Cross Stitch

  Copyright © 2014 Amanda James

  Published 2014 by Choc Lit Limited

  Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

  www.choc-lit.com

  The right of Amanda James to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-78189-201-5

  MOBI ISBN 978-1-78189-202-2

  For Esmé

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright information

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  About the Author

  More Choc Lit

  Introducing Choc Lit

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my husband, daughter and immediate family for their continued love and support, my wider friends and fellow Choc Lit authors for their comradeship and encouragement, the Choc Lit team and panel (Olivia, Betty, Julie H, Sheri, Linda F, Janice, Vanessa, Caroline and Margaret J) and my fantastic editor who was as usual patience personified, has a great sense of humour, and of course helped to make this book the best it can be.

  Special thanks goes to those readers of the prequel, A Stitch in Time who constantly chivvied me until I produced this sequel!

  Chapter One

  Sarah Yates, part-time teacher and time traveller extraordinaire, looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror and felt her heart do a rumba against her ribs. Even if she did say so herself, she looked beautiful, serene and, yes, she had to admit it, a little bit radiant. The ivory silk gown clung in all the right places and rippled sumptuously to the floor. Sarah smiled as she noticed that with her slightest movement, the silk caught the light and poured material across her curves like cream over a spoon.

  A single string of pearls adorned her neck and the matching teardrop earrings added lustre to her peaches-and-cream complexion. Her fingers traced the handmade lace decorating the neckline, until it tumbled to a halt, revealing just a hint of cleavage rising and falling in time with the rumba. And Sarah was happy to note that her long golden hair, twisted artistically into Botticelli style tendrils with some side tresses secured behind her head in a simple pearl clasp, looked absolutely perfect.

  Pale blue eyes, bright with emotion, looked up from her appearance and locked onto her mum’s, brimming with tears as she stood behind her. Sarah’s lips trembled into a smile and her mum answered it, her pride and joy almost tangible. This was it. No going back. In an hour’s time Sarah would walk down the aisle, join hands with John, forsake all others and change her name from Yates to Needler.

  Gwen pulled a tissue out of her bag and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Bloody Norah, look at me.’ She fanned her hands at her face. ‘I’m going already. I’ll look like a panda on the photos!’

  ‘Told you not to wear black and white.’ Sarah chuckled.

  ‘I meant the mascara—’ Gwen began, and then grinned. ‘Oh, har har … seriously, love, you look absolutely beautiful. That Karen couldn’t hold a candle to you today, and if Neil could see you—’

  ‘Please, Mum.’ Sarah held up her hand and turned around. ‘I don’t want to hear their names mentioned, especially today of all days. This day is full of joy. Any hint of bitterness will spoil it.’

  Gwen stepped forward and hugged her daughter. ‘I’m sorry, love, of course you don’t. You’ll have a new husband soon, not that other rat! I’m just so pleased you have met John and are happy.’ Gwen sniffed and dabbed at her eyes again. ‘There was a time when I thought you might not be.’

  Sarah pinched her mum’s cheek and shot her a bright smile. ‘Yes, well I thought that too, but those days are gone. Now, go downstairs and pour us both a glass of champers. We have a bit of a wait until the carriage gets here.’

  Sarah turned back to the mirror, applied a little more lip gloss and tried to get her heart rate under control. Adrenalin raced through her blood stream like wildfire and if she didn’t douse it with a splash of calm, she’d get her lines mucked up at the altar, or get her dress tangled round her legs and fall on her arse, or faint as John was slipping the ring on her finger. Perhaps it would be all three knowing her.

  As she stepped away from the mirror to follow her mum downstairs, Neil’s face surfaced in front of her eyes. He looked surprised, nervous, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his blotchy neck like a float on a lake. Sarah closed her eyes. She tried to dispel the memory of that day. That God awful day when she’d challenged her ex-husband outright about being the father of her best friend’s baby. Why on earth had Mum brought him up? Those were the last thoughts she wanted in her head right now.

  A heavy sigh escaped her lips. It wasn’t all Mum’s fault. She had to admit that Neil had been hovering like a bad smell even before Gwen had mentioned him. Wedding days tended to do that, didn’t they? Charged with more emotion than an angry bull, occasions such as these threw up all sorts of memories and feelings. Sarah thought of her first wedding day when she’d been younger, more naive, more trusting. It wasn’t as if she were having doubts about John, or that she still had any vestiges of love for Neil, but she guessed the main reason he’d popped up was that she was still scared of being hurt again.

  But that was only natural, wasn’t it? It had been eighteen months since Neil had left her and set up home with her best friend and become a father, something he had never wanted to be with Sarah, even though he knew how much she had longed for a child. She’d promised herself that she’d never allow a man to wound her so deeply again, never give her heart away so foolishly again and certainly never get married again. But then she’d met John and everything had changed.

