Page 70 of The House on Sunset Lake

She pulled away so she could look at him directly. Her face was so close to his that she could see the pores on his nose and her own reflection in the darkness of his eyes.

‘I never said yes,’ she said, so quietly that no one else could hear her.

‘We can talk about this later,’ he said, his hands still gripping her arms.

She glanced away and could see her mother watching, her satisfied smile taunting her.

‘Pumpkin, I am so happy for you,’ said her father as she pulled away from Connor. She tried to smile as brightly as she could, but she could feel tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She loved her father so much, but really, did he know her so little?

‘Who told you?’ she said, trying desperately to hold it together.

‘Connor asked for my permission weeks ago, but I didn’t know when it was going to happen. Then your mother said he asked you just a few minutes ago in the pavilion and you said yes.’

Jennifer pushed her front teeth down into her lip and nodded tightly.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said, ignoring the well-wishers who lunged forward to offer their congratulations.

She took big gulps of air as she stepped outside. It was a warm night, and as she breathed, it was as if there was no oxygen in the air. Her eyes scanned the gardens at the front of the house. Lights studded along the edge of the drive gave just enough illumination so that she could make out movement, a figure who was almost at the gate of Casa D’Or’s walled garden.

She knew it was him and began to run. One heel twisted under her, making her stagger, so she kicked off her shoes and hopped on to the lawn, sprinting faster across the soft grass.

‘Wait!’

Jim turned round, both hands thrust in his pockets.

She was panting slightly when she reached him, trying to compose herself, not knowing what to say.

A car drove past them, its bright headlights almost blinding them, and they stepped out of the way as it disappeared down the drive. They were standing in front of a long line of cars, an overflow parking lot for the party guests. One of them was Jim’s red pickup truck. She knew that the second he got in, revved the engine and drove off, she would almost certainly never see him again.

A soft breeze rustled through the live oaks, and in the distance she could hear the jazz band striking up an inappropriately playful tune.

‘Don’t go,’ she said finally.

‘I was only ever going to pop in,’ he said, thumbing his hand in the direction of the house. ‘You know, to give you your present.’

‘I loved it,’ she said, aware of the solitary tear rolling down her cheek. ‘The song you wrote.’

Jim nodded tightly. ‘You said you wanted a song,’ he said, not even looking at her.

‘The words, the lyrics were beautiful.’

‘Well maybe there’s a writer in me yet.’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘My dad will be pleased.’

‘Jim, I need to tell you something—’

‘Congratulations, by the way,’ he said, pre-empting her speech. ‘I’m really happy for you.’ Now he was looking at her directly, without flinching, and for a second she wondered if he meant it.

‘I don’t know what happened in there. We had a row, Connor proposed . . . my dad announced it . . .’

‘But you said yes?’ His voice skirted between hope and disappointment.

‘No. Not really . . .’

‘Not really?’ he challenged her.

‘I said I needed to think about it.’

‘That’s not the impression your father gave.’