Hawk's Way: Rebels. Joan Johnston

second the others were there, laughing and crying and hugging, and then there was Tom, looking over Melanie’s shoulder towards the door.

      ‘Has Jake gone?’ he asked, sounding surprised.

      She nodded. ‘Yes. He bumped into me on the way out.’ She looked towards the door, puzzled. Well, she’d assumed he’d been on the way out—or had he left because of her?

      There was a moment of awkward silence, then her father hugged her again. ‘Oh, it’s lovely to have you back, poppet. Are you all right?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ she lied, her eyes still lingering on the door. She dragged her attention back to her family, and linked arms with her father and sister. ‘Absolutely fine. It’s lovely to be home. Now, come on, I want to hear about the wedding plans. Tell me all.’

      Melanie laughed self-consciously. ‘It’ll all be horribly familiar,’ she said with a wry grimace, and Lydia’s heart sank.

      Of course. Mel had thrown herself into planning Lydia’s wedding last year, and throughout Lydia had been acutely aware that it was not really the wedding she’d wanted. The marquee by the river, the elaborate flowers, the little gilt chairs, the round tables with their snowy cloths and sparkling tableware—it had always been Mel’s wedding.

      Lydia had wanted to get married under the willow with just a very few immediate family, and have a picnic by the river with champagne and soft, ripe cheeses and sweet, juicy grapes.

      Instead Melanie had gone into a huddle with her mother and come up with a three-course meal and elaborate seating plans and a guest list that left no one out.

      Jake had smiled tolerantly, and Lydia had felt powerless to resist.

      Until the very end.

      And now, like some kind of awful joke, it was all going to be re-enacted, but this time the cast would change places and the curtain wouldn’t come down until after the final act.

      And she and Jake would have to endure the parody of their wedding, and pretend enthusiasm and delight for the benefit of their loved ones.

      Suddenly she found herself wishing she’d stayed away for another month and come home when it was all over.

      ‘So, tell us all about your travels,’ her mother said, settling back with an expectant smile. ‘We’ve had such brief contact, you naughty girl.’

      Lydia grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry. I just needed to get right away.’

      ‘We understand. So—tell all. Where have you come from now? We could hardly keep up with you.’

      ‘Australia—well, via Singapore. I stopped off to see a few friends.’

      ‘So tell us all about it,’ her father instructed. ‘You went to Thailand first when I dropped you off at the airport, is that right?’

      She nodded. ‘Yes, and I just bummed around for a month and tried to sort myself out, then I had to leave because I didn’t have a visa, so I went to India and worked in a hotel as a courier, then I went to Singapore, and Bali, then over to Australia, on to New Zealand and back to Australia, just doing anything I could find for cash and a roof over my head.’

      Her mother closed her eyes. ‘It sounds so dangerous.’

      It had been, of course, but there was no way she was telling her mother about the foreign tourist who’d tried to rape her in India, or the girl in New Zealand who’d stolen everything except her photos, her passport and the clothes she’d had on.

      ‘It was fun,’ she said, ignoring the hard work and the hunger pangs and the dysentery. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, she decided, and anyway, she’d survived and learned a few vital lessons.

      ‘You’re skinny,’ her father said bluntly, scanning her legs.

      She curled them tighter under her and laughed lightly. ‘Nonsense. It’s just because I’m brown. So, tell, me, how’s business?’ she asked her mother, deftly switching the subject.

      ‘Brilliant. We’ve done several new projects—Dunham Hall, the Priory at Whitfield—loads. You would have loved Dunham. We did a stunning authentic kitchen and a fabulous butler’s pantry. It’s like a time warp. I’ve got all the photos; I’ll show you later. I just need to ring the florist before I forget, and give her some answers. Raymond, could you go through it with me again, please, darling? It’s only a week; we really must sort it out.’

      Which brought Lydia back to the reason for her return. As her parents went out, she looked at Melanie and Tom, sprawled comfortably on the sofa together, Tom’s arm draped possessively around Mel’s shoulders, and she gave an inward sigh. She couldn’t envy them their happiness. It had been within reach, and she’d walked away.

      ‘So, lovebirds, when did you decide to tie the knot?’ she asked, striving for a light tone.

      ‘About a year ago,’ Tom confessed with a smile. ‘When I first met her in the run-up to your wedding. I took one look at her, and I thought, That’s my woman.’

      ‘Caveman stuff, eh?’ Lydia teased, wishing she’d been anything like as sure of Jake as Mel clearly was of Tom—because, of course, if she had been, she would have stayed and married him.

      ‘Oh, I like caveman tactics,’ Mel said with a chuckle, laughing up at him. ‘I love it when he gets all masterful. Makes him think he’s boss, and he enjoys that.’

      Lydia laughed at Tom’s resigned smile. She guessed her quicksilver high-spirited sister ran rings round the straightforward and honest man she’d chosen, but he was generous enough to indulge her.

      If only she’d had so open a relationship with Jake, but for some reason they’d never really broken through the surface and shared anything on a really deep level. Perhaps that was the problem.

      Perhaps, she thought, that was the only problem. Maybe if they’d really talked to each other, got to know each other better, she would have known if he’d loved her.

      Tom was getting to his feet. ‘I have to go—things to sort out with Jake. I’ll be back later. Lydia, come out with us for dinner. We’re going to a new trattoria in town.’

      ‘We?’

      ‘Us and Jake.’

      She wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t know. He might not want me there.’

      Tom blinked. ‘Don’t be silly. That’s all water under the bridge now. He won’t mind.’

      Lydia wasn’t so sure, but then she’d never been sure of Jake. ‘I’ll see,’ she compromised.

      He bent and gave Mel a lingering and tender kiss, and then went out, leaving the two sisters alone for the first time.

      Mel, direct as ever, looked across at her and said bluntly, ‘You look like hell. You’re too thin, your eyes are tired and you look sad. Has it really been that bloody a year?’

      And, for no very good reason that she could think of, Lydia burst into tears. In an instant Mel was perched on the arm of the chair and her arms were round Lydia, and she was being hugged and comforted by someone who really loved her. Lord, how she’d missed that! She slid her arms round Mel’s waist and hugged her back.

      ‘It’s good to be home,’ she said a little damply, and Mel shoved a tissue in her hand and smoothed her hair back off her brow.

      ‘Are you going to be OK about Jake?’ she asked gently, and Lydia shrugged.

      ‘I don’t know. I thought so, but seeing him just now—I don’t know any more. Has he said anything about me coming back?’

      She shook her head. ‘Not really—not to me, and not to Tom, if what he just said is anything to go by. I don’t suppose you have to see that much of him, really, if you don’t want to.’

      ‘Mmm.’ If she didn’t. The trouble was, she wasn’t