Sweet Peas in April (8 page)

“Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting? Only it's gone half five and there's no one at the desk out here.”

“It's fine. We're about done.” He looked at Freddie. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bryant.”

Freddie, to give her due, didn't skip a beat. She gathered her files. “Not a problem, Mr. West.”

Adam shook her hand. “I'll give you a call over the next day or two and let you know what's happening.” He showed her to the door, praying desperately Sam would assume Freddie was a client or a fellow lawyer.

Sam pushed away from the wall where she stood. “She's pretty.”

“I hadn't noticed. How's Peter?”

“He's fine.”

“Is he back at work?” Adam asked, shoving the last remaining files into the safe and locking it.

Sam folded her arms across her middle. He knew she'd gone on the defensive. “He never left.”

“Have you seen anything of him outside of work?”

“What is this, Adam? Twenty questions?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Well don't,” she snapped. “There is nothing going on, and even if there was, it is none of your business.”

Adam wasn't convinced. The more she denied it, the surer he was something was going on.

She sighed. “So are we having dinner or what? Or are we skipping the meal and going straight to the fight and you walking out this time?”

He caught his breath. She was right. “I'm sorry. It's been a really long day. Yes, we're still having dinner. No, I don't intend to fight or walk out. I just need to make one phone call, then I'm done for the night and all yours.”

“OK. I'll wait out in the hall for you.”

“Thank you.” Adam waited until the door had shut before pulling a card from the index on his desk. He dialed the number and waited for the connection.

“Hello?” A woman's voice answered. He hadn't expected that.

“Could I speak to Vincent Reece, please? It's Adam West.”

There was a slight pause. “Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Reece. This is Adam West, Sam's—”

“I know who you are, Adam. I wasn't expecting to hear from you. And I thought I said you could call me Vincent.”

Adam took a deep breath. “It's been a long time, and I wasn't sure I should presume I still had that right. I was wondering if you were busy tonight. Sam tells me you're getting married and…”

“Did she also tell you she doesn't approve?”

“She did. Look, sir, I know things aren't great between us, but she's your daughter, and well, I was wondering if you and your fiancée could meet us for dinner tonight. Perhaps being on neutral ground, you and she could talk. Sort things out.”

“That's ironic coming from you, Son.”

“I know. And perhaps you and I could straighten things out as well. Just like I want to do with Sam.”

There was a pause, a low conversation in the background. “LaVera agrees with you. This has been going on for far too long now. Where and when?”

“How about the Bell and Bottle in Winchester for 7:00. It's the first place I took her for dinner, and it won't be hard to persuade her to go back there.”

“See you then.”

Adam hung up, and grabbing his jacket, headed into the hall. Sam sat against the wall, not looking happy at all. He just prayed he was doing the right thing. “Let's go.”

****

Sam sat in the car, saying nothing as Adam drove. He had the audacity to question her over her relationship, or lack thereof, with Peter, and all the time he'd been up close and personal with some redhead who was all but sprawled over him and his desk. Never mind the fact he wouldn't tell her where they were going. But he'd said he didn't want to argue, so she wasn't going to ask. She was tired of the bickering and backbiting. She wanted to put work, and the stresses they were both under, behind them.

She recognized the roads, and when he pulled off the M3 at the Winchester exit, she was pretty certain she knew. “Winchester?”

“I fancied reliving our past. We're going to the Bell and Bottle.”

She smiled slightly. “Wow…that is a blast from the past. That's where we had our first date.”

“You remembered.” Adam smiled as he negotiated his way past the statue of King Alfred, who, according to legend, burned the cakes. He drove past the huge blue, studded doors of the town hall. “That building always reminds me of
Trumpton
.”

Sam laughed. “Yes, with the soldiers and band that plays at six every evening when the whistle blows.”

“Misspent youth watching kids' TV.” He parked in front of the thatched cottage public house. “This place hasn't changed.”

“No, it hasn't.” She walked with him into the pub. “Nor has the interior. It even smells the same.”

