The Unfinished Garden (24 page)

Chapter 25

Monty barked, then stopped. Some poor sod had dared to
walk past on the High Street, no doubt. Tilly turned back to admire the
herbaceous border, where there was nothing left to deadhead, tie back or dig up.
At her mother’s request, Tilly had stopped working in the garden so the gardener
could feel useful. Interesting concept, feeling useful. Was that why James had
hung around? Yesterday, she had spooked both of them with nothing more than a
failed flicker of desire, and tomorrow he flew home. But what of today? She
balled up her hands in the sleeves of her fleece and shivered. It was another
cool, gray day—an appropriate end to her time with James, because really, today
was an end. Whatever the outcome of her tests, James would leave and that would
be that. But what if she wanted him to stay?

Monty trotted around the side of the house, tail wagging.

“Scare them off, did you, mutt?”

Too late she realized he was not alone. James appeared, his
black leather backpack slung over one shoulder, the black cord from his iPod
earbuds snaking down his chest into his jeans pocket.

She watched, anticipating each movement before he made it. The
man had a method for everything, even unplugging his iPod. He would wrap the
earbud cord around two fingers to create a neat bundle, secure it with a black
twisty tie, then slip it into the small, aluminum container he kept in the
outside pocket of his backpack.

Tilly smiled, but it was an empty gesture. She knew his every
quirk and still she couldn’t slot him into her life, much less keep him there.
What had been troubling her since dawn was not whether James would appear, since
she knew he would, but how he would react if the surgeon gave her the all clear.
Would James stay to celebrate, or would he dash off to pack, convinced that she
no longer needed him?

Tilly repuffed the cushions on her mother’s lounger and tried
not to remember the feel of the man who had scarred her husband, the man she
didn’t dare love.

He strode onto the patio. “Any news?”

“No. And don’t stare.” Tilly nibbled a fingernail. “My mother
already told me I look consumptive.”

“Consumptive, really? I was going to say you look like
shit.”

“You were?” She gave a hollow laugh. “In that case you can
stay.”

A pigeon flapped in the birdbath and a car backfired on the
High Street. Neither of them moved.

“I should work on the tree house,” James said, his voice
lacking conviction.

“No.” Tilly grabbed his hand. “Stay with me. But I can’t
guarantee conversation. I didn’t sleep last night.”

He sighed. “Me neither.”

* * *

“Wired yet?” James handed her a fourth cup of coffee and
smiled. He had the widest smile she had ever seen. It lit up his face and gave
her the sensation of sinking into a deep bubble bath when outside the world was
ice and snow.

“I’m completely out of whack.” She stared at her leg, jerking
against the patio table. “I just want this day done with, but when it’s over…you
leave.”
And I can’t convince myself that’s a good
thing.

James scraped his wrought-iron chair across the concrete and
sat, as always, too close. He pried one hand from her mug, crushing her fingers
into his. Were the two of them slipping into love while neither of them paid
attention? And if so, why did it hurt so much? Was it because of David or
because of Sebastian? Or was love irrelevant? Was this nothing more than need,
the same quick fix as one of James’s compulsions?

Sheep bleated across the fields. She always heard sheep, never
cows. What had happened to the cranky Charolais, the scourge of her childhood?
Was it the result of mad cow disease, the foot-and-mouth culling, or had time
robbed the landscape of the life she had known?

After all, the village school had been gutted and turned into a
home by faceless Londoners; the High Street was now scarred by a pedestrian
crossing no one used; the village green no longer buzzed with the Friday night
chaos of the fish and chip van; and rumor had it the post office would close
within the year. Bramwell Chase had become a commuter community, a place people
passed through, a place Tilly no longer belonged. Everything around her felt
unfamiliar, except for the stranger sitting beside her, squeezing her hand too
tightly. The man she couldn’t fathom.

“Tilly, darling. Are you down there?” Mrs. Haddington’s voice
boomed from her bedroom window. “Someone called Beth is on the phone. Oh, and
Isaac says to tell you he just put up a hotel on Bond Street. Little rascal’s
going to beat me!”

Beth was the buxom breast clinic nurse who had blatantly ogled
James.

