Your Roots Are Showing (42 page)

James must have heard it too. He faltered and glanced sideways at her, and as his head turned Lizzie saw the dog.

Ingrid Hatter’s Jack Russell was trundling along without a care in the world, legs moving so fast it was like a dog on wheels, nose to the ground, apparently oblivious that a six-foot human steamroller was pounding toward it.

“Watch out!” Lizzie managed to yell, gesticulating wildly.

James turned and saw the tiny animal in his path just as he was about to step on its back. The dog suddenly noticed him at the same moment and skittered quickly to one side. James tried some fancy footwork of his own, but he was moving too fast, and in an instant he was down, knees and elbows breaking his fall in the damp grass.

Lizzie turned and walked back to him.

“You . . . okay?” she panted.

He lay on his back, chest heaving, looking up at her with a dazzled expression. “Fine,” he panted back. “Fine.”

She extended a hand. “Here, grab on.” He gazed at the hand a moment, then took it and pulled himself up. His palm was hot and slippery. She pulled her hand away quickly.

For a moment he simply stood, breathing hard, his hands resting on his knees. “My God, Lizzie,” he wheezed at last, shooting a stunned look at her. “How did you learn to run like that? I mean, you can really
run
.”

Lizzie felt a burst of pride at his words, but she managed a nonchalant shrug. “Anybody can run,” she said. “You just put one foot in front of the other. No big deal.” She wasn’t about to tell him how far she’d come since the early days when putting one foot in front of the other had seemed on a par with scaling Everest. He’d never know how hard she’d slogged to reach this point, what a grueling journey she’d been on to transform herself from a short-of-breath slob into someone who could, without irony, register to run a marathon.

She’d already realized that part of the weird reverse process of turning your husband back into a stranger was simply not telling him anything personal anymore.

“Well, hello!”

Lizzie jumped like a startled hare as the voice rang out behind her. It was Ingrid, of course, in brown corduroys and a floppy sun hat, striding down the path with a look of avid curiosity on her face.

“So you two found each other. Jolly good. I was just taking Jack for a walk. Good sort of day for a walk. Normally I don’t take him out till late afternoon but I suddenly found myself with time on my hands. As you do. So I just thought I’d take him for his walk.”

“Right, great idea,” said Lizzie. “You’ll have time for a nice long one. Maybe you’ll even see Sarah and the twins. We’d better not keep you then. Bye.”

As Ingrid drew breath, preparing, no doubt, to launch into one of her tactless inquisitions, Lizzie found herself grabbing James’s hand and pulling him bodily away from the scene.

“Well, all right — toodle- oo, then,” Ingrid trilled after them.

James glanced over his shoulder as they beat their retreat. “For God’s sake,” he breathed, shaking his head in wonder. “Is that woman
everywhere
?”

Lizzie nodded. “ ’Fraid so,” she said. “But I’m sort of fond of her. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Hang on a moment,” James said. Limping slightly after his unexpected jogathon, he went over to his car and retrieved a manila envelope from the passenger seat. It looked very official and rather ominous.

As they entered the cool house, Lizzie shrugged her T-shirt back on. Glancing sideways, she noticed that James was doing the same thing. Nothing like a cold, sweat-soaked T-shirt to bring you back to reality. She gave a little shiver.

Darting into the bathroom, she managed to find a clean towel for James. “Here, mop up with this,” she said, throwing it to him.

He caught it and rubbed himself down vigorously. She dabbed at her own body less enthusiastically with a towel she’d retrieved from a damp jumble of clothes beside the bathtub.

As they reached the dining room table, Lizzie gratefully seized a glass of water and drained it in one long pull. Setting the glass back down, she looked across the table and met James’s eyes. The expression in those eyes was impossible to read. Lizzie looked away quickly.

“Have a good holiday?” she asked.

“What?” He pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Holiday. In France.”

“Oh. It wasn’t a holiday.”

“No?”

“Lizzie, I was drafting plans to turn a fromagerie into four apartments.”

“Oh. Gosh. Did
Sonja
enjoy it?”

His eyebrows rose. “Who told —? Yes, she had a wonderful time, actually. She loves France. All the wining and dining — she was in her element.”

Ask a stupid question. Lizzie scowled heavily at the table.

