Fragrance of Violets (11 page)

Abbey shook her head. “Falling in love isn’t on my agenda. It only opens you up to hurt and betrayal.”

“Sometimes, yes,” Louise conceded. “But it can be wonderful when it’s with the right person. You want him to be part of your life, and you want to be part of his.”

Abbey dismissed her sister’s words with a wave of her hand. “Louise, it’s irrelevant. Even if I
was
in love with Jack, it would be pointless. It’s far too soon for him.”

“And if it wasn’t, how would you feel?”

“I’m not into
what ifs
.”

“No, because you’re scared. Scared of being hurt, of being let down, betrayed, whatever it is you’re scared of. Abbey, you need to forget what Dad did.”

Abbey tensed. “I can’t ever forget that.”

“All right, but you need to stop thinking every man is like Dad. They’re not.”

“No? What about Stuart?”

“Stuart didn’t have a string of mistresses. He fell for Pitbull Pandora.”

She grinned at Louise’s epithet for her love rival. “Or for her Daddy’s millions?”

“Yeah, that too, but it’s all water under the bridge now.”

Abbey narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you bitter, Lou? I mean, he cheated on you, left you, and you had such a battle to get a decent settlement from him.”

Louise shrugged. “I’ve moved on.” After a moment’s hesitation, she went on, “By the way, I saw him again.”

“Who? Stuart?”

“No. Dad.”

Abbey stared at her. “When?”

“Last week. Farrell suggested it. He thought I might see him in a different light now I’m an adult and not a child. Not that I remember much about him. I was only seven when he left, remember? I’ve forgotten how many times I saw him after that, but it wasn’t many.”

“How did you find him?”

“Farrell knows several stockbrokers, and made some inquiries. Dad set up his own brokerage company, and has a house near Reigate in Surrey now.”

“With one of his bimbos?”

“He lives alone. I get the impression he’s a very lonely man, despite all his wealth.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to feel sorry for him.”

“No, but he bitterly regrets what he did.”

“So he should.” Curiosity got the better of her. “What did he say?”

Louise gave a small laugh. “He compared himself with Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
, searching for something over the rainbow. Unlike Dorothy, though, it was too late when he finally realised he had it all the time.”

“He only has himself to blame.”

“He knows that.”

“
Did
you see him in a different light?”

Louise wrinkled her forehead. “I think I always imagined an ideal father, strong but loving, someone who would protect me from all life’s problems and disappointments. Instead, the man I saw was weak and—well, selfish, I suppose. I’m quite glad he wasn’t around when we were growing up. We had Mum as our role model and somehow we’ve all inherited her strength of character. Even me,” she added with a small laugh, “now I’ve stopped looking for another father.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Probably, but he’s in St. Bart’s this week. He’s lost a lot of weight recently, and he’s been having stomach pains, so they’re going to run some tests. He said he’ll call me when he’s home again.”

Abbey was silent for a few moments. “You know, I envy you, Louise. You seem to have everything worked out, whereas my mind’s a total jumble. I know you said I should straighten it out, but I don’t know how to do that.”

As they walked back to the shop, Abbey mused over everything Louise had told her.

If Helen Cardew had misled Jack, she couldn’t blame the whole thing on him—and today she’d admitted she hadn’t been entirely blameless, either. They’d both got things wrong, and one day they’d have to talk about it. They couldn’t push it behind a wall and ignore it forever.

Back at the shop, she went into the storeroom to brush her windswept hair. When her mind moved from Jack to her father, she paused and studied her reflection in the small mirror. Even she could see the resentment in the narrowed eyes that stared back at her.

Could she ever be as accepting as Louise seemed to be? Could she ever get past the distrust which was her father’s legacy to her? Could she learn real trust? Or would she always be waiting for, even expecting, disappointment or betrayal?

She pushed her hair back with her hand and let out a frustrated grunt. Her thoughts seemed to be as tangled as her hair. Too many questions and no answers.

CHAPTER 11

In the evening, Abbey drove to the hotel where Louise and Farrell were staying. They had an excellent meal in the restaurant, after which they relaxed in the comfortable lounge with its cream leather couches and low glass topped tables.

She liked Farrell. He was different from Louise’s previous boyfriends, most of whom had been considerably older. Farrell was thirty and pleasant looking with dark curly hair that reached the collar of his turtleneck sweater. He wasn’t particularly handsome but he was interesting as well as being self-deprecatory, and she loved his ability to laugh at himself. He told her he decided to launch his own literary agency after spending five years as an editor with a small publishing house.

“It was a gamble,” he admitted, “but I had some useful contacts and I persuaded a few established authors to come on board with me.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t believe the promises I made. I blush now when I think about how I bullshitted them! Fortunately I hit lucky and made a few six figure sales. Everything could have gone pear-shaped, of course, but instead my reputation soared. I’ve taken on a couple of partners, and we now have over a hundred published authors. I’m still wondering what will happen when they discover I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

Abbey laughed. “I’m sure you’re being very modest, Farrell. You couldn’t build up a reputable literary agency on bullshit.”