Isaac giggled in the distance, and Monty barked for attention.
Tilly ground her teeth and wished, with everything she had, that she could
transport herself to another time and place. Upstairs playing Monopoly with her
mother and son would be good. Anywhere but stranded in one of those solitary
moments in which the world kept turning, and you handled despair alone.

This time, however, she wasn’t alone.

“I’ll take it in the study. Thanks!” Tilly called back.

James shot up, shoving his chair aside. “Should I wait here?”
His fingers wove through a sign language only he understood.

“No.” She reclaimed his hand. “Come with me.”

They walked through the French doors into the drawing room, but
when they reached her father’s study, James let go, and she entered alone.

She stumbled over a hole singed into the carpet, and a memory
flashed: her father seated in the leather desk chair when she blurted out,
“David wants to marry me,” and the shock on his face as he dropped his cigar
onto the Oriental carpet her mother adored. It was the only time she heard her
father swear.

The study smelled, as it had that day, of overheated vacuum and
musty law books, of cigars and lavender—her father loved lavender. Or was she
imagining the cigars? She walked to her father’s desk and picked up the
phone.

“Tilly?” Beth’s voice was brusque, ready for business.
Good news, bad news, what?

“Can you wait a minute, please?” The crackling on the open line
kept pace with the thumping in Tilly’s chest. “You can hang up now, Mum!” she
yelled.

Fumbling came through the extension, as if someone—Isaac no
doubt—had dropped the phone and was struggling to pick it up.

James closed the study door and hesitated, his hand gripping
the crystal doorknob. As a child, Tilly had marveled at how the sun streamed
through the window behind her and hit the doorknob, transforming it into a prism
of color. But today there was no sun and no rainbow. The doorknob was buried in
James’s hand; it revealed nothing.

The extension clicked into place on the cradle and James turned
but stayed rooted by the door.
No.
Tilly shook her
head.
I need you closer.
She reached for him across
the blotter stained with ink from her father’s fountain pen, and James replied
with a nod of understanding. When he was in place behind her, she clamped both
hands on the phone and leaned into his chest.

His hands grazed her arms, then fell to his sides.

“Sorry,” Tilly said into the phone. “I’m ready now.” Her head
moved to the beat of James’s shallow, quick breaths.

“It’s a C2, great news, Tilly.” Even though Beth spoke with
quick efficiency, her timbre suggested a smile.

Tilly swiveled round to look up at James. His eyes were still,
his gaze penetrating hers as if he would never lose sight of her. “It’s benign?”
Tilly said.

“Yes. Seems your mother’s GP was right after all. A
fibroadenoma. More common in younger women, but then again—” Beth gave a girly
laugh “—you look about sixteen. What’s your secret?”

“Gin and gardening.” But Tilly was hardly listening, even to
herself. She was watching James’s lips move as if he were reciting a silent
prayer.

She relaxed against him. “What now? Leave it be?”

“In younger women we say watch and wait. Not do anything unless
it becomes painful or larger. But since you’re over thirty-five, Dr. Parker
recommends excisional biopsy.”

“In idiot terms?”

Beth gave another laugh, and Tilly felt as if they were friends
with decades of shared experiences. She could even forgive Beth for eyeing
James. “Have it surgically removed,” Beth said. “But it’s up to you.”

“Can I wait two weeks, until I can see my gynecologist back
home?”

“Of course. But if it changes in size or becomes painful,
contact us immediately. I’ll post you the paperwork.” The efficient voice had
returned; Beth was ready to move on to her next patient. “Should I use the
Bramwell Chase address?”

“Yes.” Tilly swallowed. “And thank you. Omigodthankyou.”

“You’re welcome. Safe journey home.” Beth paused. “And regards
to your gorgeous bloke.”

Safe journey to where? Into a blank future that was hers to
write, one that might contain the gorgeous bloke she was going to kiss right
here in her father’s study, consequences be damned?

The dial tone buzzed and Tilly slotted the receiver back into
place, relishing this new certainty. She turned, surprised to discover James had
inched away from her.

“Don’t.” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Just don’t.”