Adam grinned and went over to the food section. “Hi, could I have a table for four please?”

The girl looked at the book then back up. “About five minutes?”

“Sure.”

Sam looked at him. “Four? Who's joining us?”

“We are.” The familiar voice jolted through her.
Dad's here?

Adam had set her up. Irritation flooded her. How dare he interfere in her private life and pull a stunt like this?

Sam rolled her eyes at Adam in the most derisive way she could manage. “You are kidding me.”

“Don't be rude,” he said, through the smile. He held out a hand. “Hello, Vincent.”

“Adam,” her father replied. “Hello, Sam.”

“Dad,” she said.

“Sam, this is LaVera, my fiancée. Love, this is my daughter, Sam.”

Sam nodded, her hands staying firmly in her pockets. “Hello.” She took in the older woman, nothing like she'd imagined her to be.

“And this is Adam, Sam's…” he faltered.

“Husband,” Adam said. “Albeit separated. It's nice to meet you.”

Sam shook her head and headed to the door. She didn't want to be here, forced to be nice to someone she saw as replacing her mother.

“Sam, please.” Her father caught her arm, holding her fast. “You're here, we're here. And you'll have to wait for Adam anyway.” He'd lowered his voice to a whisper.

“I'll get a cab to the station and a train home from there, or something.”

“Don't be stupid, Samantha. Adam went to a lot of effort to organize this so we could all talk on neutral ground.” Her father's tone of voice immediately made her feel like the small child who'd been told,
wait until your father gets home
. “It's dinner, nothing more. I thought I raised you to have better manners than this.” He paused. “I am not replacing your mother with LaVera. No one could replace your mother. LaVera wants to meet you, she insisted on coming tonight. Just try to be nice to her for an hour. You can do that, can't you?”

She glanced over at Adam, and the woman with him who looked devastated. Her beleaguered conscience thwapped her hard and her stomach twisted making her feel horrid. Her cheeks burned. She'd accused Adam of jealousy and was letting the same horrid emotion get the better of her. As a Christian she should know better. She sucked in a deep breath, prayed for forgiveness then nodded. “I'm sorry, Dad. OK, we'll give this neutral ground thing a go.”

“Thank you.” Dad led her back across. “We're going to try this one again. LaVera, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Sam.”

Sam looked properly at the old lady in front of her. Her once dark hair was greying and she wore glasses. LaVera wasn't slim built, or fat, but she was what Sam's mother would have described as cuddly. She looked like someone's grandmother, which she was. And her father wouldn't even contemplate marriage if she wasn't likeable.

Taking a deep breath, Sam held out a hand. “Hello.”

LaVera smiled, her eyes glistening. Was she crying? Had she upset her that much? “Hello.” She shook Sam's hand then slid her hand into Dad's.

Adam looked at her. “The table's ready. Shall we?”

Sam took his arm and leaned into him as they walked. “Thanks for this,” she whispered. “It's the
last
thing I needed tonight. You could have warned me.”

“Would you have come?”

“No,” she said, a forced smile on her face.

“Then that's why I didn't tell you. Besides it was a last minute thing. I rang your dad just before I left the office tonight, while you sat in the hallway and waited for me. And if you must know, he wasn't too keen on the idea either. From what I overheard, it sounds as if LaVera persuaded him to come. You and he are too much alike at times. Both as stubborn as mules.”

Sam walked with him to the table. She sat with Adam on one side and her father on the other. She buried her gaze in the menu. Glancing over the top of it, she saw LaVera rub a hand over her eyes. She
had
upset her. Her stomach pitted and she lost what little appetite she had left.

Adam looked up. “Going to go for the steak, I think.”

“Not breakfast?” Sam asked quietly.

“I fancied a change.” He winked. “Plus which, breakfast isn't on the menu. What are you having?”

“I don't know.” She looked down at the menu, trying to decide what she wanted. Other than nothing, which wasn't going to be an option, but she wasn't hungry. She just wanted to leave before she upset anyone else.

