On the last morning, Daisy awoke to the murmur of Taran’s voice in the room next door, talking on the phone. She got up and stretched, then went to brush her teeth and have a quick shower. She put on his dressing gown and padded into the kitchen to help herself to some orange juice from the fridge. The room was open-plan with tall windows letting in the light. The rumble of a truck in the street below drowned out his voice for a moment. Daisy poured herself a glass of juice. Besides orange juice and cheese there was little in the fridge. Daisy wanted to fill it with salad and vegetables and fresh meat and cook a delicious dinner. She longed to make herself at home. But that wouldn’t be possible. As long as her mother was unwell and her father needed her help, for ever was not going to happen.
Taran was pacing the room in nothing but a pair of stripy pyjama bottoms, one hand on his head, the other holding the telephone to his ear. When Daisy heard the words ‘land’ and ‘sell’, her ears pricked up. She stood behind the marbletopped island and listened. ‘How far do you think we are from getting planning permission?’ There was a long pause while the person on the other end of the line replied. It was clearly not a simple thing to answer. ‘I’m going to take on the project myself,’ he continued. ‘It’s what I do. I’ll relish the challenge.’ Again, another pause. Taran’s face darkened. ‘Those bloody highway people!’ he snapped. ‘They’re going to hold everything up. English councils are so slow. You’d have thought they’d be desperate for houses. The last time I heard, there was a housing crisis in the UK!’ He noticed Daisy and his face softened. He smiled at her. How could he smile, she thought, knowing how much that land meant to her family? She stood frozen to the spot as he discussed selling and developing the land he had inherited from his father, the land that bordered her parents’ garden; the land her mother loved so much.
At last he hung up. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,’ he said, and approached her.
She looked at him in confusion. ‘What’s this about developing land?’
He didn’t seem to notice how upset she was. ‘Oh, boring stuff.’ He put his arms around her. ‘Let’s go back to bed.’
‘No, wait. You said you weren’t going to sell your land.’
Taran frowned. A shadow of irritation swept across his face as he registered her fury and was confused by it. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The farm.’ Her eyes filled with tears. Taran had lied to her. In her heart she had believed him when he had said ‘for ever’.
‘I’m not selling the farm.’
‘But you said—’
‘You’ve picked up a fag-end, and you know what happens to people who pick up fag-ends?’
‘Taran, this is not a joke.’
He looked down at her and put his hands on his hips. ‘I am selling a farm, but not the farm you think.’
‘Is there another one?’
‘Dad also had a farm in the Midlands. It never made much, in fact, most of the time it made a loss. He had already started the process of developing it before he died. Anyhow, it’s mine now and I’m going to develop it myself. I don’t want to live up there and neither does Mum.’ He grinned at her. ‘But of course, if you want to live there . . .’
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’
‘It would be your business if I was considering selling the land that your parents’ house looks out onto. But I would never do that.’
‘You really wouldn’t? Do you promise?’
‘My darling Daisy, my father loved that land more than anything in the world. He probably loved it more than he loved people. It was his life and his passion and it’s my home. I don’t want to live there now, but one day I will.’ He took her face in his hands and gazed down at her with affection. ‘And you love it too.’
‘Yes, I do,’ she said, holding on to his casual allusion to eventually moving back and hoping that he meant it.
‘Game, set and match, then. I’ll guard it with my life.’
She laughed as he swept her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom. ‘Now, what was I saying? Ah yes, do you know what happens to people who eavesdrop?’
Daisy left for England with a heavy heart. She felt she was leaving sunshine and going back to fog. The images of cooking pasta in Taran’s apartment, placing flowers by the sink, nipping into the deli to buy supper evaporated like dreams eclipsed by the reality of her mother’s failing health and her unwavering sense of duty. On the plane, her worries returned to her in flurries and her heart pined for Taran. She was in an impossible situation. Why was it that the only two men she had lost her heart to in her life lived abroad? Why couldn’t she find a man who lived close to home, like Suze? She was in her mid-thirties and living at home. Having spent a week with Taran, she longed for her independence again. She yearned to have her own house – her own fridge, her own oven, her own space, so that she could make a home with the man she loved. Yet, she was tied to her parents. Dennis needed her support. Marigold was fading fast. Suze was little help. Daisy felt that she was indispensable. Indispensable to them all and their need suffocated her.
Having thought she could never abide living in a city again, she began to wonder whether Taran was right. That she needed to live for herself. That she was too young to settle down in a sleepy village full of old people. Had she forgotten so quickly the fun she had had in Milan?
