Valtieri's Bride

Oh, rats. She must have heard the news.

There was no getting round it, so she struggled awkwardly out of the bath and hobbled back to the bed, swathed in the biggest towel she’d ever seen, and dug out her phone and rang Jen back.

‘What’s going on? They said you’d had an accident! I’ve been trying to phone you for ages but you haven’t been answering! Are you all right? We’ve been frantic!’

‘Sorry, Jen, I was in the bath. I’m fine, really, it was just a little slip on the steps of a plane and I’ve twisted my ankle. Nothing serious.’

Well, she hoped it wasn’t. She crossed her fingers, just to be on the safe side, and filled in a few more details. She didn’t tell her the truth, just that Jo had got there first.

‘I’m so sorry, we really tried, but we probably wouldn’t have made it even without the accident.’

There was a heartbeat of hesitation, then Jen said, ‘Don’t worry, it really doesn’t matter and it’s not important. I just need you to be all right. And don’t go blaming yourself, it’s not your fault.’

Why did everyone say that? It was her fault. If she’d looked where she was going, taken a bit more care, Jen and Andy would have been having the wedding of their dreams in a few months’ time. As it was, well, as it was they wouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to give Jen anything to beat herself up about, so she told her she was fine, just a little twinge—and nothing at all about the head injury.

‘Actually, since I’m over here, I thought I’d stay on for a few days. I’ve found a farm where I can get bed and breakfast, and I’m going to have a little holiday.’

Well, it wasn’t entirely a lie. It was a farm, she had a bed, and she was sure they wouldn’t make her starve while she recovered.

‘You do that. It sounds lovely,’ Jen said wistfully, and Lydia screwed her face up and bit her lip.

Damn. She’d been so close, and the disappointment that Jen was trying so hard to disguise was ripping Lydia apart.

Ending the call with a promise to ring when she was coming home, she dug her clean clothes out of the flight bag and pulled her jeans on carefully over her swollen, throbbing ankle. The soft, worn fabric of the jeans and the T-shirt were comforting against her skin, chafed from her fall as well as the boning and beading in the dress, and she looked around for the offending article. It was gone. Taken away by Carlotta? She hoped she hadn’t thrown it out. She wanted the pleasure of that for herself.