Page 52 of The Princess Sister Swap

With the children in bed and the fire starting to die down, Jack opened a bottle of wine. After they’d dissected the day, the conversation naturally turned to the theatre and Jack tried to make his pitch as neutrally as he could, not wanting Sally to feel that she was being set up. But to his relief once he—with Rosy chiming in every now and then—explained what he wanted to achieve, understanding dawned in her intelligent green eyes.

‘I think,’ she said as she refilled their glasses and handed around some chocolates she’d brought with her, ‘that there’s been a lot of miscommunication and misunderstanding here, Jack. On both sides.’

Jack couldn’t help but agree. ‘I dashed in all guns blazing,’ he said. ‘I saw an opportunity and just wanted to get started. I didn’t take account of the recent history, the sense of ownership you all feel—and rightly so. No wonder people think I’m working against you, not with you. But believe me, Sally, I am tired of being seen as a lone wolf. I want the theatre to be a partnership between me and the community. I’m doing it for Polhallow, not despite of it.’

She nodded. ‘What you’ve told me sounds really exciting, and I really think the committee will think so too when they hear it properly. Look, why don’t you set up a tour? A chance for you to show us around, just as you showed Rosy around, and then we can sit down and look at the details: what a busier, professional theatre means for the local groups who rely on it, the finances, the legalities. Be honest with us and then let’s see where we are.’

It was a fair offer, maybe fairer than he had expected, and Jack gratefully accepted.

‘It’s exciting to hear it all coming together,’ Rosy said, smothering a yawn. ‘But even so I can feel myself falling asleep. I think I’ll turn in, that delicious-looking bed is calling to me.’

Jack tried to push away the vision of Rosy tumbling into bed, dark curls falling around her bare shoulders. So much for respecting her boundaries, he scolded himself. It was one thing to find her attractive, quite another to allow himself to indulge in fantasies. Besides, although she’d been her usual friendly self all day, there had been a touch of reserve in her manner when she was talking to him, a clear hint that she wasn’t interested. A hint he needed to heed.

Rosy’s decision was echoed by Sally and Jack decided to head in also and after a quick shower in the luxurious shower block with its underfloor heating and spacious tiled cubicles he pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt and returned to his tent. He could see the glow of Tansy’s torch signifying she was still reading and, looking at his watch, realised it was far too early for him to sleep. Instead, he took his laptop to the sofa and set about trying to capture all the questions Sally had asked him around the campfire, making sure he was as prepared for the pitch to the community group as possible, but as he tried to work his mind kept drifting. All he could see was Rosy’s face lit by the glow of the fire, hear the echo of her infectious laugh as she told stories, her excitement as they toasted marshmallows, the interest she seemed to take in every small detail of the girls’ day.

It was a shame he hadn’t met her at a different time and a different place. Rosy was the kind of woman any man would want—beautiful, intelligent, warm, interesting. And what did Jack have to offer? Money? She didn’t seem short of that. The truth was he had two goals: to raise his daughters and to redeem his family name. Anything and anyone else would have to be prepared to come in third. It was a lot to ask of anyone, especially a woman like Rosy. No, better he put all thoughts of dating aside until the girls settled and he was established, and he had the time and energy any relationship needed.

Besides, he knew very little about Rosy. In fact, he could count what he did know on one hand and have fingers to spare. She came from a small country he’d barely heard of; she was obviously well-connected, the kind of woman whose family had expectations for her, expectations she accepted, although he sensed she wasn’t entirely happy; she was beautiful. But there was so much more to her, kindness and integrity were evident in every gesture. She was the kind of woman who saw a problem and stepped in to help, even helping a virtual stranger struggling with fractious children. But that was it. He didn’t know her childhood dreams, her favourite colour. He didn’t even know if she was in some kind of relationship right now.

He knew he wanted her.

The words blurred in front of his eyes and so he closed his laptop, and picked up his book, only to find he couldn’t concentrate on that either. What he needed was some air. The fire was still glowing and so he grabbed his book and headed back out, picking up his wine glass as he went. But as he approached the fire a figure moved. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. There, wrapped in a blanket, staring into the flames was Rosy. He paused, unsure whether to join her or not, when she turned and smiled, and he knew he was lost.