James cleared his throat. “Look, before we go on, I just thought I’d let you know I’ve seen this.” He extracted a piece of paper from the envelope; obviously some new exhibit to do with the divorce. Sliding it across the table, he said, “It came yesterday.”

Puzzled, Lizzie took the piece of paper and scanned it.

From: Lizzie Buckley [email protected]

Sent: 15 September

To: [email protected]

Dear Janie

Wonderful news. I’ve found an agent to take my book of silly verse. Actually, I didn’t find the agent. My neighbor in the barn did. She sent the verses out to sixty (yes, sixty!) names she found in some book about getting published — and one of them wants to take me on!

If there’s any money in this, I may be able to work from home eventually — you know, as a real writer. God, I hope there’s some money in it. If only this had come sooner, perhaps I wouldn’t be going to Glasgow.

At first, I felt so happy about all this. But now that the novelty’s worn off, I realize the awful truth. Nothing is going to be that big a deal in my life anymore. You see, I can’t share the moment — or any other halfway decent moment — with the one person who really counts. So it doesn’t seem to matter that much, after all.

Pathetic, isn’t it? I have this lovely letter saying they like the book, but I hardly even seem to care. If I could just show it to him, that letter would be priceless, and I’d be dancing on the ceiling. As it is, I’m pacing the house. Can’t sleep. Can’t even eat. Can’t stop thinking. It’s just so stupid. How can I still be hooked on him after what he’s done? I wish I could press some sort of remote control button and turn the love off. Ping. But damn it all, I can’t.

You know, I think I really do have what they call a broken heart.

Anyway, got to stop this and go to bed — so much to do tomorrow for the move. Make that today. Aaargh!

Kisses to baby Elizabeth.

Lizzie

She could feel her cheeks burning and her chest thumping uncomfortably, almost as if she were running at full throttle again. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” James said, rearranging his papers. “With Bruno.”

But Lizzie was hardly listening. “How did you get this?” she demanded. “I sent it to Janie. Not you. I
know
I didn’t screw up again. I’ve taken you out of my electronic address book.”

James frowned. “Janie forwarded it to me. She thought I should see it. Sent me a covering note saying she’s worried about you . . . Everybody’s worried about you. Lizzie, don’t you see? Nobody wants you bolting off to Glasgow because of this breakup with Bruno. I’m serious, Lizzie. I have a very bad feeling about you going up there on your own, in this sort of state.”

“I’m not in a state!” Lizzie cried. “Who told you about Bruno, anyway?”

James shrugged. “Laurence, as a matter of fact. And Janie — in her note.”

Lizzie glared at him. “I can’t believe you think I’m rushing off to Glasgow because of some quick fling — God, it wasn’t even a fling — with a man I barely know!” she hissed. “I mean, what kind of an idiot are you? You think I’d uproot the twins on that sort of pretext? For God’s sake, let’s just sign the papers.” She grabbed a pen and began paging furiously through the divorce document.

Without warning, James reached across the table and put his hands over hers to stop their frantic movement. “Tell me,” he said. “What kind of an idiot
am
I?”

Lizzie snatched her hands away.

“Do you really believe that e-mail is about Bruno Ardis?” she demanded. “Or are you just playing dumb? God knows, it can’t be fun to come back from a romantic holiday with your new girlfriend to find that your boring old wife is still stuck on you. But that’s the way it is, so let’s not pretend otherwise!
Bruno
was never the one for me; he never made me want to slash up his photos and — and run till I got shin splints, like you did. I don’t even
have
a photo of him. I mean, sure, at one point I was trying to
kid
myself I was interested in him. But that was a matter of pride, pure and simple!”

James stared.

Lizzie put her fingers to her blazing face. She hadn’t meant to make a scene. Things were bad enough without her losing every shred of personal dignity. She’d better pull herself together; show him that she was going to be mature and sensible about all this. “So anyway,” she said brightly, picking up the pen again, “it’s funny how things turned out for you and Sonja in the end. I bet she’s had a crush on you for years.”

She began to sign her name.

In a blur of movement, James knocked his chair back and rounded the table. The pen flew out of Lizzie’s grasp as he lunged at the papers. Roughly, he jerked Lizzie’s chair back and pulled her up out of it. Taking her by the shoulders, he stared intensely into her eyes.