She arrived home in time for dinner, exhausted. Her family were pleased to have her home. Marigold had roasted a chicken and invited Suze and Batty to join them. They sat around the kitchen table, eager to hear how her trip had gone. Daisy noticed the notes all over the kitchen, reminding Marigold how to cook the chicken, from the simplest tasks like switching on the oven to taking the potatoes out of the larder. She felt sad, because as time went by her mother relied more and more on these little notes, and her notebook, of course, which she always kept in her pocket, but often forgot to consult. Taran had shown her another life in a glittering city and her heart suddenly ached for it.
She settled back into her routine. She walked across the fields every morning to Lady Sherwood’s barn to paint the jigsaw puzzle. She had turned down numerous requests to draw people’s pets, putting them off until after Christmas. Right now her priority had to be the puzzle. There was no way she’d get it finished otherwise.
She joined Lady Sherwood for coffee in the kitchen on the first morning back to tell her about her son. ‘I had no idea what an accomplished and successful architect he is,’ she said.
Lady Sherwood picked up her espresso cup and smiled wistfully. ‘Oh, he is very talented. But Owen wanted him to learn the ropes here so that one day he could take over the farm. He didn’t realize it would be so soon.’
‘Having seen his life in Toronto, I would say it suits him perfectly. He’s very happy there. Everything’s perfect, right down to his morning coffee.’
‘That’s nice to hear. You know, as a parent, one just wants one’s children to be happy. I’m fortunate that Taran has found his calling. It might not be what his father wanted, but parents have to let their children be themselves. Owen wasn’t very good at that. I miss Taran, of course I do, but I would hate him to feel he has to be here for me. I like to think I’m more generous-spirited than my husband was. And I do have my own life.’
Daisy arched her eyebrows. ‘How’s bridge going with Nan?’
Lady Sherwood laughed and her green eyes came alive. ‘You know, it’s really fun!’
Daisy was surprised. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes, your grandmother is a hoot.’
‘A hoot.’ That didn’t sound like Nan.
‘Oh, yes, she’s extremely funny. I don’t think she means to be funny. She’s a terrible old grumbler, but we all laugh and pull her leg and she rather enjoys it. Her friends are nice. She did lie to me though.’
‘She did?’ said Daisy in alarm.
‘They’re very good.’
Daisy’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Oh, yes, I could have told
you that. Nan has played for years.’
While Daisy painted in the barn and Dennis worked in his shed, and Nan watched television and did the crossword, Marigold received visitors. Some popped in for a quick cup of tea, others for longer. Some, like Cedric, brought cakes, others, like Eileen, brought news. Marigold enjoyed the cakes but she never remembered the news. Eileen realized very quickly that she could tell her anything because Marigold always forgot the moment she left. Dolly came to show off her new kitten, Jewel. Mary to tell Marigold that she and Dolly had made up – and Marigold had to pretend that she remembered that they had fallen out.
Whenever Daisy saw any of the locals they asked after the puzzle. They couldn’t wait to see their contributions, but more than that, they couldn’t wait to see Marigold’s face when she laid eyes on it for the first time. They all voiced their desire to be there for that moment. Daisy talked to her father about it and they decided to give her a tea party in the village hall to present her with it, so everyone who had been involved could be present. ‘You don’t think she’ll be offended?’ asked Daisy, worried suddenly that she wouldn’t like everyone discussing her failing memory.
‘I don’t think she’ll be offended at all,’ said Dennis with certainty. ‘I know my Goldie. She’ll appreciate the thought. I’m sure of it.’
Daisy hadn’t thought about Luca in months. Until he turned up at her door a couple of weeks before Christmas.
Daisy stared at him in astonishment. In a heavy coat, felt hat and olive-green scarf, he looked ruggedly handsome. His face was unshaven and his greying hair curled about his ears. He smiled and his chestnut-brown eyes took her in with the intensity of a man who suddenly appreciates the errors of his ways and the value of the woman now standing before him. ‘Luca? What are you doing here?’ she gasped.
‘Getting cold,’ he replied. ‘Can I come in?’
Daisy opened the door and watched him walk past her into the kitchen. Nan was sitting at the table, playing solitaire. When she saw Luca her jaw dropped. ‘Good God,’ she said. ‘It’s Lazarus, risen from the dead!’
‘Hello, Nan,’ he said, and bent down to kiss her as if he being there, in that kitchen, was the most natural thing in the world.
Marigold, who had been in the sitting room, watching old episodes of Frasier, hurried into the kitchen. ‘Luca?’ she gasped. She hadn’t forgotten who he was.
‘Marigold!’ Luca embraced her, nearly lifting her off the ground. ‘It’s so good to see you!’
Marigold was confused. Were he and Daisy married? She couldn’t remember. She decided to say nothing until she was sure.
Daisy walked slowly into the room. She folded her arms. ‘Why didn’t you call?’ she demanded.
‘Because you changed your number,’ he replied, giving her a hard stare.
Marigold sensed the tension and went straight for the kettle. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea,’ she said cheerfully.
