She picked up the phone and pressed his number.
“Hello,” he said and she decided she hated him. He was too clever for his own good. Now he had her calling him.
“What do you want, Jack?”
“I just phoned or well, theoretically, you just phoned me.”
“Stop bluffing me with the Irish bit and spit it out.”
“I just called to say...” Brigitte bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. “Merry Christmas.” The way he whispered it down the line she'd probably have forgiven him anything, though she wasn't letting on.
“Merry Christmas, Jack.” For some silly reason saying it made her feel sad. She hung up and went through to the alcove to put the kettle on. The silly tear, which escaped and coursed down her cheek, she put down to the stress of closing the shop. The kettle boiled and she poured the hot water into a mug. She watched the brown eddying out of the bag as it brewed, then mashed it with the spoon. Being sad was no good. There would be something to look forward to in the new year, though she didn't have a clue what. She picked her tea up and went back into the shop
“Aarrghh!! Where did you come from?” Jack was standing there. She knew for certain the bell above the door hadn't tinkled, she'd have heard it. He just winked at her. She wanted to throw her tea at him, but instead flounced past him and went and sat behind the counter where he couldn't get near here.“I'm still not speaking to you.”
“If you can't forgive Patrick...”She hated it when he smiled at her. It made her knees go all weak. “...then at least forgive me.” He was playing with something green, twisting it between his fingers. He saw her glimpse at it and cupped it in the palm of his hand before she could make out what it was. “All ready for the off,” he nodded at he boxes. She nodded back. She didn't want to talk about it.
“What brings you out into the sticks.” It was much easier to change the subject.
“Oh, I've been up in Cambridge with Al. He sends his best wishes and asks if you're coming up for a visit.” Jack was looking a little uncomfortable and was running the fingers of his free hand through his hair. It stuck up in curly spikes and she wondered if he'd just had it cut. “He said he's got a shipping load of Swiss roll that's going to go mouldy before he can eat it.” Brigitte didn't say anything, but her lips mouthed no. Jack wasn't giving in that easy. “I've bought you a little something, “ He bent down and picked up a carrier bag from the floor. “Any chance of a cup of tea” He fished in the bag and pulled out a box of mince pies. She just looked at him. He bent over and whispered “Hurry up or they'll be past the sell by date.” What else could she do, but go and switch the kettle back on.
She knew he was standing behind her, but there was no way she was turning round. She could feel his presence leant against the arch of the alcove watching her every move as she brewed him his tea. He didn't say a word and neither did she. The soft fragrance of his aftershave wafted over her. He was just too close for comfort. “Does the saintly Mr Jamieson want sugar?”
“Brigitte,” It was a moment before she realised he'd said her name out loud. She turned to him, the teaspoon in her hand. He was standing there, holding a sprig of mistletoe aloft, with a seriously daft expression on his face. She couldn't help it, but she burst out laughing.
“You've got no chance”
“A little one … for Christmas.” His eyebrow went up and she weakened.
“And only a little one.” She offered him her cheek.
“Oh no, that won't do.” He caught her chin between thumb and forefinger and turned her face to his before stooping to kiss her on the lips. It was a gentle kiss. A brief touching of skin that lasted less than a few seconds, but for Brigitte it lasted an eternity. Amen she hadn't just had a cigarette. She'd lost the plot.
“Tea and mince pies,” he said. That brought her down to earth. Trust a man to be thinking of his stomach at a time like this. The smell of his cologne was on her face. She gave herself a mental slap. She really should know better than to be going gaga over Mr Jamieson.
“That's the first scrap of festive spirit I've had this year. Not counting the bottle of brandy I'm planning on investing in.” She took the mince pie he offered her. “It might help stop the nightmares about being shut in.” Brigitte blessed him with her most sarcastic smile.
“Still not forgiven me then?”
“No, I haven't.”
She munched on a pie for a moment and then decided. She'd show him. She took a sip of her tea and then let it slip.
“I've.... ummm, seen Patrick.” she said while admiring the shade of her pink nail polish.
Jack's eyebrow shot up. “You've what?” He didn't look impressed.
“Seen Patrick.”
“Explain and fast.” He put his tea down on the counter and stared at her. The tone in his voice had stopped her knees from being weak, now they were knocking. She started to twiddle with the ends of her hair, inspecting it for split ends.
“I think I could do with a trim..”
“Stop digressing woman and talk.” It crossed her mind to ask him if he'd ever worked for the Gestapo, but decided it probably wasn't quite the right moment.
“Well... I was bored.” Brigitte chanced a quick glance at his face, then wished she hadn't. She fixed her eyes on the window instead. “So I went for a drive and ended up on the riverbank, by accident. And I thought it would be nice to go for a walk. You know, get a bit of fresh air.”
“No, I don't know.”
“The horses were well. I took them some carrots.” Jack didn't miss a trick
“Just accidentally slipped some into your pocket on the way out of the house, of course.”
Brigitte nodded. “Always have carrots in my bag. You just never know when you're going to need them.” He didn't look convinced.
“And?”
Her stomach fluttered when he elongated the word. “Well... whoosh, basically.” Brigitte waved her hand about.
