Dune Road (31 page)

“No thank you. I don’t drink.”

His face falls. He has been out this afternoon and stocked up on everything he will need for tonight. Wine, vodka, cranberry juice. Salmon, spinach, shallots. The
Joy of Cooking
lies open on the counter, and the salmon is poaching gently in white wine and butter. He has forgotten she didn’t drink.

“Oh. Cranberry juice? ” He opens the fridge.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine with water.”

“Are you sure? ” He squints into the fridge, his heart sinking. “I have . . . lemonade? Or chocolate milk? ”

Annabel laughs. “As tempting as the chocolate milk may be, I’ll stick with water.” She walks over to the stove, and lifts up the lid of one of the pots, leaning down to smell. Adam watches her hold her hair out of the way, and aches to touch her.

She looks up. “Something smells
amazing
.”

“I hope it is. It’s salmon poached in white wine . . . Oh shit. Wine. You don’t drink. Do you
eat
alcohol?” He attempts a laugh.

“No. Oh God. Now I’m sorry. You’ve clearly gone to so much trouble, and I had no idea. Honestly, though, I’m not that hungry.”

“I have some more salmon in the fridge. Why don’t I cook that one separately for you? I can just grill it.”

“Are you sure? ”

“Absolutely. And I promise you there isn’t a drop of alcohol in the soup.”

Annabel laughs. “Thank you for being so understanding. I wish I could eat that salmon but one sip of alcohol and you’ll probably find me rolling around underneath a skip within a few hours.”

“Skip? ”

“Dumpster.” She laughs.

“You were that bad? ”

“I wasn’t
good
. Although I will say I never actually did end up under a dumpster. Close, though.” She smiles, and Adam can’t tell if she’s joking or not. “But I’m not here to talk about me,” she says. “I’m here because I’m intrigued.”

Adam’s heart skips a beat. “You are? By what, may I ask? ”

“By your idea to throw a surprise party for Kit. I think it’s a wonderful idea, and I love that her ex-husband would do that for her. I think the two of you set such an amazing example for the children.”

“Thank you.” Adam manages to hide his disappointment.

“So,” Annabel perches on a stool at the counter and Adam places a tall glass of iced water in front of her, “what are you thinking of doing? ”

 

Robert McClore snores loudly as Tracy shakes him gently, but there is no waking him tonight.

She sighs, and moves back to her side of the bed. She wants to tell him. Tell him about Jed. Tell him about Jed’s plan, and why she went along with it, and how she never expected to fall in love with Robert.

She needs to confess, so he can help her, because releasing herself from Jed’s clutches, while falling in love with Robert, is proving too overwhelming for her to handle by herself.

As she lies there, watching him, she leans in and inhales between his shoulder and chin. She loves smelling him exactly there, absorbing the faded cologne, the unmistakable scent of Robert that always makes her feel safe.

She thinks about shaking him harder, ensuring he wakes up so she can finally rid herself of the burden of knowledge she has carried alone, but she hesitates. What if he doesn’t believe her? What if he feels betrayed and ends it? What if he never wants to see her again?

She climbs out of bed and curls up on the sofa in the bay window, wrapping herself in the cashmere blanket draped over the back, as she looks out over the water and waits for the sun to come up.

On nights like this, she knows she won’t go back to sleep. On nights like this, the only thing to do is wait until morning and carry on as if everything is fine.

 

Robert is fast asleep, dreaming the dreams of the drugged, blissfully unaware that the woman he is becoming increasingly dependent on, the woman he is finding he adores, has secrets she is struggling with.

Robert is wary. He feels with Tracy, much as he did with Penelope, that there are secrets there, a hidden well that he is determined to tap into. As a writer, he creates stories around everyone he comes across, but with Tracy it has been almost impossible. She will tell him she is being open with him, but he cannot help feeling that there is far more there than meets the eye.

He wonders what it is that she is not telling him, and hopes she reveals whatever it is soon, for he didn’t expect to fall in love at this stage of the game, and wants to protect himself from any hurt.

