Summer at the Lake (44 page)

‘You were? Good or bad? No, don’t answer that. Are you free this afternoon?’

‘It’s the day before your wedding, Seb, I hardly think it’s appropriate for you to—’

‘It’s really important,’ he cut in.

‘Does Imogen know you’re ringing me?’

‘No.’

‘Then I don’t think we should meet.’

‘Florrie, please! Just give me an hour. That’s all I need.’

God help her, but she agreed.

Esme wasn’t happy. Not happy at all. Just as things were coming together so nicely, up pops this infuriating Seb fellow to put a spanner in the works. As usual, Adam was keeping his own counsel, but Esme knew from the gravity of his tense expression that his mind was quietly ticking over.

After lunch, and watching from the terrace as Floriana set off on foot to meet Seb, Esme regretted not encouraging her to invite him to the villa where she could keep an eye on him. Based on what Floriana had said, Esme’s fear was that he had a bad case of cold feet and was on the verge of backing out of his wedding, and who better to turn to than the one person in the world who would support him in the way she always had? And where would that lead? Oh, it was all so damnably annoying! Why couldn’t the path of love run smoothly? Why did it always have to be so difficult?

As a ploy to keep Adam occupied, Esme had asked him to take her to see Villa Carlotta, and as they drove the short distance along the lake road, he could not have been more subdued. Esme longed to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about, but she couldn’t bring herself to offer him false hope. Less than twenty-four hours ago she had been steadfastly of the opinion that Floriana had successfully worked Seb out of her system, now, after one click of his fingers, the girl was running back to him, leaving Esme – and Adam – on much less surer ground.

Having dropped her off as close to the main entrance as he could, Adam drove further on to park the car. While Esme waited for him to return, two large parties of tourists arrived, one from a German coach and the other a group of Brits who streamed across the road from the nearby boat stop. What a contrast it was to when she had come here with her father. There had been no crowds then, and with no more than a handful of tourists exploring the house and garden, her father had been allowed to set up his easel and paint in the peace and quiet for as long as he wanted.

Surrounded on all sides by the noisy jostling crowd, the fiercely hot sun beating down on her, her cotton blouse clinging to her back and shoulders, Esme suddenly felt trapped. Her heart began to race and panic seized her. Struggling to find her breath, she looked frantically about her. She wanted to escape, to push through the surging mass of bodies pressing against her. What was she doing here in this sticky heat? Why wasn’t she sitting comfortably in the cool shade of her garden watching Euridice trying to creep up on that bossy blackbird? Oh, how she missed the quiet company of her beloved little cat! This was all a terrible mistake; she should never have come. And she should never have put Adam and Floriana through this. Especially Adam. What had she thought she was doing meddling in their lives? Why couldn’t she have left them alone?

But then she spotted Adam and at the sight of his calm demeanour and the effortlessly forceful way he created a pathway through the crowd to reach her, she pulled herself together. On top of everything else, the last thing Adam needed was a foolish old woman falling apart.

On edge and fidgeting in his chair, alternating between fiddling with the strap of his watch and the drinks menu on the table, Seb looked as if it was killing him to be here with her. Every few seconds he glanced anxiously round the al fresco bar in the small square overlooking the lake; he was terrified they might be seen. Away from the main road, Floriana very much doubted any of the wedding guests would stumble across them. She had read about the bar – La Magnolia – in the visitors’ book back at the villa and because it was within easy walking distance, it had been the obvious choice for her. No way had she wanted to ask Adam to drive her to meet Seb, nor had she wanted Seb to meet her at the villa.

With the arrival of two ice-cold Peroni beers, Floriana hoped Seb would relax and explain why he had been so desperate to see her. But if anything, as he gulped at his drink, he seemed even twitchier.

‘Seb,’ she said when she could take it no longer, ‘for heaven’s sake, stop looking so ludicrously shifty!’

He dragged a hand across his forehead that was beading with sweat. ‘Sorry, I can’t help it.’

‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t have called me.’

‘But I had to. Now was the only time I knew I’d be able to see you – Imogen and her bridesmaids have gone shopping in Menaggio.’

