Pitch Imperfect(72)
Smile rigidly in place Anjuli turned to face her. “He’s just a friend.”
“Pish-tosh. My godson has loved you since he was twenty. Tell him the truth about these pictures and tell him you love him. Ah-ah, dear, don’t try to deny it. A woman my age knows these things. Silly misunderstandings and handsome vets shouldn’t get in the way of true love.”
Maybe I should get a T-shirt made. “He’s just a friend.”
“Well, he looks like he wants to hop on your skeleton.”
Anjuli wanted to laugh and she wanted to scream. “You mean jump my bones.”
Mrs. P. patted her arm. “There, you see, such a smart girl. Don’t waste your life regretting the past. Close that Chapter and embrace the present, with Rob. Everything will fall into place.”
Really? Why hadn’t she thought of that? So simple, so easy. All she had to do was forget what she had done to Chloe and—poof!—instant happiness. She could “close the chapter” and “move on.” Write the next chapter. Hell, she could write a whole book, spewing useless platitudes and psychobabble. Obtain “closure.” How she hated that empty, ridiculous word, diagnosed as if it were a miracle cure.
Would anybody who’d experienced her loss ever find peace and move on? Would Mac, after discovering Craig’s true character?
Anjuli clamped her lips together, containing her irritation while she waited for her dog. If Mrs. P. wanted to feel insulted by her lack of gushing appreciation she could go right ahead. Then she could find somebody else to shove her advice at.
Where the hell was Reiver, anyway? She called out sharply and he padded up to her, tongue lolling happily. Mrs. P. scratched him behind the ears and made crooning noises.
“You take good care of your mummy, now, okay handsome boy? All alone in that huge manor with nobody but you to protect her until Rob gets back.”
Anjuli felt instantly ashamed. She really was a bitch if she could be rude to Mrs. P. She was only trying to be kind—in her busybody sort of way, but she meant well. And maybe she should phone Rob and tell him about Craig before he jumped to conclusions.
“Thanks for the advice,” Anjuli said sincerely. “And happy anniversary for tomorrow.”
Mrs. P.’s eyes glinted. “Sainsbury’s in Halton has a special offer on DVDs. Game of Thrones, season one, is only eight ninety-nine.”
* * *
“Flight BA 765 to London, Heathrow please proceed to gate number fourteen.”
Rob’s mobile rang as he entered the airline lounge but he didn’t answer. Anjuli had phoned him the previous day, several times, but he wasn’t ready to talk, not yet. Mac had cried inconsolably, telling him about Craig and Ash, and he’d read the article on the newspaper’s website. Seen the pictures.
There were more pictures on The Borders Chronicle website, and another photo of Anjuli and Craig. She was in her dressing gown and—God damn it, her hair was tousled like she’d just been fucked. Craig was all over her, hand on her arse and dick pressing into her.
His nostrils flared and a vein pumped in his jaw. A mature man, one in control, would hear what Anjuli had to say. He was mature enough, but he needed the nine-hour flight to London, the transfer to Edinburgh and the drive to Heaverlock to assume control of his anger. And he had to give Mac the support she needed, first and foremost.
He’d never liked Craig, but Mac had adored him and he and Ben had turned a blind eye to his faults. Philandering wasn’t one they’d known about. Craig was aloof but even so they’d wondered why he’d taken a lectureship so far from Heaverlock. Now they knew why. Every bone in Rob’s body told him Mac was wrong about Anjuli and Craig though, in spite of that damn photo. She was lashing out, not thinking straight. And yet...what the fuck was Anjuli doing in Craig’s arms in her dressing gown?
And what about the baby girl Ash had given birth to? His brother had phoned him about it, telling him that Mac was beside herself with rage. The news was spreading around the village like wildfire, and she was going off the rails. Had Anjuli known who the father was? Of course she had, man, how could she no’ be aware? Rob stared at the Boeings lined up in the morning sun, wishing he could be home in a snap of his fingers. Wishing he could understand the woman whose actions tore him to pieces.
Could Anjuli really spend time with Mac, pretend to be her friend when all the while she knew Ash and Craig were lovers? Could she really play his sister so false?
His heart said she wouldn’t, but his mind begged to differ, remembering her behaviour in London. As for his blood, it boiled every time he thought of her hypocrisy, every time the newspaper images of her and his brother-in-law crashed into his skull.