The Girl He'd Overlooked. CATHY WILLIAMS
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you were otherwise occupied, and every time you happened to be in this country, I was out of it…’
‘The timings were always wrong.’ Jennifer shrugged, although she could feel hot colour rising to her face and she stared down at the ground with a little frown. ‘Patric and I are no longer involved,’ she finally admitted, when the silence became unbearable. ‘We’re still very good friends. In fact, I would say that he’s my closest confidant…’
This time she did look at him and James knew instantly, from the genuine warmth of her smile, that she was being completely truthful.
The girl who had always turned to him, the girl who had matured into a woman he hadn’t seen for nearly four years, now had someone else to turn to.
‘And what about you?’ she asked, because if he could ask intrusive questions then why shouldn’t she? ‘Is there anyone significant in your life at the moment, James?’
James was still trying to get over a weird feeling of disorientation. He tilted his head to one side, considering her question.
‘No. No one at the moment. Until recently, I was involved with an actress…’
‘Blonde?’ Jennifer couldn’t resist asking and he frowned at her and nodded.
‘Petite? Fond of very high heels and very tight dresses?’
‘Did my mother mention her to you? I got the impression she wasn’t bowled over by Amy…’
‘No, your mother didn’t mention anyone to me. In fact,’ she added with a hint of smugness, ‘your mother and I haven’t really discussed you at all. I’m just guessing because those are the sort of girls you’ve always been interested in. Blonde, big hair, small, very high heels and very tight dresses.’ Jennifer couldn’t help herself, even though dipping into this subject would be to open a door to all the insecurities she had felt as a young woman, pining for him and comparing herself incessantly to the girls he would occasionally bring back to the house. Amy clones. She took a deep breath and fought her way through that brief reminder of a time she would rather have forgotten.
James flushed darkly.
‘Nothing changes,’ she said scornfully.
‘Really? I wouldn’t say that’s true at all.’
‘You still go out with the blonde airheads. Daisy still despairs. You still only have relationships that last five seconds.’
‘But you don’t still have a crush on me…’
That softly spoken remark, a lazy, tantalising question wrapped up in a statement, was like a bucket of freezing water thrown over her and she stepped back as though she had been slapped.
What had she been thinking? Had she been so shocked to find him in the cottage that she had forgotten how efficiently he could get under her skin? She had managed to keep her distance so how was it that they had somehow drifted into a conversation that was so personal?
‘That was all a long time ago, James, and, like I said, there’s nothing to be gained from rehashing the past.’
‘Well…’ He finally began strolling to where his coat was hanging over the banister. She wondered how she had managed to miss that when she had walked in but, of course, she hadn’t been expecting him. ‘I’ll be heading off but I’ll be back tomorrow and please don’t tell me that there’s no need. I’ll roll the other carpets. Get them into one of the outbuildings and keep them dry so that they can be assessed for damage when this snow decides to stop and someone from the insurance company can come out.’
‘I’m sure that can wait,’ Jennifer said helplessly. ‘I won’t be here long. I plan on leaving… well… if not tomorrow evening, then first thing the following morning…’
James didn’t say anything. He took his time wrapping his scarf round his neck, then he pulled open the front door so that she was treated to the spectacular sight of snow swirling madly outside, so thick that she could barely make out the fields stretching away into the distance.
‘Good luck with that.’ He turned to her. ‘I think you’ll find that we might both end up being stuck here…’
With each other. Jennifer tried not to be completely overwhelmed at the prospect of that. He wasn’t going to stay cooped up in his house when he thought that she needed help in the cottage. He would be around and she had no idea how long for. Certainly, the snow looked as though it was here for the long haul and the house and cottage were not positioned for easy access to handy, cleared roads. They were in the middle of nowhere and it would not be the first time that heavy snow would leave them stranded.
But maybe it was for the best. She couldn’t hide away from him for ever. Sooner rather than later she would be returning to the UK to live. Her father wasn’t getting any younger and she had enough on her CV to guarantee a job, or at least a good prospect of one. When that happened, she would be seeing him once again on weekends.
She decided that this was fate.
‘You could be right,’ she said with more bravado than she felt. ‘In which case, thank heavens you’re here! I mean, I adore Patric, but I have to be honest and tell you that an artist probably wouldn’t be a huge amount of practical help at a time like this…’
CHAPTER TWO
AN ARTIST? Jennifer had gone out with an artist? James could scarcely credit it. She had never shown any particular interest in art, per se, so how was it that she had been enticed into an affair with an artist? And who else had there been on the scene? He was disconcerted to find that she had somehow managed to escape the box into which he had slotted her and yet why should he be? People changed.
Except, there had been something smug about her tone of voice when she had implied that he had changed very little over the years. Still going out with the same blonde bimbos.
He was up at the crack of dawn the following morning and one glance out of the window told him that neither of them would be going anywhere, any time soon. If anything, the snow appeared to be falling with even greater intensity. Drifts of it were already banking up against the sides of the outbuildings and his car was barely visible. It was so silent out here that if he opened a window he would have been able to hear the snow falling.
Fortunately, the electricity had not been brought down and the Internet was still working.
He caught up with outstanding emails, including informing his secretary that she would have to cancel all meetings for at least the next couple of days, then, on the spur of the moment, he looked up Patric Alexander on an Internet search engine, hardly expecting to find anything because artists were a dime a dozen and few of them would ever make it to the hall of fame.
But there he was. James carried his laptop into the sprawling kitchen, which was big enough to fit an eight-seater table at one end and was warmed by the constant burn of a four-door bottle-green Aga. Mug of coffee in one hand, he sipped and scrolled through pages of nauseating adulation of the new up-and-coming talent in the art world. Patric was already garnering a loyal following and a clientele base that ensured future success. The picture was small, but James zoomed into it and found a handsome, fair-haired man surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women, standing in front of a backdrop of one of his paintings.
He slammed shut the lid of the computer, drained his coffee and was in a foul mood when, minutes later, he stood in front of the cottage and banged on the knocker.
It was barely eight-thirty and so dark still that he had practically needed a torch to find his way over. Even with several layers of clothing, a waterproof and the wellies he had had since his late teens, he could feel the snow trying to prise its way to his bare skin. His mood had slipped a couple of notches lower by the time Jennifer eventually made it to the door and peered out at him.
‘What are you doing here so early?’
‘It’s too cold for us to make conversation in a doorway. Open up and