  In her mind John’s handsome face now quashed any thoughts of Neil. His deep green eyes twinkled and his wide sensuous mouth broke into a heart-stopping smile. That smile never failed to give Sarah goosebumps. She thanked her lucky stars for the umpteenth time that such a wonderful guy wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And despite their ‘less than normal’ relationship, she was now the happiest woman in the world.

  ‘Sa-rah, you coming down for a glass of champagne?’ Ella, Sarah’s sister, shouted up the stairs.

  ‘Er, does the earth revolve around the sun?’ Sa
rah shouted back and hurried out of the room.

  The little village of Moorendsworth, on the outskirts of Sheffield, looked like something from a Dickensian novel as Sarah’s horse-drawn carriage clattered through the cobbled streets. The breeze twirled a baton of crisp autumn leaves, blowing their red and gold hues high above the carriage. Some of them settled on Sarah’s hair, confetti sprinkled by nature’s hand. The breath of autumn filled her lungs and pinched her cheeks and the sky painted itself a forget-me-not blue. Just perfect.

  Gwen sat beside her with a beaming smile, waving at people here and there as if she was the queen. She looked at her daughter. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day?’

  ‘It certainly is, Mum. The best.’

  A cloud darkened Gwen’s sunny visage. ‘If only your dad were sitting here instead of me.’

  Sarah squeezed her hand and swallowed a lump of emotion. ‘I know … but don’t let’s get upset; I know he’s with us in spirit.’ Sarah realised it would be eight years in December since her dad had died of cancer, though there wasn’t a day that passed without something that reminded her of him.

  The driver guided the horse up the driveway to the tiny eighteenth-century church flanked by chestnut trees, and the photographer knelt to get the first shots for the album.

  Ella, standing at the door, blew Sarah a kiss before entering the church to let everyone know the bride had arrived. She popped out again a few minutes later with Angelica, her daughter, who waved her hand shyly at the bride. Six year old Angelica was Sarah’s only bridesmaid and dressed in Sarah’s favourite colour – turquoise. Turquoise might not have worked on everyone, but with Angelica’s sandy curls and freckles, she looked like the personification of a summer’s day at the beach.

  The driver’s hand felt warm and dependable as Sarah took it. Thank goodness he was there to help her down from the carriage. Her legs trembled like jelly on a plate and she couldn’t stop them as she placed her foot on the first step.

  ‘Watch where you’re putting your feet, Sarah. We wouldn’t want you falling in a puddle, would we?’ he said with a smile.

  ‘That would be just like me to do something like tha—’ Sarah’s voice caught in her throat as she watched a woman walking up the path towards the church, a tall raven-haired beauty dressed in crimson, wearing the most ridiculously high heels in the world. The red slash of her mouth matched the dress perfectly, and as she got nearer to Sarah, the slash curled into a triumphant smile.

  Oh my word … shit, it’s Josephina.

  ‘What’s wrong, love?’ Gwen frowned at the expression of disbelief on her daughter’s face.

  The woman waved an expensive looking bit of camera kit at Jack, the photographer, and called, ‘Hey there, everyone. I’m Hazel, Jack’s assistant. Sorry I’m late. I forgot the other lens.’

  Sarah put her hand over her mouth and then laughed out loud with relief. ‘Oh my God, Mum. For a moment there I thought it was Josephina, John’s ex.’

  ‘You silly sod girl, just nerves getting the better of you,’ Gwen said, grabbing Sarah’s arm and leading her to the church door. ‘Now, my love, take deep breaths … Angelica, get behind your auntie here and hold your bouquet upright!’

  If Sarah’s heart was doing a rumba before, it was doing the quickstep now. Slipping her arm through her mum’s she stepped through the door and walked down the aisle to The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. She and John had chosen that song because they realised after a few interesting hiccups, that they had probably fallen in love at first sight. Had it only been a year ago since she’d opened the door, grumpy and irritable after a hard day at school, to find John smiling at her on the doorstep? Now Sarah felt like she’d known him forever. And although every face was turned to her as she walked down the aisle, the only one she saw was his.

  Looking divine in a dark grey suit and green shirt, John shot her a smile that rivalled the bright sunlight streaming through the stained glass window. Though he was obviously delighted to see her, Sarah could tell by the way he ran his fingers quickly through his dark curly hair and then straightened his tie that he was as nervous as she was. Harry, John’s dad and today doubling as best man, patted his son reassuringly on his shoulder and winked his approval at Sarah.

  The song ended, a hush fell over the congregation and Sarah’s eyes met John’s. The depth of emotion within them swelled her heart until it felt as big as the sky. She thought it might burst with happiness. Gwen and Harry stepped to the side, and suddenly it seemed as if they were the only two people there – save the vicar, of course.