The waiter came over. “Are you ready to order?”

“I think so,” Adam said. “I'll have the steak, medium rare, with chips, please.”

Her dad and LaVera ordered steak as well, and Sam realized they were waiting for her. “Umm, salad, please.”

Adam looked at her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded slightly. “Yeah.”

“You can't just have salad.” Her father looked at the waiter. “She'll have the chicken breast and jacket potato with that, and four orange and lemonades, please. Thank you.”

Sam folded her hands on her lap under the table, picking at her fingernail.

“What do you do, Adam?” LaVera asked.

“I'm a lawyer.”

“A good job to have.”

“Sometimes. Not always. What about you?”

“I'm a retired nurse. Right now I'm mum to four, grandma to seven, and great-grandma to five.”

“What happened to your husband?” Sam asked.

“Sam!” Her father tapped her arm.

“No, it's OK, Vinnie.” LaVera looked at Sam. “Stan died a long time ago. Eleven years next week. He was a good man, and not a day goes by that I don't miss him.”

Dad took LaVera's hand and squeezed it.

“He fell asleep one Sunday afternoon, same as always, only he never woke up. Sudden adult death syndrome the doctors called it.”

“Oh…” Sam's heart stopped and tears filled her eyes. She swallowed hard, wishing fervently she hadn't asked. She remembered standing over Imogen's cot, staring down at the dead body of her daughter.

Adam took her hand under the table. “It's OK.”

“Did I say something?” LaVera asked.

“We lost our daughter to cot death just over ten years ago,” Adam said as the drinks arrived.

“It's hard,” LaVera said. “We want answers that never come because the doctors don't have any.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” She rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. She wanted to be here even less. She wanted to run and hide and give into the grief and pain that had never left her. “Whoever said time heals all wounds lied. Some wounds are too deep to ever go away.”

LaVera nodded. “He slept, I went out, came back, and he was gone. I blamed myself for a long time. If I'd woken him earlier, insisted he went for a walk with me or not let him have seconds of pudding, then maybe... But nothing would have changed it. I know that now.”

Tears rolled down Sam's face.

“Losing a child to this must be harder. How old was she?”

“Imogen was six months old.” Adam said.

“She was a beautiful baby,” Dad said. “Just like her mum.”

“I have a photo.” Adam pulled out his wallet and held out the photo. The corners were battered and it was obviously well-fingered and loved.

Sam caught a glimpse as he handed it across. She sat cross legged on the sofa, a beaming Immy in her arms. “I didn't know you kept that.”

He nodded. “Always.”

“She's lovely,” LaVera said, handing back the photo.

Sam took it and gazed downwards. She looked so happy. Her arms ached to hold the baby she'd lost. She could almost smell the baby powder and the uniquely Immy smell that clung to the bedding and clothes and toys.

Grief overwhelmed her and she pushed back from the table. “Excuse me.” She ran towards the exit, sobs choking her, tears blinding her vision. She leaned against the front wall of the building, sobbing, the chill night air surrounding her.

“Sam?”

She looked up. Then Adam's arms were around her and she clung to him, wishing he'd been there all those years ago, so she wouldn't have had to face this on her own. After a few minutes, when the storm of tears passed, she pulled back.

Adam pressed a clean hanky into her hand. “Are you OK?”

Sam nodded. “I'm sorry…”

“Don't be. They understand. So do I.” He paused. “We should go back in.”

She nodded and took the offered hand, walking back inside the restaurant with him. They sat just as the food arrived, and she looked at her father. He smiled slightly at her but said nothing.

Once the waitress had gone, Dad said grace.

Sam looked at her plate, wanting it even less than she had in the first instance. She picked up the salad crème. “How did you and Dad meet, LaVera?”

“In church, at the seniors' lunch. I'd gone with a friend, and we sat at a different table to our usual one. This gentleman sat opposite me. I looked at him and these dark eyes sparkled across the table. Beaming smile, perfect teeth—you know, the kind you hate because yours are horrible and breaking.”