reason? And she didn’t know, now, whether she had closed herself off because he had, or because she just couldn’t cope with thinking about it. He was such a strong man, so determined, so—self-willed. She wished she could be like that. Wished she could be like she used to be.
He looked after her, carefully tried to anticipate her needs, was kind and thoughtful, but not loving. Not once since the accident had he kissed her on the mouth. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, even her hand, but not her mouth. He trod around her as though she were made of glass, but he didn’t talk to her; didn’t—communicate. Only on a superficial level. But then, she didn’t communicate with him, did she?
Staring down at the stew and vegetables he placed in front of her, she felt the familiar lump form in her throat that always preceded a meal. It made it difficult to swallow. ‘Jed…’ she began with some half-formed idea that maybe now they would talk, but he quickly interrupted her, as though afraid of what she might say.
‘We’ve been invited to a party,’ he said quietly.
She looked up in panic.
‘I had a letter this morning. It’s a week on Friday. I’ll say we can’t go.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘But I suspect they won’t give up. It’s Fiona and Duncan’s fifth wedding anniversary. Old friends of mine. Eat your meal.’
And she tried, she did try, but after two small mouthfuls she lay down her fork. Feeling miserable and desperate, she got quickly to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’ Without looking at him or waiting for any comment, she hurried out and up to her room. Closing her door, she leaned back against it, felt the hot flood of tears to her eyes. They couldn’t go on like this. Five o’clock was no time to go to bed, but it seemed easier to lie alone in her room than sit with him downstairs not talking.
Feeling weak and shaky, she moved across to the old-fashioned dressing table and sank down onto the stool. Propping her elbows on the surface, her chin in her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair, that had once been so pretty, hung limp and dull round her small face. Her eyes looked too big, too dark, with bruised shadows beneath them. She looked gaunt and ill. And it couldn’t go on. Other women had lost babies…but it wasn’t only the baby, was it? It was Jed.
CHAPTER TWO
MOVING her eyes, Sarah stared at the framed photograph of herself and Jed on their wedding day. The camera had caught them staring at each other as though both were surprised at where fate had brought them.
It had been such a magical summer, the summer of the balloon. Walking into the village with all the others from the trip, she had felt immediately at home. Flower-decked balconies, pretty buildings that had looked medieval, and kindness and warmth from the people. The small inn where they had gone for coffee to wait for the support vehicle had been warm and friendly, and she’d impulsively decided to stay. They’d had a small room in the eaves she’d been able to rent very cheaply, and she’d been able to tour Bavaria from a very nice base.
Jed had been staying there, too. At first, he’d been distant, contained, merely giving a small nod when he’d seen her, which, despite the tension he’d generated, had thoroughly irritated her. For days it had gone on like that, until she’d nearly killed him.
She’d been dashing down the stairs in her usual impulsive fashion, and because the stairs had dog-legged, meaning you hadn’t been able to see who’d been coming up if you’d been coming down, there’d been no intimation of danger, only a violent collision on the first landing. Such had been her speed that, even though she’d been lighter than him her momentum had taken them both to the waist-high railing and only his swift action had prevented them both going over into the foyer below. Holding her tight, he’d dropped to the landing and it had been their shoulders that had hit the railing instead of their hips.
Shaking with shock, she’d just stared at him. ‘Sorry,’ she finally apologised breathlessly. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Perfectly,’ he drawled. Getting to his feet, he walked away and she watched him run lightly up the stairs she’d just descended.
Sitting where he’d left her, she continued to stare after him long after he’d gone. ‘Perfectly,’ she echoed to herself. She didn’t think she was all right; she could have killed them both. She could still almost feel the imprint of his hands on her arms, the tension he generated in her, and despite his relaxed manner, his slow drawl, he’d been as tense as she was, hadn’t he?
Still shaking, searching round her for her sketch-pad and charcoal she’d been carrying, she got slowly to her feet and retrieved them. Rather shakily descending the stairs, she went out to her usual seat, and really just for something to do, to take her mind off what had happened, she began sketching a small boy who was playing with a toy car beneath one of the tables. Not that her mind was on what she was doing. It was still on Jed.
The child’s father saw what she was doing, and came over to look.
‘How much?’ he asked in English.
‘Sorry?’
‘How much do you want for it?’
‘As much as you think it worth,’ a deep voice said from behind them.
Swinging round, she stared up at the man she’d just almost injured. ‘No,’ she denied in horror. Shaking her head, smiling at the man, she handed the picture over. ‘Please, you’re very welcome to it.’
Looking absolutely delighted, he thanked her and went back to his own table.
‘Not very businesslike,’ Jed disparaged mockingly.
‘I don’t care. I can’t charge people!’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘If people want something, let them pay. You’re very good.’
‘Thank you, but I still can’t charge. Anyway, it’s probably illegal. Trading without a licence, or something.’
With a little shrug, he walked off.
Puzzled by his behaviour, wondering why he had spoken when he didn’t normally, and feeling even more shaken by an encounter with a man who was seriously beginning to disturb her, she stared rather blankly down at her pad.
‘You will do one of my wife?’ a soft voice asked.
Snapping her head up in surprise, she stared at the young man before her. ‘Sorry?’
‘Will you please sketch my wife? At that table over there.’ He pointed.
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ A bit bemused, she did as she was asked, and then another for someone else, and then another.
Frau Keller, who owned the inn, and nobody’s fool, took Sarah to one side when she’d finished sketching and offered a proposition.
‘You draw, for one hour or two, a day, and I will pay you. More people come, I make more money. It’s good for business.’
‘Oh,’ Sarah said inadequately.
Frau Keller grinned. ‘Yes?’
‘Am
