Hawk's Way: Rebels. Joan Johnston

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      He didn’t know why he didn’t move, just that he didn’t—couldn’t, really, until he’d done this one, foolish thing.

      He reached out and cupped her chin, bent his head and brushed a feather-soft kiss across her moist, dewy lips.

      ‘Welcome home, Lydia,’ he said softly, and then dropping her as if she might burn him he pushed past her and went out of the back door and into the sunlight. He dragged in a lungful of the fresh clean air, and closed his eyes. He could taste the sweet citrus tang of the orange juice on her lips, and the white heat of his response shocked him.

      He’d really, really thought he was over her, but he wasn’t. He still wanted her every bit as much as he ever had—maybe more. There was nothing like a bit of abstinence to make the heart grow fonder, he mocked himself. Still, she was back, and he was going to have to deal with it.

      Well, fine. He could. Just so long as he remembered she’d walked away before, and she’d do it again. She was trouble—big trouble, with a capital T, and he wasn’t going to fall for her charms again.

      Ever.

      Lydia stood rooted to the spot for an age, her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes wide with surprise. She should have expected him to be here, should have expected that he would still have this effect on her.

      She’d known he’d be at the wedding, of course, but it had never occurred to her that he’d be here in her parents’ house—just sitting around chatting, for heaven’s sake!

      Even if he did live just next door.

      Oh, damn.

      Of course he’d be here. He was Tom’s oldest friend. They’d known each other from birth, practically. Of course he was about.

      ‘Jake, can’t you find it—? Darling!’

      She found herself engulfed in her mother’s hug, and the next second the others were there, laughing and crying and hugging, and then there was Tom, looking over Melanie’s shoulder towards the door.

      ‘Has Jake gone?’ he asked, sounding surprised.

      She nodded. ‘Yes. He bumped into me on the way out.’ She looked towards the door, puzzled. Well, she’d assumed he’d been on the way out—or had he left because of her?

      There was a moment of awkward silence, then her father hugged her again. ‘Oh, it’s lovely to have you back, poppet. Are you all right?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ she lied, her eyes still lingering on the door. She dragged her attention back to her family, and linked arms with her father and sister. ‘Absolutely fine. It’s lovely to be home. Now, come on, I want to hear about the wedding plans. Tell me all.’

      Melanie laughed self-consciously. ‘It’ll all be horribly familiar,’ she said with a wry grimace, and Lydia’s heart sank.

      Of course. Mel had thrown herself into planning Lydia’s wedding last year, and throughout Lydia had been acutely aware that it was not really the wedding she’d wanted. The marquee by the river, the elaborate flowers, the little gilt chairs, the round tables with their snowy cloths and sparkling tableware—it had always been Mel’s wedding.

      Lydia had wanted to get married under the willow with just a very few immediate family, and have a picnic by the river with champagne and soft, ripe cheeses and sweet, juicy grapes.

      Instead Melanie had gone into a huddle with her mother and come up with a three-course meal and elaborate seating plans and a guest list that left no one out.

      Jake had smiled tolerantly, and Lydia had felt powerless to resist.

      Until the very end.

      And now, like some kind of awful joke, it was all going to be re-enacted, but this time the cast would change places and the curtain wouldn’t come down until after the final act.

      And she and Jake would have to endure the parody of their wedding, and pretend enthusiasm and delight for the benefit of their loved ones.

      Suddenly she found herself wishing she’d stayed away for another month and come home when it was all over.

      ‘So, tell us all about your travels,’ her mother said, settling back with an expectant smile. ‘We’ve had such brief contact, you naughty girl.’

      Lydia grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry. I just needed to get right away.’

      ‘We understand. So—tell all. Where have you come from now? We could hardly keep up with you.’

      ‘Australia—well, via Singapore. I stopped off to see a few friends.’

      ‘So tell us all about it,’ her father instructed. ‘You went to Thailand first when I dropped you off at the airport, is that right?’

      She nodded. ‘Yes, and I just bummed around for a month and tried to sort myself out, then I had to leave because I didn’t have a visa, so I went to India and worked in a hotel as a courier, then I went to Singapore, and Bali, then over to Australia, on to New Zealand and back to Australia, just doing anything I could find for cash and a roof over my head.’

      Her mother closed her eyes. ‘It sounds so dangerous.’

      It had been, of course, but there was no way she was telling her mother about the foreign tourist who’d tried to rape her in India, or the girl in New Zealand who’d stolen everything except her photos, her passport and the clothes she’d had on.

      ‘It was fun,’ she said, ignoring the hard work and the hunger pangs and the dysentery. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, she decided, and anyway, she’d survived and learned a few vital lessons.

      ‘You’re skinny,’ her father said bluntly, scanning her legs.

      She curled them tighter under her and laughed lightly. ‘Nonsense. It’s just because I’m brown. So, tell, me, how’s business?’ she asked her mother, deftly switching the subject.

      ‘Brilliant. We’ve done several new projects—Dunham Hall, the Priory at Whitfield—loads. You would have loved Dunham. We did a stunning authentic kitchen and a fabulous butler’s pantry. It’s like a time warp. I’ve got all the photos; I’ll show you later. I just need to ring the florist before I forget, and give her some answers. Raymond, could you go through it with me again, please, darling? It’s only a week; we really must sort it out.’

      Which brought Lydia back to the reason for her return. As her parents went out, she looked at Melanie and Tom, sprawled comfortably on the sofa together, Tom’s arm draped possessively around Mel’s shoulders, and she gave an inward sigh. She couldn’t envy them their happiness. It had been within reach, and she’d walked away.

      ‘So, lovebirds, when did you decide to tie the knot?’ she asked, striving for a light tone.

      ‘About a year ago,’ Tom confessed with a smile. ‘When I first met her in the run-up to your wedding. I took one look at her, and I thought, That’s my woman.’

      ‘Caveman stuff, eh?’ Lydia teased, wishing she’d been anything like as sure of Jake as Mel clearly was of Tom—because, of course, if she had been, she СКАЧАТЬ