Farrell grinned. “Oh, believe me, it’s quite possible. You tell them all the deals you can get for them and keep your fingers and toes crossed while you pull every string within your reach, and also the ones that aren’t.”

“He’s underrating himself, Abbey,” Louise said fondly. “What he’s not telling you is that he has an instinct for books which will sell. Four of his authors were in the UK bestseller list last month.”

Farrell shrugged. “Four out of ten, not bad. When I have ten out of ten, I might start to believe I’m not quite the fraud I consider myself.”

As they continued to chat, Abbey laughed at Farrell’s witty comments and also at the tales he told about some of his authors.

Louise was right that he treated her like a princess. It was clear he adored her, and Abbey hoped her sister wouldn’t dump him as unceremoniously as she seemed to do with most of her boyfriends after a few weeks.

When Farrell went to the bar to replenish their drinks, she smiled at Louise. “He’s nice, Lou.”

Louise nodded. “Yes, he is, isn’t he? He has an amazing reputation in the literary world, and yet it hasn’t gone to his head.”

“He’s so different.”

“You mean from what I normally go for? I was looking for the wrong type of man. I married Stuart because he was my replacement for Dad. Hardly surprising he strayed elsewhere. He wanted someone who was his equal, not a child wife, but I still didn’t learn. I carried on searching for a Daddy substitute. Until I met Farrell.”

“What changed?”

“Actually, I’ve known him for a couple of years. We first met at a book fair and we kept in touch with emails, and had lunch together occasionally, but there wasn’t anything—you know,
special
about him, until we went for dinner a few weeks ago and started talking about our families and childhood homes, and I ended up telling him about Dad.”

“And?”

“And he said,
Once you forgive your father, you’ll be able to move on and take ownership of your life again
. The more I thought about it, the more I realised he was right. The main thing is, he understands me. Me as a person and all the baggage I carry. No one’s ever done that before.”

“Does that mean you’ve forgiven Dad?”

“I’m not sure whether I’ve forgiven him, or decided what he did in the past isn’t going to affect the rest of my life.”

Jack’s words came back to her:
A life which isn’t dominated by what happened in the past.

When Farrell returned, Abbey’s mind was only half on the conversation. She wondered again if she’d ever be able to do what Louise seemed to have done. Put the past behind her and move on.

Overhearing a name jerked her back to the present.

“John Tyson?” she asked. “The author of
The Rycroft Saga
? Is he one of your authors?”

“Yes, he’s been with me right from the start. Said he always had faith in me although Lord knows why. I’m meeting him in Kendal tomorrow.”

“So he lives up here?” She nodded slowly. “I suppose I should have guessed because he has such a good grasp of Lakeland lifestyle and traditions, and he writes superb descriptions of the area.”

“Come to the Tithe Barn Restaurant at lunchtime tomorrow and you can meet him.”

It would be rude to say no way did she want to meet John Tyson. Farrell obviously had no idea she was the actress rejected by Tyson for the TV series. Louise must not have told him her stage name, and he hadn’t made the link between Abbey Seton and Abigail Barton.

She gave him what she hoped was a genuine smile. “I’d love to, but we have a shop to run and Friday’s usually a busy day.” She glanced at her watch. “And I must go home soon. I’ve had a lovely evening with you both, and it’s been a real pleasure to meet you, Farrell. How long are you staying up here?”

“We were intending to go back to London on Saturday, but I’ve hardly seen anything of Mum yet,” Louise replied. “She said she had another meeting tomorrow evening. Something about the Old School?”

“Yes, there’s a major row blowing up about getting the roof repaired.”

“I bet Dolly Garside’s in the middle of it.”

Abbey laughed. “How did you guess?”

“Anyway, we’re staying here till Sunday now. We’ll take Mum and you out for a meal on Saturday evening, but I’ll come up to Rusthwaite tomorrow and give you a hand in the shop.” Louise gave Farrell a pert grin. “That’ll be far more interesting than listening to you and your authors discussing serial rights and non-exclusive rights and other incomprehensible terms.”

* * * * *

Abbey was glad of Louise’s help the next day. Dolly Garside had asked Edwina to put together some historical information about the Old School so, once Louise arrived, Abbey turned to her mother.

“Now you can go home and search through all your books for ammunition for Mrs. G.”

“I’m not doing this for Dolly,” Edwina protested. “I’m determined to save the school, and I hope you are, too.”

“Yes, of course I am.” Abbey winked at her sister. “After all, at least four generations of Bartons were educated there.”

“And that’s an excellent reason to save it,” Louise agreed.

Edwina frowned. “I can’t tell whether you two are being serious or whether you’re winding me up.”

Abbey smiled. “Go on, Mum. You know we’re both a hundred percent behind you.”