“Lizzie, I can’t stand any more of this,” he said. “Are you saying I’m . . . I’m . . .”

“The one person who really counts?” she supplied. “Well — duh. Of course you bloody are.”

With a low groan, James pulled her against his chest and held her there for a long moment.

Lizzie, confused but suddenly chock-full of hope, took deep gulps of her husband’s sweaty T-shirt. Feeling after a bit that she rather needed air, she pushed herself gently away and looked up at him.

He read the question in her eyes. “You’re the same for me,” he said. “You’re the one person who really counts.”

Her lip trembled and she felt choked with grief. “You’re just saying that,” she whispered. “You don’t want me to go to Glasgow. You’ll take me back for the kids’ sake.”

James grimaced. “Lizzie, after that week I spent looking after them while you were in Australia, it’s more like I’ll take the kids back for your sake!”

She stared at him in shock for a moment or two. He stared steadily back, his eyes full of a warmth that made her blush.

“Um . . . that’s good,” she rasped at last. “I mean, that’s great. I think . . . I
think
I can live with the Sonja thing. And the Erin thing. As long as I know it was all just, you know, rebound stuff.”

His eyebrows shot together. “Why in God’s name do you keep going on about Sonja?”

Lizzie closed her eyes a moment, praying silently that he would have the sense not to lie to her at this crucial moment. If he didn’t have the decency to come clean, she would have to live with her broken heart forever because she simply wouldn’t be able to forgive him.

“Look, I know what’s been going on,” she said steadily. “You’re fresh from taking her to France, after all — all that wining and dining . . .”

He shook his head impatiently. “Look, Lizzie, I won’t deny I took her to France — but have you forgotten that’s where Yves lives?”

“Who the blazes is Eve?”

He frowned at her in astonishment. “What — you don’t know about Yves? Oh God, of course you don’t. Yves de la Roche. Her Frenchman. The one she met on her week off, back in the spring. She’s been working on him steadily ever since — steamy phone calls, weekend trips, lingerie in the post, that sort of thing. You must’ve noticed she’s smartened herself up a bit, surely? New hairdo and whatnot?”

Lizzie gazed at him, speechless.

“I thought the whole thing would peter out, but she’s even taking French lessons by correspondence now.” James shook his head regretfully. “It’s only a matter of time before she hands in her notice, I reckon.”

Lizzie’s face lit up with an enormous smile. “ That’s — that’s fantastic. Wonderful! Good for Sonja!” Then her face fell as she remembered the tiny puzzle piece that didn’t fit into this lovely jigsaw. “But — but Alex saw her naked in your house.”

“What?”

“Yes, when I was in Australia. Look, James, all I want is the truth. Please don’t try to cover your tracks. We need everything out in the open.”

He was still staring at her in bewilderment. After a moment he shook his head impatiently. “Look, maybe the little scallywag is — is fantasizing or something. I mean, she was in the house all right, but she was only babysitting. I had to go to a site in Wales for a day, so I asked her to watch the Smalls . . . Hang on. Maybe she changed her clothes or — or took a shower or something. That’s it! I remember now. She was going to the station to meet Yves that night. He was coming over for the weekend! And — yes, she was all togged up in party clothes when I got back. And her hair was all fluffed up. She must’ve taken a shower, or even a bath!”

Lizzie nodded excitedly. “Yes, and she probably left the bathroom door open so she could listen for any monkey business from the twins! I’ve done that so many times myself! I bet Alex just wandered in and got an eyeful.”

James pulled Lizzie back into his arms. “Thank God we sorted that one out,” he said. “Although, I have to say, it pains me that you could so easily picture me with Sonja. I mean, if you’d taken it into your head that I was back with Erin,
that
I could understand a bit better . . . but Sonja
Jenkins
?”

Lizzie pushed him away. “You’re saying there was never anything going on with Erin, either? Come off it, James. The woman lives in California! You didn’t just bump into her on the High Street and invite her to the wedding on the spur of the moment.”

James pulled a rueful face. “To be honest, Lizzie, that
is
sort of what happened. See, she noticed Mill House was back on the rental market and booked herself in for a minibreak; called me up out of the blue to let me know she’d be around. God knows what made me ask her to the wedding. I was feeling pretty low back then, that’s all I know.”