she knew best. She had been coming here for twenty-one years, ever since her marriage to David Layton in 1974. Twenty-three she had been at the time, and so young in a variety of ways; yet in others she had been rather grown up.
England had made a lasting impression on her. She felt comfortable on its shores, and she enjoyed the British people, their idiosyncracies as well as their good manners and civility, not to mention their great sense of humor.
David Layton had been a transplanted Englishman, living and working in Connecticut when she met him.
After their wedding at Silver Lake, he had brought her to London to meet his sister Claire, her husband, and children.
Meredith had liked David, and she had loved him well enough to marry him, and she had felt regretful that their marriage had foundered. Their genuine at-tempts to make it work had come to nothing, and in the end divorce had seemed to be the best, the only, solution.
68 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
The one good thing that had come out of this rather dubious and tenuous union was their son, Jonathan.
The sad thing was, David never saw his son these days.
He had moved to California in the 1980s and had never made any effort to come east to see Jonathan.
Nor had he ever invited Jonathan to visit him on the West Coast.
David’s loss, Meredith muttered under her breath.
She couldn’t help wishing that things were somewhat different, for her son’s sake at least, though Jon didn’t seem to care that he was so neglected by David. He never mentioned his father.
Being a single parent all those years had been a strain on her at times, Meredith was the first to admit it. But Jon had turned out well, as had her darling Cat.
And so it had been worth it in the end…the hard work, the sacrifices, the endless compromises, the cajoling, the bullying, and the unconditional loving. Being a good mother had taken its toll on her life, but she was proud of the children. And of herself in a funny way.
Those years of bringing up Cat and Jon alone, plus creating and developing her business, had left her little time to meet another man, let alone become involved with him. There had been a few boyfriends over the years, but somehow her children and her work had intruded, got in the way. Deep down, she had never really minded. Her children had been her whole world, still were.
Circumstances had been right when she had met Brandon Leonard four years earlier. But he was a Her Own Rules / 69
married man. In no time at all, she had come to understand that not only was he not separated, as he claimed, but he had no intention of ever leaving his wife or getting a divorce. Simply put, Brandon wanted his wife. He also wanted a mistress. Since she was not a candidate for the latter role, she had terminated their friendship, and in no uncertain terms.
Then this past September, on a trip to London, Patsy had taken her to the fancy opening of an exhibition of sculpture at the posh Lardner Gallery in Bond Street.
And there, lurking among the Arps and the Brancus-is, the Moores, the Hepworths, and the Giacomettis had been Reed Jamison. The owner of the gallery.
Tall, dark, good-looking, charismatic. The most attractive man she had met in a long time. And seemingly very available. “Beware,” Patsy had warned. When she had asked her what she meant, Patsy had said, “Watch it. He’s brilliant but difficult.” Again she had pressed Patsy, asked her to elucidate further. Patsy then answered her enigmatically. “Save us all from the brooding Byronic hero. Oh dear, shades of Heathcliff.”
Meredith had only partially understood, and then before she could blink, Reed Jamison, having taken one look at her, was in hot pursuit.
Drawn to him initially, she had fallen under his spell; but gradually, over the following months, she had begun to feel suddenly and unexpectedly ill at 70 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
ease with him. And she had begun to pull away from the relationship within
England had made a lasting impression on her. She felt comfortable on its shores, and she enjoyed the British people, their idiosyncracies as well as their good manners and civility, not to mention their great sense of humor.
David Layton had been a transplanted Englishman, living and working in Connecticut when she met him.
After their wedding at Silver Lake, he had brought her to London to meet his sister Claire, her husband, and children.
Meredith had liked David, and she had loved him well enough to marry him, and she had felt regretful that their marriage had foundered. Their genuine at-tempts to make it work had come to nothing, and in the end divorce had seemed to be the best, the only, solution.
68 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
The one good thing that had come out of this rather dubious and tenuous union was their son, Jonathan.
The sad thing was, David never saw his son these days.
He had moved to California in the 1980s and had never made any effort to come east to see Jonathan.
Nor had he ever invited Jonathan to visit him on the West Coast.
David’s loss, Meredith muttered under her breath.
She couldn’t help wishing that things were somewhat different, for her son’s sake at least, though Jon didn’t seem to care that he was so neglected by David. He never mentioned his father.
Being a single parent all those years had been a strain on her at times, Meredith was the first to admit it. But Jon had turned out well, as had her darling Cat.
And so it had been worth it in the end…the hard work, the sacrifices, the endless compromises, the cajoling, the bullying, and the unconditional loving. Being a good mother had taken its toll on her life, but she was proud of the children. And of herself in a funny way.
Those years of bringing up Cat and Jon alone, plus creating and developing her business, had left her little time to meet another man, let alone become involved with him. There had been a few boyfriends over the years, but somehow her children and her work had intruded, got in the way. Deep down, she had never really minded. Her children had been her whole world, still were.
Circumstances had been right when she had met Brandon Leonard four years earlier. But he was a Her Own Rules / 69
married man. In no time at all, she had come to understand that not only was he not separated, as he claimed, but he had no intention of ever leaving his wife or getting a divorce. Simply put, Brandon wanted his wife. He also wanted a mistress. Since she was not a candidate for the latter role, she had terminated their friendship, and in no uncertain terms.
Then this past September, on a trip to London, Patsy had taken her to the fancy opening of an exhibition of sculpture at the posh Lardner Gallery in Bond Street.
And there, lurking among the Arps and the Brancus-is, the Moores, the Hepworths, and the Giacomettis had been Reed Jamison. The owner of the gallery.
Tall, dark, good-looking, charismatic. The most attractive man she had met in a long time. And seemingly very available. “Beware,” Patsy had warned. When she had asked her what she meant, Patsy had said, “Watch it. He’s brilliant but difficult.” Again she had pressed Patsy, asked her to elucidate further. Patsy then answered her enigmatically. “Save us all from the brooding Byronic hero. Oh dear, shades of Heathcliff.”
Meredith had only partially understood, and then before she could blink, Reed Jamison, having taken one look at her, was in hot pursuit.
Drawn to him initially, she had fallen under his spell; but gradually, over the following months, she had begun to feel suddenly and unexpectedly ill at 70 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
ease with him. And she had begun to pull away from the relationship within
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