The Secret in His Heart

‘I’m sure we’ll cope,’ he said. ‘Come. It’ll be lovely to see you.’

‘Thanks. When do you want me?’

Always …

He crushed the inappropriate thought. ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said. ‘Give me a call when you’re an hour away, so I can be sure I’m at home. I’ll see you tomorrow some time.’

‘Great. Thanks, James.’

‘No worries. Drive carefully.’

Ending the call, he ate the soft, squishy roll, drank his coffee and tasted neither. All he could think about was Connie and her non-urgent topic of conversation. He ripped the wrapper off the chocolate bar and bit into it absently.

What the hell did she want to talk to him about? He had no idea, but he was beginning to regret his invitation. He must have been crazy. His place was a mess, he had a zillion and one things to do, and catching up with Connie just wasn’t on his agenda—especially not like this. The prospect of being alone with her for thirty-six hours was going to test him to the limit. Not that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her. Not at all.

Just—maybe a little too much …

Crushing the cup in his hand, he headed off back to the department, his thoughts and emotions tumbling.

Connie. His old friend, his ex-colleague, and his best friend’s wife.

No. His best friend’s widow. The woman he’d promised to take care of.

‘When it happens, James—’

‘If it happens—’

‘When it happens—promise me you’ll take care of her.’

‘Of course I will, you daft bastard. It won’t happen. It’s your last tour. You’ll be fine.’

Famous last words.

The ache of loss, still raw after two years, put everything back in perspective and gave him a timely reminder of his duties and responsibilities. It didn’t matter what else he’d had planned, whatever his personal feelings for her, his duty to Connie came first and right now she needed him.

But apparently not urgently. Tomorrow would do.

Sheesh.

Savagely tossing the crushed cup into a bin, he strode through the door and headed back to work.

‘Well. We’re going to see James. What do you think of that, Saffy? Do you think he’ll understand?’

Saffy thumped her tail once, head on Connie’s foot, eyes alert as she peered up at her. Connie reached down a hand and stroked her gently, and Saffy groaned and rolled over, one leg lifted to reveal the vulnerable underside she was offering for a tickle.

‘Hussy,’ she crooned, rubbing the scarred tummy, and the dog’s tail wagged again. She licked Connie’s ankle, the contact of her warm, moist tongue cementing the already close bond between them. Almost as if she understood. No, of course she didn’t, Connie told herself. How could she, even though Connie had told her everything there was to tell about it all in excruciating detail.

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ she murmured, straightening up and getting to her feet. ‘No time for cuddles, I’ve got too much to do.’

If she was going to see James tomorrow, she needed to pull herself together and get ready. Do some washing so she had something other than jeans and a ratty old T shirt to wear. Pack. Make sure the house was clean and tidy before they left.

Not that it was dirty or untidy, but now the decision was made and she was going to see him, to ask him the most monumental and massive favour, she needed to do something to keep herself busy or she’d go crazy.

She’d rehearsed her speech over and over again, gone through what she was going to say until she’d worn it out. There was nothing left to do but clean the house, so she cleaned it until it squeaked, and then she fell into bed and slept restlessly until dawn.

God, the place was a tip.

He’d been going to tackle it last night, but as usual he’d been held up by admin and hadn’t got home until ten, so he’d left it till this morning. Now, looking round it, he realised that had probably been a massive mistake.

He blitzed the worst of it, made up a bed for her and went back downstairs.

Better. Slightly. If he ever had any regular time off he might stand a chance, but right now that was just a distant dream. He glanced at his watch. Ten to ten. Supermarket now, or later, after she’d arrived? She was an early riser but the journey would take her a good two hours.

Now, he decided, if he was quick, and ten minutes later he was standing there in the aisles and trying to remember what she liked. Was she a vegetarian?

No, of course she wasn’t. He recalled watching her eating a bun crammed with roast pork and apple sauce at the Suffolk Show, the memory still vivid. It must have been the first year he’d been in Yoxburgh, and Joe had been on leave.

And he’d been watching her eat, his body throbbing with need as she’d flicked out her tongue and scooped up a dribble of apple sauce on her chin. He’d dragged his eyes away and found Joe staring at him, an odd expression on his face.

‘Food envy,’ he’d explained hastily, and Joe had laughed and bought him another roll from the hog roast stand.

He’d had to force himself to eat it, because he hadn’t had food envy at all, just plain old envy. He was jealous of Joe, jealous of his best friend for being so ridiculously happy with his lovely wife. How sick was that? How lonely and empty and barren— Whatever. She wasn’t vegetarian, so he picked up a nice piece of fillet steak from the butchery counter, threw some other stuff into the trolley and headed home, wondering for the hundredth time what she wanted to say to him. She’d said she was ready to move on, and now it was in his head a disturbing possibility wouldn’t go away.

Was there someone new in her life?

Why not? It was perfectly plausible. She was a beautiful woman, she was alone, she was free to do whatever she liked—but even the thought of her replacing the best friend a man could wish for, the kindest and most courageous man he’d ever known, made him feel sick.

Dismissing the pointless speculation, he drove down Ferry Road towards the little community grouped around the harbour mouth, turned onto the gravel track that led past a little string of houses to his cottage and pulled up on the drive next to a four-wheel drive he’d never seen before, just as his phone pinged.

Damn. He’d meant to be here, but she hadn’t rung—or had she, while he’d been vacuuming the house?

Yup. There was a missed call from her, and a voice-mail.

‘I’ve arrived. Couldn’t get you on the phone earlier, but I’m here now so I’m walking the dog. Call me when you get home.’

He dialled her number as he carried the bags into the kitchen and dumped them on the worktop, and she answered on the second ring, sounding breathless.

‘Hi—did you get my message?’

‘Yeah. Sorry I wasn’t here, I went food shopping. I’m back now. Where are you?’

‘On the sea wall. I’ll be two ticks, I can see the cottage from here,’ she told him, so he opened the front door and stood on the porch step scanning the path, and there she was, blonde hair flying in the breeze, a huge sandy-coloured dog loping by her side as she ran towards him, her long limbs moving smoothly as she covered the ground with an effortless stride.

God, she was lovely.

Lovelier than ever, and that took some doing. His heart lurched, and he dredged up what he hoped was a civilised smile as he went to meet her.

She looked amazing, fit and well and bursting with energy. Her pale gold hair was gleaming, her blue eyes bright, her cheeks flushed with the sea breeze and the exertion as she ran up, her smile as wide as her arms, and threw herself at him. Her body slammed into his and knocked the breath from him in every way, and he nearly staggered at the impact.