Jenna smiled. ‘What if I snatched the gun out of your hands and coshed you over the head with it instead? Which is quite tempting right now.’
‘Then I’d never speak to you ever, ever again! Honestly, why can’t you play fairly?’
‘It’s my speciality. As a lawyer I’m trained never to answer a question with a simple yes or no.’
Rachel puffed out her cheeks. ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I know for a fact that Callum is very much interested in you. He told me so himself.’
Jenna was shocked. ‘When?’
‘Earlier.’
Which meant, surmised Jenna, that when he came out to the garden and chatted to her, he’d already had this conversation with Rachel. Yet he’d given no hint of how he felt.
In contrast Blake had made his feelings all too clear. She still couldn’t believe what he was prepared to do, that he would leave Heart-to-Heart so they could be more than friends. Was it just a wild and hollow gesture on his part, or was he serious? A few days ago, she might have said he wasn’t capable of being serious. But she had changed her view dramatically in the last twenty-four hours, having seen a more sensitive and mature side to him.
Never would she have guessed that Blake could make her feel the way he had while playing that exquisite piece of music for her. She thought now of his hands holding the bow of his violin, and the extraordinary intensity of his concentration. She had wanted to believe it was the poignancy of the music she had responded to, and not him, but she knew that was a lie. She had found the experience of watching and listening to him play powerfully erotic. And yes, she had been more than tempted to kiss him, but she hadn’t.
None of this was she prepared to share with Rachel. Not yet. Not until she had fully processed what she felt for Blake, and whether or not she could trust these fledgling feelings for him. From the far reaches of her memory came the words of so many of her old school reports – ‘Jenna is highly methodical … Jenna’s reasoning is consistently sound … Jenna needs to learn to trust her own judgement more when confronted with a complex challenge.’
‘Hello? I’m still here you know.’ said Rachel, nudging Jenna with her elbow.
‘As if I could forget that when you’re determined to interrogate me.’
‘I’ve told you before; it’s what good friends do. So back to what I was saying a few minutes ago—’
Jenna groaned.
‘Calm down, I’m putting you and Blake, and Callum, to one side for now. I want to know your thoughts on Alastair. Do you think he would prefer us to leave?’
Grateful that Rachel had changed tack, Jenna said, ‘I’d like to believe he doesn’t, but what with all the tension and negative vibes everybody’s giving off, I can’t imagine he’s enjoying us being here. Perhaps that’s why he’s disappeared.’
‘Tell me again what was said while you were having lunch, and this time don’t edit like you did before.’
‘I wasn’t editing,’ Jenna lied.
‘Yes you were. I know you, Jenna, I know when you’re holding back.’
Jenna tutted. ‘I’m beginning to regret helping to save you last night. Any chance I can throw you back into the broad?’
‘That’s harsh.’
And so was the conclusion Jenna had reached based on what she had witnessed in the kitchen. It was the last thing on earth to share with Rachel, but in a way she wanted to repeat every single word that had been said, so that her friend could judge for herself, and hopefully say it was all nonsense, that of course her mother couldn’t have had an affair with Alastair!
As much as she didn’t want to believe it was true, it was hard to read any other meaning into what Jenna had witnessed, especially Alastair’s reaction and his attempt to shut Sorrel up. If they had had an affair, did Jenna’s parents know about it? Or was this one of those secrets that friends, even the best of friends, kept from each other?
‘Jenna?’ prompted Rachel, ‘I can practically hear the cogs working inside your head. What is it you’re not telling me?’
‘I’m not sure I should tell you,’ she said, at length. ‘I might have got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘That’s about as likely as me becoming prime minister. Now spit it out, and let me decide which end of the stick you’ve got hold of.’
And so Jenna did, but reluctantly. When she’d finished, adding that really people were saying extraordinary things at the time, Rachel pursed her lips. ‘Mum and Alastair. Bloody hell! When?’
‘I don’t know, and please, Rachel, I could be wrong.’
Rachel frowned, as if still taking it in. ‘Poor Dad,’ she said finally, ‘how the hell could Mum do that to him? And poor Orla. Hey, what if that was why Orla topped herself?’
‘There’s no evidence to suggest that she did. None at all.’