‘But you’re scared stiff we’ll be seen together. Which isn’t exactly making me feel at ease being with you.’

He took another gulp of his beer.

‘So come on, what is it you had to see me about?’ Her question came out more impatiently than she’d intended, but he didn’t seem to notice.

‘There’s something I can’t stop thinking about,’ he said, ‘it’s—’ He stopped himself short. He swallowed and again wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

Floriana studied him closely, her concern growing that he was here to confide in her that he couldn’t go through with tomorrow. If so, what did he want from her? Assurance he was doing the right thing in backing out? Or was she supposed to provide the steadying voice of common sense as she’d done before and remind him that it would be fine, that nearly all grooms suffered with nerves. If the former, all it would take from her was one word about last night’s chat with Imogen and he would have the perfect excuse to call it off. But Floriana wasn’t going to do that. Seb had to figure this one out for himself. Just as he should have figured out that agreeing to Imogen’s ultimatum to ditch his oldest friend was a mistake. Knowing that he had been capable of such a decision hurt Floriana deeply. Had she counted for so little? Or had he simply loved Imogen so much he’d been blind to reason? And how would he react if she were to tell him she knew of the choice he’d made?

‘I need to know something,’ he said quietly. ‘Something important.’ He met her gaze. ‘I know you’ve never approved of Imogen, it’s OK, you don’t have to pretend that you do, but what I need to know is, is that simply because . . . because you loved me and were jealous of her?’

Floriana turned away, pretended to be fascinated by an elegantly stylish boat coming into view on the lake. It was made of highly polished wood and gleamed like glass in the sunlight. When the boat had passed, and choosing her words with care, she said, ‘It really doesn’t matter how I feel about Imogen, or for that matter, how I once felt about you. What’s important is that you know exactly what you feel for the woman you’re marrying tomorrow.’

‘What if I said I didn’t know how I felt because there was something unfinished between us?’

A pulse of alarm ran through her and she tensed. ‘I’d tell you the truth, that there isn’t anything unfinished between us.’

Very slowly he shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. To my shame, it’s taken until now to realise that.’

Her response swelled in her throat and she had to force the words to come out. ‘Seb, don’t. You mustn’t. It’s too late.’

‘Too late for what?’

‘You mustn’t ruin everything.’

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. ‘Do you still love me? Yes or no?’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’ She tried to slip her hand away from under his, but he wouldn’t let her.

‘It should be,’ he said. ‘All you have to do is say you still love me and I’ll put an end to tomorrow’s fiasco. I love you, Florrie. I probably always have, I just didn’t recognise my feelings for what they were until I saw you again in Oxford.’

From nowhere anger sparked within her and she snatched her hand from beneath his. ‘
No!
I will not allow you to use me as an excuse to get out of marrying Imogen!’

He looked horror-struck. ‘I’m not using you.’

‘Then why aren’t you having this conversation with Imogen? Why aren’t you telling her that you’re not in love with her?’

‘Because I’m a coward,’ he said flatly. ‘I always have been. You’re the one with all the courage. You were the one who had the guts to be honest and say you loved me. If I’d been a better man, I’d have behaved differently back then. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry for that. More sorry than I can say.’

‘I don’t want to hear any more.’

‘But I need to know. I’m begging you, Florrie.’

‘No, Seb, you need to know what’s in your own head before you ask anything of me. Why on earth have you left it until now? And while we’re about it, were you ever really in love with Imogen?’

‘For a time, yes,’ he said with a grimace. ‘She made me feel different about myself. I liked the idea of making her happy. And I wanted to fit in . . . to be a part of her family. I thought I’d found somewhere I could call home, and for that I was prepared to change, to raise my game and live up to Imogen’s expectations. I can do this, I kept telling myself.’

‘So what changed?’

‘
You
changed things. It felt so uncomplicated being in your company again. I didn’t have to try with you; I could be myself. With Imogen, I . . . I was playing at being someone she wanted me to be. I suppose I liked the challenge of that to begin with, I was reinventing myself, acting a role. It felt good, like I’d got rid of all the crap from before. But then when I had lunch with you that day in January, everything began to feel shallow and false.’ He leant in close. ‘Florrie, it’s only when I’m with you that I feel real, that the world feels real. Without you, it’s just a hollow sham.’

