Free Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page B

else.”
    Patsy laughed. “I bet it did! Anyway, the main thing is you don’t sound any the worse for giving him the boot.”
    Meredith also laughed. “I’m not. Naturally, I’m not thrilled about hurting someone’s feelings. But it had to be done; Reed had to be told. I needed that closure.”
    â€œI realize you did.”
    â€œI thought it only fair that Reed knew exactly how I felt. And immediately. It was much better to clear the air, cut it off before it dragged on any longer. These kinds of situations can end in such bitterness.”
    â€œDon’t I know it!” Patsy exclaimed. “Tony’s been bitter about our divorce for years. Blames me, of course. Listen, do you want to come over for supper? Or we could go out if you like, if you don’t want to be alone . . .” Patsy’s voice trailed off.
    â€œThat’s sweet of you, but I want to stay in tonight. I’ll order room service and pack. You did say you were picking me up at six tomorrow morning, didn’t you?”
    â€œYes. Sorry about that, but we do have to leave early. We’ll be about four hours on the road, three and a half if the traffic’s light. We’ll spend a couple of hours in Keswick and then head down to Ripon. We’ve a great deal to do in one day. In fact, we might have to spend the night in Ripon.”
    â€œNo problem. And Patsy?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI don’t think I hurt his feelings too much, do you?”
    â€œYou may have. Don’t underestimate the effect you had on him.”
    â€œI’ve probably damaged his ego, that’s all.”
    â€œOh definitely, Meredith, I’m certain of that. But I also believe that our Reed, the glamorous playboy, fell rather heavily for you. That’s always been my opinion. Oh well, what can one do . . . so he finally met his Waterloo.”

C HAPTER S EVEN
    M eredith found it hard to fall asleep.
    For a long time she tossed and turned until finally, in exasperation, she got out of bed. After putting on a warm woolen dressing gown, she went and sat on the sofa in the sitting room. Her mind was racing.
    She had not drawn the heavy velvet draperies earlier, and moonlight was filtering in through the muslin curtains that hung against the window-panes. Everything had a silvery sheen from this natural light, and the room was peaceful.
    Meredith leaned back against the silk cushions of the sofa, thinking of Reed. How unpleasant their parting had been, and how foolish she had been to get involved with him in the first place. She was forty-four years old; she ought to have known better.
    How unlucky she was with men. Always.
    No, that was not quite true.
    There had been one man. Once. A man who had been exactly right for her. He was dead. He had died too young. Such an untimely death . . . that’s what they had all said. And how truthfully they had spoken.
    To die at the age of thirty-six was some terrible trick of God’s, wasn’t it?
    Meredith had asked herself this question a thousand times. She had striven hard to find some special meaning in that awful, untimely death. She had found nothing. There was no meaning in it. None at all.
    And all she had been left with was a void.
    Of course there had been Cat, just a toddler, and Amelia, poor Amelia, and they had shared that void with her, and the grief. How they had mourned him . . . endlessly . . . she and Amelia. His women. The women who had loved him.
    I’ll always mourn him, Meredith thought, the old familiar sadness rising in her, filling her throat. Oh Jack, why did you die? How many times had she asked herself that in the silence of her mind. There was no answer. There had never been an answer. Not ever in twenty-two years.
    And how many times had she asked herself when she would meet another man like Jack. She never would, she knew that now, because men who were like him were among the very few. And