Stretching up on tiptoe she yanked down, not caring if his
shirt ripped. His forehead sank to hers, and she breathed in the scent of
him—cedar and honey and a mystery element she could define only as James. Her
mouth skimmed his cheek, pausing when his breath warmed her skin.

“Tell me now if you don’t want to do this—” her lips slid over
his “—because in a moment’s time…I won’t be able to stop.”

* * *

“Is this what you want, Tilly?” James removed her hand
from his shirt. Not that he cared if she shredded it, but he couldn’t think,
couldn’t breathe when she touched him. And if they were to be together, he
needed to confront the fear that she loved someone else.

“A kiss?” She raised her eyebrows and looked so confused, so
vulnerable, he had to force himself not to kiss her. “Yes. I want to kiss you,
live in the moment. Is that so wrong?”

He touched his bottom lip, moist with her saliva, and sadness
gored him. He had hoped for, had wanted, so much more. Not a kiss, but a
commitment.

“For me? Yes, it is.” He pinned her hand to his chest. “I can’t
play at love, Tilly. I do all or nothing. I
want
all
or nothing.” Was he facing his fear or reverting to the subtleties of obsession
by seeking reassurance where there was none?

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m toying with you?” She
tried to pry her hand free, but he held on.

“No, Tilly. I think you’re confused about what—and whom—you
want. I’d like to tell you it’s me. But I can’t do that.” He paused. “Can I?”
There was still a chance, still a chance, but even as she started to speak, he
knew he’d botched it. Again.

You’re an eejit, James, a fucking eejit.
Why didn’t you take what she offered you?

“James, my life has yo-yoed all over the place this summer, and
I’ve been hanging on, nothing more. But the ride has included you. And I know
this is horribly selfish, but I want you to stay. I can’t give you reassurance—”
she’d rumbled him, but he wouldn’t expect any less from her “—I can’t even
explain it. I just don’t want you to leave. Please don’t go.”

She gave the saddest smile, and he wanted to kiss her. It would
be so easy to kiss her. Why couldn’t he kiss her? Why couldn’t he take one
non-premeditated risk? Because he was a guy who couldn’t think outside his
obsessive-compulsive box.

James gave a deep sigh. “I see you with Sebastian. There’s
still love between you.”

“If you know that, then you know more than I do.” Tilly’s huge
opal eyes gazed at him.

He released her hand, but she flattened both her palms against
his chest. Was she trying to push him away or keep him close?

“Not love then,” he said. “But a connection I can’t compete
with.”

“So it’s better to walk away?”

“I have no interest in runner-up badges, Tilly.” How he loved
the feel of her name on his tongue.
Tilly
—such a
soft, beautiful name. The most beautiful name he had ever spoken. “I want to
win, every time. I could offer to wait while you figure out which one of us you
want, but I’m not capable of delayed gratification.” He stroked her cheek, then
slid his fingers into her hair. “You were right to tell me not to hem you in.
Cornering people with ultimatums is one of my talents. I can grind love down
until it’s nothing but hate. I’ve done it before, but I won’t do it again, not
with you. Never with you.”

He twisted the hair at the nape of her neck—tighter and
tighter. She grimaced, and he let go. See? He could offer nothing but pain, and
she should be showered with joy.

“If I stay, I won’t like the person I’ll become and neither
will you. I have to walk away because I can’t, I won’t, take the risk that
you’ll wake up one morning hating me.” As his father had done when he’d thrown
James out. As Daniel had done after he’d been diagnosed with depression and
James had been unable to offer more than a deal-with-it mentality. But neither
of them had hated James more than he had hated himself.

“Can’t we be—”

“Please don’t say
friends.
I didn’t
force myself to sit on a plane for eight hours battling images of fireballs in
the sky, of plummeting into the Atlantic Ocean, of overshooting the runway and
crashing into the control tower…I didn’t face my fears because I wanted a new
friend.” He backed away from her and headed toward the door.

“No, you came because you wanted a garden.”

“The garden was the excuse, not the reason.”

A ray of sunlight burst across the room and the crystal
doorknob became a kaleidoscope of refracted light.