It was too much for Floriana to take in. What on earth could she say? Why did he have to say this now? Why not two and a half years ago? Why hadn’t he believed her back then when she’d told him what she’d seen? But no, he’d called her a liar, had accused her of jealousy, of wanting to destroy his one and only chance to be happy.

She had been jealous, that much was true, but destroying his happiness had not been what she’d set out to do. But how could you tell someone that their partner was cheating on them without inflicting pain?

And Imogen had cheated on Seb; Floriana had caught her red-handed. Whether it had been a one-off event, Floriana never knew. She still didn’t. But she hoped it had only happened the once, she had hated the thought of Seb being made a fool of. To this day it amazed her that Imogen could face her without squirming, knowing as she did that Floriana knew the truth. It explained why she was so keen to get rid of Floriana though. How tempting it had been last night to lean across the table and whisper in Imogen’s ear exactly what she had seen. But for Seb’s sake, for the sake of his happiness, she had promised herself she would never succumb to doing that, or speak again of what she’d seen with her own eyes.

It had been in late November – almost two and a half years ago – when she had gone to London for an exhibition at the Royal Academy and afterwards, when she’d emerged onto the street and was buttoning her coat and pulling on her gloves, that she did a double take.

It was one of those weird moments when you recognise a person but immediately think,
Hang on, that can’t be right.
In this instance, Floriana’s brain was telling her it couldn’t be Imogen on the pavement a few yards from her because the man in the smart overcoat and tartan scarf with whom she was so cosily arm in arm was not the man it should be. At the same time, her brain was reminding Floriana that Seb was away with work this week, so who the hell was this?

Following them was the right thing to do, she told herself; it was a need to be sure she wasn’t imagining things. But really, and to her shame, it was nothing but a need to gloat, for here was the proof she needed to convince Seb that he should end it with Imogen.

And in that same moment, picturing Imogen out of the way, Floriana had promised herself she would find the courage to tell Seb how she felt about him. Then, please God, he would realise that deep down he felt the same way about her and they would laugh over the absurdity of the situation, that it had taken so long for them to appreciate they were each what the other had been looking for all these years.

Armed with that rock-solid certainty, she had scurried cloak-and-dagger-style across the road and into the Ritz Hotel, where she watched the man with the tartan scarf ask for his room key at the desk. With this in hand, he then nuzzled Imogen’s neck, producing from her a giggle and a lingering kiss as they made their way towards the lifts.

Hiding behind a pillar, Floriana watched with grim satisfaction as they stepped into the lift together.
Gotcha!
she thought, when the doors closed on them and they disappeared.
Imogen Morgan, consider yourself history!

How wrong she’d been.

‘Florrie, say something. Tell me I’m not wrong to think you still love me?’

Wrenching herself away from the excruciating memory of what had then happened when she’d told Seb what she’d seen – how angry he’d been, how he’d pushed her away when she’d been crying and had tried to kiss him, to prove her feelings for him – Floriana said, ‘Why didn’t you believe me when I told you that Imogen cheated on you? Why did you believe her story of meeting an ex-work colleague for a drink?’

He frowned. ‘Because . . . because you were jealous and wanted to split us up.’

‘That’s what Imogen wanted you to think. But surely, Seb, it must have dawned on you at some point that she was pathologically jealous of our friendship and was hell-bent on turning you against me? And the worst of it is, you let her. You have no idea how much that hurt. I laid myself bare to you, told you that I loved you, and what did you do? You accused me of everything Imogen had so cleverly filled your head with. You broke my heart when you did that.’

‘I’m sorry. I think deep down I knew that Imogen had cheated on me, but I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to lose what I had, I’d invested so much in it.’

‘So it was easier to live a lie?’

‘Yes.’ He turned his glass of beer round on the table in front of him. Round and round. ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘Do you still love me?’