It was inevitable maybe that Jack would appear as if Arrosa’s thoughts had conjured him. It had been far harder than she’d anticipated keeping her distance from him all day. It was as if she were connected to him by some invisible cord. She could sense when he glanced over at her, feel his sudden and unexpectedly sweet smile, couldn’t look away from him as he worked to build the fire or make pizza or help the girls on the zipwire. She was constantly aware of him, of his wrists, the vee of his throat, the nape of his neck. Her own gaze lingered on all the exposed vulnerable places as if she was learning them by heart.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You probably want to be alone...’

He was giving her the perfect get-out clause and she should take it, but she’d been good all day and it had left her aching with frustration and loneliness. ‘I don’t have a monopoly on the fire. Join me, please.’

He waited just a second as if checking the offer was real and then sat on the sofa next to hers. ‘Not sleepy?’

‘Turns out not. How about you? Camping better than expected?’

‘Do you think I was being foolish?’

She straightened at that and turned to him in surprise. ‘Not at all! We all have our trigger points, Jack, our regrets, memories we don’t want to relive. We all keep ourselves safe the best way we know how. Putting your daughters first makes you courageous, not foolish.’

‘It’s not like we’re roughing it. Sometimes I worry that I have gone too far the other way from my childhood, that I sling money at my problems and hope they’ll disappear.’

Arrosa wasn’t sure what to say. Once again Jack was opening up to her, really opening up to her, an experience so far removed from the polite small talk that dominated her life. And she couldn’t help but wonder if he would speak so candidly if he knew who she really was.

‘Have you ever spoken to your mother about all of this? About your childhood?’ Who was she to ask? She would never discuss her inner feelings with her parents, wouldn’t know where to start.

‘I’ve apologised.’ His grin was tired. ‘Several times. More than apologised. I was able to put money in trust for her, so she doesn’t have to work if she doesn’t want to. But she told me in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of sitting on her hands all day at barely fifty and suggested if I really wanted to help then I would buy her a business. She sent me the details of the beach bar the very next day. It’s no vanity project either, it’s thriving and she’s already expanding.’

Arrosa laughed. ‘She sounds kind of formidable.’

‘Oh, she is. I don’t think she quite trusts the money I give her is either legal or sustainable. If it’s not been earned by her own two hands, or in this case my two hands, she doesn’t see how it could be real.’

Arrosa had always been taught that discussing money was rude, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘What exactly is it that you do? You can’t be more than...what? Thirty? That’s some meteoric rise from the childhood you described.’

‘Meteoric?’ He shrugged but she saw him smile and knew he liked the description. ‘Maybe, but honestly it’s not that exciting a story. I was interested in programming, and because we couldn’t afford for me to have the kind of top-of-the-range computer I wanted I learned to build it for myself from odds and ends. Village gossip will tell you that between fifteen and eighteen I was creating chaos, but the reality was I spent a lot of time in the flat honing my tech skills. At sixteen I started building websites for other people and by seventeen I was already making more than my mother.’

‘Impressive.’ She meant it. ‘But in that case why the reputation? It can’t just be your name, can it?’

He blew out a long breath. ‘Partly the name, partly me and partly the result of poverty. The fact is, Rosy, that when you’re a kid and your clothes are shabbier than everyone else’s, and you don’t always do your homework because your mother works three jobs and doesn’t necessarily have time to help you with your spellings then you are pigeonholed—as lazy or rebellious or whatever. It’s not right and it’s not fair, but that’s how it can be. And when you’re alone a lot and bored it’s easy to find trouble, and I did.’

‘You’re right,’ she said softly. ‘It’s not fair.’ Things weren’t necessarily better in Asturia, which was why she had spearheaded before and after school schemes. It was a drop in the ocean of what needed to be done, but every child provided with a hot breakfast, with a place to do homework was another child given a chance to succeed.

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