“And just what's that supposed to mean?” Jack did a fair imitation of Brigitte's fluttery hand action. “Whoosh?”
“There I was.”
“Where, to be precise?”
“In front of some type of villa. And he was there, shirt off, chopping wood with an axe.”
“And just how do you know it was Patrick?” Brigitte was starting to get the impression he didn't believe her.
“Some one shouted him from inside.” It seemed like a good moment to have a bite of mince pie.
She couldn't talk with her mouthful.
“And just what did they shout?”
“Patricius. It means Patrick, I looked it up on the internet.” Jack reached over and brushed a pastry crumb from her top lip. Brigitte blushed and watched him stuff his hands in his trouser pockets and start pacing the shop. He didn't say a word for ages. The silence was making her nervous. “Say something, Jack... anything.”
“How many times have you been back?”
God, sometimes she hated his psychic powers. Sheepish and with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, she answered him with a very non-committal- “Twice... ish.”
“How many times.”
“Oh all right three.” She batted her eyelids. It had no effect on Jack whatsoever. “I just wanted to see if I could find out where it all started and what it was all about.” Jack stared at her long and hard before planting himself in front of her.
“If I thought you were ready to know about all that, then I'd have told you before. But no, typical woman...” She wasn't having any off that and sat up straighter. “Off you go jumping into situations you know nothing about. Putting yourself in danger. Taking unnecessary risks.” He looked at her hard again. “Shall I go on.”
“You seemed to be doing pretty well without my encouragement, so … please, carry on.” She smiled as innocently as she could.
“It's just... incredible.” She didn't think Jack had even been listening to her. “Absolutely incredible.”
“Shall we have another cup of
tea?”It was the only thing she could think of to say.
He turned and looked back into the shop, “All finished up here?” He changed the subject.
“Yep,” For some reason Brigitte had a lump in her throat. “ The contract's up on the thirty first, but I'm not opening after today. There's nothing much left to sell and to be honest, I can't be bothered. It's all too depressing.”
“Come up to Cambridge then. Al's always in the lab, festivities or not and there's plenty more work we can do with the ESP tests...now you're so advanced.” She should have known better than to expect he'd let the subject drop.
“No Jack, I'm going away.” She didn't know why she'd said it. It was a lie. She had no plans at all. It sounded like a good idea.
“Where to?”
“As far away as possible and somewhere there's no locks on the doors.”
Jack stood there munching his mince pie. He didn't even look guilty. Brigitte could quite happily have kicked him. “Well if you change your mind, you can always come up. Unless anything crops up, I'll be staying until after the New Year.”
“No, Jack and I mean it.”
“Okay,” He looked at his watch. “Time I was away.” He'd leant over and kissed her on the cheek again before she could react. “I'll see you when you get back.” It sounded more like an order than a question. Brigitte let it pass. Jack was half way out the door before he turned and popped his head back through the door. “Brigitte,”
“What?”
“Don't do it again, there's a good girl.” The fruity sweet remains of her second mince pie stuck to the glass pane before sliding down and landing in a pile of crumbs on the floor.
Missed.
Won't do next time.
We'll see.
It was a few days later when she realised it was true, she needed a holiday. Closing the business down was turning out more stressful she'd expected. Draining, physically and mentally. Christmas was going to be a wash out. Her ex had made sure of that. The girls were spending it with him. The house was empty. She wasn't up to the jovial spirits in the Roses either. She sighed and promised herself not to let the forthcoming festivities get her down.
Alone in the house, she hadn't bothered switching the heating on and it was cold in her study. She wrapped the thick sweater she'd left slung on the back of the chair around her shoulders. It was windy out and the patio doors rattled loud enough to make here wonder if they were going to jump out of the frames. She shivered as she sat in front of the computer waiting for the pages to load.
It was fun surfing the holiday companies web pages. Looking at the photos of the sun-kissed beaches made her long for somewhere warm. Then she found it. A last minute offer, flying out the next morning. Christmas in the Canaries. No time like the present.
She was just about to press send and make the reservation when her phone buzzed with an incoming message. Leaving the computer for a moment she picked her mobile up. Now what did Jack want? She thought she'd made herself quite clear before. She read the text, then blinked and read it again.
Come to Dublin, now. Need you here urgently. Matter of life and death. Phone me from the airport when you land and I'll pick up up. Will explain all when you arrive.
He really did have a nerve. Biting her lip, she pulled her knees up and tucked them inside the baggy sweater while she thought.
After she'd printed the tickets, she sat holding them in her hand, wondering if she hadn't gone slightly mad. Still, whatever Jack had it mind, it couldn't be worse than last time She went to the bedroom, pulled her suitcase down from on top of the wardrobe. When she'd finished packing, she went through to the kitchen, took a bottle of wine from the fridge and opened it. We've got a score to settle Jack Jamieson. She raised her glass, toasted him in silence, then settled down to plan her revenge.
Note from the author.
Thank you for reading The Dove, The Dragon and The Flame. - LizX
Join me in LizX's library on Facebook - See you there.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends