Caroline Anderson - The Impetuous Bride

It took longer, of course, because her hair needed washing, but luckily the tan covered the shadows round her eyes, so she slapped on a bit of smoky eyeshadow, a flick of mascara and a dash of soft pink lipstick, and then shimmied into the dress.

It still looked good. It was long and soft and floaty, and she just hoped that Jake wouldn’t remember it was what she’d been wearing when he’d proposed to her.

It was that dress. Damn. Of all the things she could have worn, it had to be that one. He’d had fantasies about her in it, standing with the wind blowing it against her body and lovingly outlining every curve.

Not that she’d have many curves to outline now, he thought, studying her critically. Without the baggy T-shirt he could see the slender arms and narrow waist, the small, high breasts and, when she moved, the angle of her hipbone.

She wasn’t wearing a bra. She usually didn’t—with the breasts that she scornfully described as two grapes on a chopping board she hardly needed to, but the cool night air had pebbled her nipples and he wished she’d put a jumper on before he disgraced himself.

‘Right, are we ready?’ Tom asked, hugging Mel to his side, and Lydia nodded.

‘I’m starving. I hate aeroplane food.’ She yawned hugely, and then laughed. ‘Sorry. I was in bed. Mel dug me out half an hour ago.’

In bed. Wonderful. Just what he needed. Between that and her pert little nipples, he was going to make an idiot of himself for sure. He tugged his heavy cotton sweater down and just prayed that it wouldn’t get too hot in the restaurant.

The atmosphere was dreadful. Mel and Tom did their best to keep the mood light, but Lydia was too tired to join in really and Jake, working his way steadily through the wine, was grimly silent.

Until the coffee was served, that was, and then he sprawled back in his chair, one arm coiled round the back, and regarded her levelly as he stirred his sugarless black coffee with unwarranted determination.

‘So, Lydia, do tell—did you “find yourself” on the hippy trail?’

‘Hippy trail?’ she said, trying not to wince at the coldness of his tone. ‘I met a lot of very interesting people—very nice people. I made some wonderful friends, and learned a great deal about trust and team work and sharing. And you? What have you done in the last year?’

‘Oh, turned over a few more companies, stripped a few assets, trashed a few lives—you know the sort of thing.’

‘Nothing worthwhile, then,’ she quipped, hating herself even while she knew it was just self-defence.

He laughed coldly. ‘Absolutely not—not compared to dumping my fiancé just before the wedding and disappearing off round the world like an irresponsible child. I’m amazed you haven’t come back reeking of patchouli and covered in multiple body piercings.’

She closed her eyes briefly, reeling from the shock of his unwarranted attack. Well, maybe not unwarranted, but totally out of character—wasn’t it? Tom seemed to think so. He jerked upright and glowered at his old friend. ‘Hell, Jake, that’s a bit harsh,’ he said.

‘Is it? The woman jilts me two days before our wedding and you say I’m harsh? I don’t think so.’

Lydia felt hot colour scorch her cheeks. Her heart was pounding and she thought she was going to be sick. She just had to get out of there, away from him and his bitterness and hatred before it destroyed the crumbling veneer around her and exposed her pain. She looked round desperately at Mel.

‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll get a taxi home. I don’t really want this coffee, and I’m tired.’ She stood up, conscious that Jake, who last year would have stood up without fail, was still sprawled in the chair scowling into his cup. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Tom, take her home,’ Mel said hurriedly.

‘No, we’ll all go,’ Jake said, standing up abruptly and pulling his wallet out. ‘There’s no point pretending we’re having fun.’ He dropped a handful of notes on the table, nodded to the waiter and headed for the door, his coffee untouched.

‘Is everything all right?’ the waiter asked anxiously, fluttering round them, and Tom soothed him.

‘It’s fine. We’re just rather tired. Thank you.’

He put a proprietorial arm around Lydia’s shoulders, and led her out of the door. Mel was ahead of them, steaming after Jake and giving him hell, if Lydia’s guess was right. Oh, damn. She should have stayed at home in bed and not come out with them. It was foolish to expect that they could be civil.

It might be water under the bridge by now, as Tom had said, but it had been a tidal wave, and the bridge was damaged beyond repair.

He seemed so angry still. That puzzled her, because for all she’d felt she didn’t really know him, she’d known that much about him, and he wasn’t a vindictive or unkind person.

So why, then, was he so angry? Unless it was because he still cared about her. And if he still cared that much, if he was still so angry, then maybe he really had loved her. It might just have been wounded pride, of course, but if not, was it really too late, or was there still a chance for them to mend the bridge?

Lydia didn’t know. All she knew was that she had a week in which to find out—a week that only hours ago had seemed to stretch on for ever, and now seemed nothing like long enough…

JAKE was standing by the front passenger door of Tom’s car, but Mel elbowed him out of the way.

‘You can sit in the back with my sister and apologise for bitching at each other, or get a taxi. Right now I don’t much care which, but I’d be grateful if you’d manage to behave towards each other in a civilised fashion. I’m not asking you to be buddies, clearly that’s too much, but you could at least be polite.’

And she slid into the front seat, slammed the door and left them standing by the car in silence.

After an endless moment, Jake reached for the handle, opened the door and held it for her without a word. Still in silence, Lydia climbed into the back and slid across the seat, and he folded himself in beside her, fastened his seat belt and stared straight ahead.

‘Sorry, Lydia. Sorry, Jake.’

They both glared at Mel. ‘Butt out, little sister,’ Lydia said tightly. ‘I can fight my own battles.’

‘Nevertheless, I think—’

‘Drop it, Mel,’ Tom said, and started the car, turning the radio on. Lydia realised she was shaking all over, hanging on by a thread, and she could feel the waves of tension coming off Jake.

They’d driven about two tense and emotionally charged miles before he sighed and turned to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said tightly. ‘I didn’t mean to snipe at you. I just find this very difficult.’

He wasn’t alone! She’d been wondering for ages just why she’d let herself be talked into this calculated disaster of an evening. ‘It’s OK,’ she conceded, desperate to end this war that had sprung up between them. ‘I never expected you to kill the fatted calf.’ She tried a tentative smile, and his mouth flickered just briefly.

It wasn’t a smile, but it was a concession, and the tension eased noticeably, to her huge relief. She relaxed back against the seat, still shaking with reaction, but at least they were nearly home.

They pulled up on the drive a few minutes later, and Tom cut the engine. ‘Coffee?’ Mel suggested, and gave them both a considering look over the back of the seat. ‘Think you two can cope with that?’

‘I should think we’ll manage,’ Jake said drily, and, opening the door, he got out and helped Mel from the car, leaving Tom to open Lydia’s door.

He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and smiled at her worriedly. ‘You OK?’ he asked softly, and she nodded.