Read Online The Unfinished Garden by Barbara Claypole White - Free Book Online Page B

the right smile, the right inclination of his head. Only Tilly saw the
fragile ego that pecked away underneath.
    “And Grandpa invited Daddy in to look at maps. And he never
made it to the conference ’cos he stayed with you instead.” Isaac’s voice was
tinged with sleep. “And when Daddy left he asked you to marry him. And you said
yes.”
    “I never could say no to your father. Although at the time, I
thought he was joking. But when your father saw something he wanted, nothing
stood in his way.” Tilly shivered as her thoughts bounced back, briefly, to
James.
    Isaac was silent for a moment. “That’s not always good, Mom. Is
it?”
    “No.” She kissed the top of his head. “But it was that
day.”
    Isaac gave a shadow of a smile and, as if someone had switched
him off, conked out. He looked younger in sleep. She could trace the face of the
baby with the rosebud mouth suckling at her breast, the toddler with his
father’s luscious lips, the little boy who whistled through the gap before his
front teeth descended. David had never seen those front teeth, had never seen
Isaac read a chapter book, had never seen him whiz through math homework
declaring, “This is so easy!” If she had learned to say no to David, would
things have been different? Would he be here with them now?
    * * *
    The engines droned as the plane flew closer to England
and Tilly struggled to keep her mind from Sebastian. But Bramwell Chase was a
village. She could bump into him walking down the High Street or cutting through
Badger Way. Even an imaginary meeting left her giddy.
    Should she slug him and say, “Naff off, asshole?” No, that
smacked of amateur dramatics. She could give him a curt “Do I know you?” Nope,
that was petty. If only she could snap out a Rowena-comment, a one-liner that
shriveled up your desire to exist.
    What was his wife’s name? And the kids—a boy called Archie and
a girl? Archie and Isaac were the same age. They could even become friends.
Tilly clutched at her throat. What if Sebastian turned up on the doorstep all
smiles and “Remember me?” Her breathing eased. No, that was one scenario she
didn’t need to prepare for. Sebastian was a successful personal banker for a
reason. He never dabbled in spontaneity, never took risks, not even for her.
When Tilly told him she was engaged, Sebastian had said, “I’ll catch you the
second time around,” and walked away.
    Would she recognize him after ten years? Would he recognize
her? Since they last met she’d hacked off her hair and donated every piece of
clothing that didn’t fit the jeans and T-shirt category to the thrift store. And
now Sebastian was turning forty. He’d probably sprouted a beer gut and tufty,
falling-out hair. Yes, a balding banker grown slack on the high life. That was
the image to work with, especially the balding part. Sebastian had always
obsessed over his receding hairline, unlike David, who’d had enough hair for
two. But as her eyelids fluttered, and her head drooped against the plastic
wings of the headrest, it wasn’t David who visited her dreams. She was cornered
in sleep by the sixteen-year-old with the puckish grin, the boy she had once
craved as if he were a drug.

Chapter 8
    Tilly spotted him the moment the electronic doors
jolted open. At least she thought she did. It could also be a mirage, brought on
by lack of sleep and cheap gin—the airline had cut the Bombay Sapphire. It
couldn’t be Sebastian—one foot resting on the pillar behind him, head rolled
back, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his white jeans, suede jacket slung
through one arm. Not at 8:00 a.m. in the arrivals area of Heathrow. Except that
the redhead jumping up and down next to him screeching, “Haddy! Over here, you
twit!” was Rowena.
    With a dang and a thud, Tilly’s
luggage cart rear-ended a chrome bollard. How did that
happen? One moment she was gripping the metal bar so tightly she
thought she might cut off circulation to her fingers,