He was not looking for anyone, but had he been, he might have looked for a companion perhaps, someone to keep him company as they grew old together, someone with whom to share these golden years, rather than a passionate, obsessive love that he really ought to have grown out of.

And yet there is something so invigorating about feeling these feelings again.

Tracy has become his muse, has inspired him to write as he has never written before. He has told his story, and it has been the easiest and most cathartic book he has ever written.

Of course he has to make changes, needs to make some serious edits before anyone ever sees it, but he has written this book with a passion and verve he hasn’t felt for years.

Tracy has turned writing back into a creative process. For so many years it has just been a business, a treadmill, turning out thriller after thriller, engaging research assistants, writing as painting-by-numbers, fitting the formula, keeping his readers happy.

He hasn’t written like this since he was a young man. Perhaps it was easier because he was writing something he had actually lived, didn’t need to weave in facts and figures supplied by his assistant, but he is certain he has been inspired by Tracy, and he wakes up every morning, glad to be alive, looking forward to writing, and looking forward to being with his muse.

 

Annabel may not have had anything to drink, but Adam has. Not so much that he is drunk, but certainly enough to have made him relaxed and open in his admiration for Annabel.

They started the evening in a stilted manner, focusing on the party, writing lists, using their shared goal to bandage any awkwardness there was, but by the time they sat down to eat, they had started talking properly, Adam asking Annabel about her father, about her childhood, fascinated by everything she said in her musical, clipped English accent. He could have listened to her all day.

Or all night, as the case may have been.

“So how long are you planning on staying? ” he asks, making her a camomile tea.

“My visa is six weeks, and I’ve been here three, so not much longer.” Her face falls. “I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone, and I can’t believe I have to leave.”

“You like it here? ”

“More than like. I love it. I wish I could stay. I was thinking that if I went back home, I could just shoot back for another three months.”

“You know, if Ginny is your mother, aren’t you eligible for dual citizenship? ”

“I am, but right now she refuses to recognize me as her daughter, and I need her to petition me. She won’t even take my calls. I don’t want anything from her, except the right to be recognized as half American.”

“I would have thought she’d do it. She’s a tough old broad, but I’ve always got on with her really well.”

“Maybe you can have a word with her? God knows she refuses to talk to me.”

“I will. If you want me to. Hopefully, she’ll make it for the party, and I can pick her up from the airport and talk to her then.”

“Really? That would be amazing! ”

“I don’t mind at all.”

Annabel beams with delight at Adam, and then, without planning it, without even truly thinking about it, she leans across the table, and kisses him.

Lightly at first, a thank-you peck on the lips, pulling away to see Adam, his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly, then going back in to kiss him again, this time longer, sweeter, and the next, sweeter still.

“Oh God,” Adam groans, as they finally disengage. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know,” Annabel says. “Should I go? ”

“God, no! ” he says, and pulls her over to sit on his lap.

She could stay. She shouldn’t stay, but she could. And she wants to. But Kit is expecting her home, and how could she explain it? And isn’t this bad enough?

They move from the kitchen table to the living-room sofa, grappling around like lust-filled teenagers, clothes being torn off and thrown across the room.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” Annabel says, as Adam licks his way down her body.

“I don’t think you should.” Adam stops to grin up at her. “Who said anything about sleeping? ”

 

“For an old man,” she says as she lies in his arms, still on the sofa, one leg draped over his, “you’ve got a pretty impressive amount of energy.”

“Old man? ” Adam laughs, exhausted, sated, happy. “Who are you calling an old man? ”

“You’re almost fifteen years older than me!” Annabel says, and Adam shivers with horror.

“That’s awful. Can you just stop already? ” he says, no longer smiling.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I think you’re gorgeous.”

“You do? ”

“I do.”

And Adam’s ego swells, for while he has made many conquests since splitting up with Kit, none has been quite so young, nor quite so beautiful, as Annabel.

