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‘Of course not,’ he said again, getting angry. ‘You know me better than that, Janet.’
‘Then why are you sitting here moping?’ Janet said, giving him one of her straight looks.
The penny dropped and Forde smiled sheepishly. ‘Right.’
‘I told you when she left like that it was going to be a long job and you needed to be patient as well as persistent, now didn’t I?’ Janet poured them both more coffee. ‘The way she was that day before the ambulance came, it was more than the normal shock and despair someone would feel in the same circumstances. Mrs Masterson really believes there’s some sort of jinx on her that touches those close to her.’
Forde stared at her. Janet had mentioned this before but he hadn’t given it much credence, thinking that Melanie was too sensible to really believe such nonsense. ‘But that’s rubbish.’
‘You know that and I know it,’ Janet said stoutly, ‘but as for Mrs Masterson …’
Forde leant back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. ‘She’s an intelligent, enlightened, astute young woman, for goodness’ sake. I don’t think—’
‘She’s a young wife who lost her first baby in a terrible accident and she blames herself totally. Add that to what I’ve just said, bearing in mind the facts about her parents, grandmother and even a friend at school she mentioned to me, all of whom were taken away from her, and reconsider, Mr Masterson. Melanie had a miserable childhood and became accustomed to keeping everything deep inside her and presenting a façade to the rest of the world. It doesn’t come natural for her to speak about her feelings, not even to you. And, begging your pardon, don’t forget you’re a man. Your sex work on logic and common sense.’
Forde looked down at the gold band on the third finger of his left hand. ‘Let me get this right. You’re saying she thinks if she’d stayed with me something would happen to me?’
‘Mrs Masterson probably wouldn’t be able to put it into words but, yes, that is what I think. And there’s an element of punishing herself too, the why-should-I-be-happy-after-what-I’ve-done syndrome.’ Janet shrugged. ‘In its own way, it’s perfectly understandable.’
Forde stared at her. ‘Hell,’ he said.
‘Quite.’ Janet nodded briskly. ‘So you save her from herself.’
‘How?’ he said a trifle desperately. ‘Exactly how, Janet?’
Janet stood up and began to clear the table. ‘Now that I don’t know, but you’ll find a way, loving her like you do.’
Forde smiled wryly. ‘And here was I thinking you had all the answers.’
‘She loves you very much, Mr Masterson, that’s what you have to remember. It’s her Achilles’ heel.’
‘You really think that? That she still loves me?’
Janet smiled at the man she had come to think of as one of her own brood. As big and as tough as he was, Mr Masterson had a real soft centre and that was what she liked best about him. Some men with his wealth and looks would think they were God’s gift to womankind, but not Mr Masterson. She didn’t think he wasn’t ruthless when it was necessary, mind, but then he wouldn’t have got to where he was now without a bit of steel in his make-up. ‘Sure she loves you,’ she said softly. ‘Like you love her. And love always finds a way. You remember that when you’re feeling like you did this morning.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘All right?’
Forde got up, his silver-blue eyes holding a warmth that would have amazed his business rivals. ‘You’re a treasure, Janet. What would I do without you?’
‘That’s what my hubby always says when he rolls back from the pub after one too many,’ Janet said drily, ‘usually after helping himself to what’s in my purse.’
‘You’re too good for him. You know that, don’t you?’
Janet smiled at him as Forde left the kitchen. Be that as it may, and she certainly didn’t disagree with Forde’s summing up of her Geoff, Mr and Mrs Masterson were a perfect match. She had always thought so.
Her smile faded. She just hoped they could work their problems out, that was all. In spite of her encouraging words to Mr Masterson, she was worried Mrs Masterson would never come home, short of a miracle.
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS the middle of November. A mild November, thus far, with none of the heavy frosts and icy temperatures that could make working outside difficult. But Melanie wasn’t thinking of the weather as she left the doctor’s surgery. She walked over to her pickup truck in the car park, but once she was sitting inside she didn’t start the engine, staring blindly out of the windscreen.
She hadn’t seen Forde since the day she had begun working for Isabelle, although he had phoned her several times, ostensibly with questions about his mother’s garden. On learning from her solicitor that they’d been waiting for some time for Forde to sign and return certain documents appertaining to the divorce, she’d called him at home two nights ago.
She leant back in the truck’s old, tattered seat and shut her eyes. Forde had been cheerfully apologetic about the delay, making some excuse about pressure of work, but what had really got under her skin was the woman’s voice she’d heard in the background when she’d been talking to him. She hadn’t asked him who he was with, she had no right whatsoever to question him after the way she’d walked out of their home and the marriage, but it had hurt her more than she would have thought possible to think of another woman in their home.
Stupid. Opening her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Forde was at liberty to see whomever he wished. Nevertheless, she hadn’t been able to sleep that night. She had arrived at work the next morning feeling ill, and when she’d fainted clean away as she and James had been preparing a gravelled area for a number of architectural and structural plants her assistant had been scared to death.
Poor James. If she weren’t so shocked and dazed at what the doctor had found she could have smiled. He’d been beside himself, saying she hadn’t been well for weeks and what if she fainted again when she was driving or using some of the equipment they’d hired for the job? She could badly injure herself or worse. In the end, just to appease him, she had promised to call her doctor’s surgery and as it happened they’d had a cancellation this morning. She had walked into Dr Chisholm’s room explaining she knew
she was suffering from stress and all her symptoms could be put down to that, and if she could just have some pills to take the edge off she would be fine. He’d gently reminded her that he was the doctor and he’d prefer to give her a thorough examination after asking her a few questions.