Halfway through Friday afternoon, two things occurred to her. First, Jack hadn’t called, even though he said he would ring her; second, she hadn’t told him about the village meeting.

During a lull, when some customers were browsing but not needing any assistance, she pulled her phone from her pocket. “I need to call someone,” she said to Louise and went into the storeroom.

She started to dial Jack’s number, but stopped and pressed
cancel
. Propping herself up against one of the shelves, she tried to answer the questions that hammered through her mind.

Jack hadn’t called her. Did that mean he’d changed his mind? Did he not want to continue the shaky resumption of their friendship? If so, why not? It could be any of a hundred reasons. Anyway, he’d said
later this week
which could mean anything.

So what had stopped
her
from calling him? She could have left a casual message, or mentioned the meeting in the church.

She went back into the shop. “Louise, I’m in a quandary, and I need your advice.”

“What about?”

“I can’t decide whether to tell Jack about the meeting tonight or not.”

“Why?”

“Because the other day Dolly Garside said she didn’t want him there.
Spouting all his fine talk
were her words and, of course, she went on about how he’d let the village down.”

“You don’t mean you’re taking any notice of Dolly, surely?”

“No, it’s not that, but—” She struggled to explain. “I don’t know if Jack would be in favour of the roof repairs or Tom’s idea of having a new community centre.”

“I can’t see why that makes any difference. A good case can be made for both options, can’t it?”

“True, and it’s different from the gatehouse thing because everyone valued that as part of the village’s history.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“If Jack’s in favour of a new community centre, Tom Williams and his supporters will be pleased, of course, but don’t you think it would remind people of his article again and all the anger they felt at that time?”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Jack’s been accepted again now, and he’s earned people’s gratitude by offering the barn for meetings. If they start remembering what happened in the past, they might turn against him. I don’t want that to happen.”

“So you’re not going to tell him about the meeting?”

Abbey made her decision. “No.”

“He might already have heard about it, you know.”

“If he has, so be it.” She put her phone back in her pocket. It was for Jack’s sake, she told herself.

* * * * *

Abbey and her mother arrived early at the church and found seats at the end of the fourth row of pews. People continued to gather, and they waved in greeting to many of them. Abbey’s tension increased as she glanced around, wondering if Jack would appear.

Dolly Garside bustled up to them. “You’re the third speaker, Edwina. I’ll go first, and then the vicar will speak. I have several other people willing to support us when it’s thrown open for general discussion, and when I think we’re getting the meeting on our side, I’ll ask Tom to call for a vote.”

With a smug smile, Dolly went off to accost someone else, and Abbey grinned at her mother. “Mrs. G has it all organised, hasn’t she? Wonder if Tom’s rallied his ranks, too?”

Edwina’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Not if Dolly got to them first.”

“What’s your speech about?”

“Wait and see.”

The church was full by seven-thirty. Jack hadn’t arrived and Abbey didn’t know whether to feel relieved or guilty.

Tom Williams opened the meeting with a brief explanation of its purpose, and went on to read the builders’ report about the roof repairs.

The next speaker was Mark Perkins, the treasurer. Several sheets of financial details were distributed, and Mark explained them. When these showed more funding could be obtained for a new building, Abbey exchanged anxious glances with her mother. Things weren’t looking good.

Tom’s third speaker was Brian Hardy, the owner of a campsite near the village and the leader of the local Scout group. He spoke eloquently about the need for modern facilities for the youth of the village.

A blanket of depression descended on Abbey. They were putting up a good case, and she wasn’t sure whether Dolly’s supporters would be able to make as strong an argument.

Dolly was next to speak and, despite her underlying dislike of the woman, Abbey had to admit she gave an excellent speech about the history of the village and the importance of preserving its heritage.

Next, the vicar told them the history of the Old School which had originally been a church school in the nineteenth century. He also described how the villagers had raised the money to build it.

Dolly then called on Edwina to speak, and Abbey crossed her fingers as her mother walked down the aisle and stood on the chancel steps.

“Earlier today,” she said, “I had no idea what I was going to say this evening, but my daughter Abbey solved that for me when she said,
At least four generations of Bartons were educated there
. I think this is as important as the history of the building and the heritage of the village. The Old School is part of the lives of people here. Many of them, and their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents owe their early education to the school.”

She went on to talk about the people whose roots lay in the village, naming several of them as she spoke about pupils and teachers.

Applause greeted her speech when she ended with an impassioned plea for the preservation of a building which held so many memories for the people of the Rusthwaite valley and which should continue to play a role in village life for present and future generations.

When she returned to her seat, Abbey squeezed her arm. “That was great, Mum,” she whispered in genuine admiration.

“Not sure it’s going to be enough. The financial figures could sway things more than the appeal to history.”

Tom opened up the discussion to the audience, which went on for a long time. Opinions were divided, and it was difficult to tell which way things were going.

After Jeannie Dixon spoke in support of the Old School, Dolly leant toward Tom and pointed to her watch. He stood and held up his hand.