Nor have any of them been quite so forbidden, but that is something he is trying hard not to think about. She’ll be gone soon, and this can never be anything more than a fling. They just have to keep it a secret for another three weeks.

And after the party no one will question the fact that they spent time together—people will assume they were spending hours planning the surprise.

It’s the perfect excuse.

Annabel leans over and fishes her BlackBerry out of her bag, quickly checking for messages.

“Am I boring you? ” Adam laughs, conscious of his own addiction, but his BlackBerry is safely upstairs, charging on his bedside table, and he cannot be bothered to go upstairs and check it.

“No.” Annabel kisses him gently. “Never. I was just seeing if Dad had called me back. I’ve left masses of messages and I’m starting to get worried. I really need to talk to him.”

“Is everything okay? ”

“Well, yes, everything’s fine, but I wanted him to send me some money. I didn’t expect everything to cost as much as it does, and I’m almost all out, so he’s going to have to wire me something pretty quickly or I’ll be completely stuck.”

“You mustn’t worry about that.” Adam smiles indulgently. “I can help you.”

“Really? ” She sits up. “Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, and that’s not why I said anything. I was going to ask Kit . . .” She stops, uneasy at bringing up Kit’s name so soon after she slept with her ex-husband.

“I can afford it, and I don’t want you to worry. How much do you need? ”

“I . . . look, I honestly don’t know when I can pay you back. I need to find some work and I feel awful about—”

“Don’t feel awful! ” Adam interrupts her. “I can afford it, and it would be my pleasure. Think of this as a gift. If you can pay me back at some point, that’s fine, and if not, that’s also fine. What do you need? ”

“I don’t know. A thousand, maybe? ”

“Why don’t I give you three? That should cover you for a while, and it enables you to feel safe. Think of the additional money as a safety net, and you can always give back what you don’t use.”

“Oh my God!” Annabel throws her arms around him. “I don’t know what to say! You’re amazing! How can I thank you? ”

He pushes her back gently, with a small smile. “I have a pretty good idea.”

And after that, they don’t say anything at all for a very long time.

Chapter Twenty-four

T
hese past few days, Annabel’s behavior has become increasingly mysterious. Kit suspects she has a boyfriend, but every time she asks Annabel clams up, which is so out of character, even from the little Kit knows of her, that she doesn’t quite know how to pursue the topic.

She is out more and more, although less so when the kids are with their dad. Kit imagines Annabel feels guilty about leaving Kit on her own to do whatever she has been doing, although Kit loves nothing more than having the house to herself and is slightly resentful of not getting that time alone.

She wishes she could be more forthright. Wishes she were the type of person who could draw Annabel aside and say, kindly, “I really need to be on my own tonight.” But she could never do that; she is too worried about offending, of being disliked, too caught up, even at this age, with being a “good girl,” too fearful of a confrontation of any kind.

The problem with Annabel being there, is that she’s so clearly
there
. There is no fading into the background with Annabel, and Kit is torn between loving the company, and resenting the intrusion.

And the kids adore her. Tory is all moon-faced and pie-eyed when Annabel is around. She’s the fairy godmother Tory has always wanted, dressing Tory up in her clothes, doing her hair and make-up, seducing her with her dulcet English tones.

Even Buckley is keen. He is more reticent than Tory, certainly, but Annabel’s willingness to go outside, whatever the weather, and play baseball—Buckley is attempting to teach her the game—has won him over, and while he would never admit to out-and-out adoration, when he is not on his computer or outside playing baseball (more challenging now that winter is truly setting in), he is usually getting Annabel to play Star Wars with him on the Wii in the family room.

But it is more than the disappearances that are making Kit uncomfortable. Annabel has started buying her gifts. Flowers for no reason, a scarf she saw and thought of Kit, a new lipstick she thinks Kit absolutely has to have.

Small things, but Kit cannot help the feeling that these gifts are loaded; that, as bizarre as it may sound, there is something about the gift-giving that feels like a guilty husband suddenly surprising his wife with flowers, or beautiful underwear, after he has left his mistress.