sick all the time, irrational, spotty. Hormones, the doctor had said sympathetically, but even knowing what it had been hadn’t stopped her being horrendous, had it? Shouting at Jed, blaming him, bursting into tears all the time…She still was crying all the time. And then contrite, begging his forgiveness. And he’d been so kind, gentle—long-suffering? She’d expected him to know what she’d been feeling without being told. Expected him to dance attendance, and yet, never by look, or deed, had he ever intimated that he regretted marrying her. Maybe if her parents had been alive, things would have been different. But there had been only Gran and it hadn’t seemed fair to drag her out to Bavaria just because her granddaughter had been having a baby. People had babies all the time. Childish, she told herself. You were childish. Spoilt. A spoilt little girl. And underlying it all, there had been guilt. Guilt that somehow it had been all her fault. Guilt for what she’d been doing to him, changing his life when he probably hadn’t wanted it changed. And she’d felt resentful, she admitted, that everything had been spoilt. Her happy-go-lucky, carefree existence, all gone.

She’d had a lot of growing up to do, hadn’t she?

And then had come the fateful trip to Scotland. She had insisted on going with him. He’d begged her to stay in Bavaria with their friends whilst he did his research for the next book; insisted that he wouldn’t be gone long, but no, she’d had to go with him. Poor man. Couldn’t even get away for a few weeks of peace and quiet. She’d insisted on doing the driving that day so that he could make notes…Another row—no, not a row. She’d shouted, and he’d gone all quiet. She hadn’t been going fast because the road had been winding and hilly. There had been a steep ravine on one side, mountainous outcrops on the other. Then the child had run out onto the road on a bend; a child from a family that had parked to admire the view, and had allowed their three-year-old daughter to get out and stretch her legs. There had been nowhere for Sarah to drive but off the road…

If the safety barrier hadn’t already been weak from a previous accident; if the road hadn’t been wet…It had all happened so fast with no time to think, plan. They’d crashed through the barrier, sailed out into nothing, and hit a tree. The passenger side had borne the brunt of it, and Jed had sustained severe muscle and nerve damage to his left leg, a gashed forehead, concussion—and she’d lost the baby, which had meant that the reason for their marriage no longer existed. And that was what frightened her so. Only she hadn’t been able to tell the doctor that, had she? When he’d gone on about there being other babies, explained about hormone imbalances, about shock and grief…

The soft tap at the door made her start, and she swung round almost guiltily as the door opened, her eyes swimming with tears.

‘Oh, Sarah!’ Jed exclaimed raggedly. ‘You can’t go on like this.’




CHAPTER THREE


PAST thinking about whether this was what Jed wanted, needed, only knowing that it was what she wanted, Sarah ran to him, and buried herself against his chest. Clutching him tight, her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed and body shaking, she held him and cried.

Slowly, really quite slowly, his arms came round her, and with gentle soothing motions he held her against him.

‘I’m all right,’ she blurted tearfully. ‘I’m all right, but I can’t seem to break out, can’t seem to…’

‘Shh, it’s all right.’

‘Is it?’ she pleaded.

‘Yes.’

But it wasn’t. Wrenching her head up, her face tear-strained and puffy, she stared into his eyes. Eyes that looked sombre, hurt, empty.

With one large palm, he gently placed her head back on his chest. ‘It’s all right, Sarah,’ he repeated. ‘It will be all right, I promise, but you have to eat. There’s nothing of you.’

‘I know, and I will. Truly I will.’

He closed his eyes, rested his chin on her hair and felt despair. ‘I think you should go back and see the doctor,’ he said quietly.

‘No,’ she denied. ‘I’ll eat, and go for walks, and then I’ll get better.’ Lifting her head again, she stared at him, examined his expression, and then raised her palms to put them each side of his face. Staring into his eyes, searching for reassurance, she whispered, ‘Don’t go just yet.’





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