  Sarah heard his words, repeated them, thankfully not stumbling once, but all the while the events of the last year raced through her mind at light speed. The same evening she’d found John on the doorstep he’d told her things that had changed her world irreversibly. And although she would give her life for John – at that moment was pledging her life to him for richer, poorer, better or worse – she had found their unique relationship a little difficult to grasp from time to time.

  That evening, John had explained that Sarah was in fact a Stitch. Furthermore, the old saying, ‘a stitch in time saves nine’, actually meant, a person – a time traveller, aka a Stitch, aka Sarah – needed to travel to the past to sew up holes that had opened up in time. And why must she do this? To ensure that nine people didn’t die. John apparently was a Time-Needle – a person who found willing Stitches ready to complete their mission. He came from a long line of Time-Needles and it was something he accepted, though it could often be dangerous and unpredictable work.

  Needless to say, she had thought the whole thing was impossible and completely bonkers. But it beat the hell out of her why was she thinking about all that again now when she was in the process of getting married!

  Sarah fixed her eyes on John’s sensuous mouth and listened to him repeat the wedding vows, but her mind refused to concentrate. She shook her head slightly to try and push the memory of that evening away. The congregation came back into focus and her mum waved a soggy hanky at her from the front pew. Two rows behind her mum, a small child –Sarah’s second cousin, Jake – poked his nose and held the result up to his mother for inspection. Sarah had to pretend to clear her throat to avoid laughing out loud. Get a grip and concentrate. What was happening to her?

  ‘For better, for worse,’ John said. A small frown crept across his brow as he looked at Sarah’s anxious expression. ‘In sickness and in health …’

  Sarah had to stifle another giggle of hysteria at those words. Once more, unwanted thoughts elbowed their way to the forefront of her consciousness. After John had dropped all that information on her that evening, she had certainly thought she was sick. In fact she had been convinced that she’d been having a breakdown. At first she believed she’d imagined John and the whole kit and caboodle. Then John had explained that it was perfectly normal to feel like this and she’d agreed to his crazy plan just to get rid of him.

  Trouble was, reality had jumped up and slapped her in the face the very next day when she’d walked out of her classroom and found herself whisked back to the Sheffield Blitz of 1940!

  ‘Sarah?’ John said and squeezed her hand. ‘Are you all right, love? You look a little pale.’

  Sarah stared at John and then at the vicar. Their faces wore identical expressions of worry and concern. She nodded, but didn’t feel all right, didn’t feel all right at all. Her stomach twisted and she felt a flush start at her feet and spread up her body like a fever. What the hell was happening? Beads of sweat popped all along her top lip and her stomach twisted again, sending waves of nausea up into her throat. Please God, don’t let me be sick right here in front of everyone!

  The nausea abated a little and she distantly heard the vicar ask if John would take her to be his wife. John’s ‘I do’ sounded as if he was speaking from somewhere up in the rafters and then the nausea returned with a vengeance. Jelly legs accompanied the nausea seconds later, and she squeezed John’s arm to steady herself.

  ‘S
arah. I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I thee …’ John’s words faded in and out as if someone was turning the dial on a radio, and then John and the vicar’s face receded along her tunnel vision as though she was looking at them down the wrong end of a telescope.

  The ring felt like a lead weight as John slipped it on her finger and as if in a dream she heard snatches of vows said, repeated, said, and repeated. Then, after two attempts she slipped John’s ring onto his finger and with all her resolve whispered from numbed lips, ‘John … I give you this ring …’ and a few seconds later heard the vicar say something about the giving and receiving of rings … proclaiming them … husband and wife … then her legs buckled.

  Just as the floor floated up to meet her, John’s strong arms hooked under hers, saving her from falling flat on her face. On her knees, slumped against him, she heard her mum yell, ‘Oh, no, what’s wrong. Sarah!’

  She also heard the distant peal of a bell and another voice shout, ‘Right, line up class five and get inside, you’ve a board of sums to copy out!’

  Shaking with trepidation, Sarah looked in the direction of the voice and reeled at the scene before her eyes. The church had disappeared and been replaced by an old-fashioned school playground complete with old-fashioned children. By the door of the school stood a tall, thin, angular woman dressed in 1930s clothes. Her bony white hand clasped a bell which she shook at the children as if it were a weapon.

  Sarah didn’t see or hear anything else. Her world turned dark … and she fell.

  Chapter Two

  A cold narrow bed, a yellowing cracked ceiling, a smell of chalk mingling with strong disinfectant and a drumming of … rain on a window? Sarah lifted her head off the bed slightly and rubbed her eyes. Was she in the hotel that John had booked for their honeymoon in New York? Because if she was there would be hell to pay … A harrumph and a snort of exasperation snapped her view from the ceiling to a face that would have suited a horse much better than the woman wearing it.