‘No,’ Daisy replied. ‘Luca and I are going to go to the pub, aren’t we, Luca? We’ve got lots to talk about and we don’t want to disturb you.’
‘Oh, you’re not disturbing me,’ said Nan quickly. ‘You can say anything in front of us. Marigold won’t remember what you say anyway, and I’m really not interested. Put the kettle on, Marigold. I might lace mine with a little brandy.’ When Daisy looked at her in bewilderment, she added with a grin, ‘Celia does it, so why shouldn’t I?’
Chapter 27
Daisy and Luca sat opposite each other at a table in the corner of the pub. Daisy ordered a glass of wine, Luca a Peroni. How strange, she thought, watching him watching her with those brown eyes into which she had gazed more times than she could count, that, after a year apart, it was as if they had seen each other only yesterday. It was as if the last twelve months had never happened. As if it had all been a dream.
‘What do you want, Luca?’ she asked in Italian, taking a fortifying gulp of wine.
‘I haven’t come all this way to just say hello. I want you back,’ he said resolutely. When she tried to protest, he interrupted her. ‘I know I hurt you, Margherita. I’m sorry for that. I didn’t realize how much you meant to me.’ He sighed and his mouth twisted with emotion. ‘I didn’t realize that I loved you quite so much. We’d been together for such a long time, I suppose I took you for granted. But now I’ve had almost a year to think about it and to try other relationships. And I’ve discovered that no one comes close to you. There is no one else out there for me but you. You can have whatever you want. You don’t have to compromise. You can have it all. I shouldn’t have denied you a child. That was selfish.’ He smiled bashfully. ‘I’ve got over myself, Margherita.’
Daisy felt a surge of fury rise up from the pit of her chest. ‘It took you a year to realize how much I meant to you? And now you’re willing to give me what I want? Don’t you think you’re a little late, Luca? Do you think I’ve been doing nothing but waiting for you all these months?’
‘I hoped you’d feel the same as I do,’ he said quietly, looking genuinely shocked by her angry response.
‘Why do you think I changed my number?’
He shrugged in the way Italians do. ‘I just wanted to talk.’
‘I just wanted to get on with my life,’ she retorted.
‘I suppose you did get on with your life.’
Daisy didn’t want to hurt him, but she wanted to tell him the truth. ‘I’m seeing someone else,’ she told him.
He gazed at her and the wounded look in his eyes jabbed her conscience. ‘Six years, Margherita. That’s what we gave to each other. Six years. And you want to throw all that history away?’ He swigged from the bottle. ‘Who is he anyway?’
‘You don’t know him.’
‘Is he English?’
‘Yes.’
‘Terrible lovers, the English.’
‘You’ve slept with them all, have you?’
‘I’ll come and live here,’ he offered. ‘If that’s what you want.’
Daisy was stunned. ‘You’d do that for me?’
‘Look, I’m ready to commit.’ He delved into his pocket and pulled out a little red box. ‘You’ve taught me a valuable lesson, Margherita. No person is an island. Love is about giving and compromise, it’s about making the other person happy. I want you to be happy, with me.’
‘Are you seriously trying to tell me that you’ve changed this much? The man who didn’t want marriage and children because it would make him “less, not more” is now willing to move to England and become a husband and father?’
‘It is only the very stupid who stubbornly stick to a path and rigidly refuse to try another. I’m a photographer. I can take my work anywhere. If you want to live here, I’ll move. I’m kind of done with Milan anyway. I’m in my mid-forties, perhaps it’s time to settle down and experience a different way of living.’ He slid the box across the table. ‘I want to marry you, Margherita,’ he said, his brown eyes full of hope. ‘You loved me once. I don’t think that kind of love just goes away. I know that I still love you. The truth is that I love you more now than I did before and that has surprised me, and wounded me more deeply.’ His gaze intensified. ‘Come on, Margherita. You know this is what you want. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Don’t punish me for discovering too late that it’s what I want as well.’
She opened the box. ‘Oh Luca,’ she sighed. The sight of the sapphire surrounded by small diamonds induced tears. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I knew you’d like it. I know how you like simplicity. You see, I know you better than anyone else. Better than this Englishman you’ve just met. You barely know him. Think of the history you and I have. The years we’ve lived together. It was like a marriage, only without the ring and the ceremony. Now it will be a proper marriage.’ He took her hand. ‘Come home,’ he said. ‘Or just say the word and we’ll make a home here.’
Daisy withdrew her hand. She closed the lid of the box and pushed it back across the table. ‘I don’t know, Luca. You’ve thrown me. I wasn�
��t expecting this. I thought I knew what I wanted, but now I’m not sure.’
‘Think about it. No pressure. This Englishman, do you really know him? Of course you don’t. You know me. You know me better than I know myself, I suspect. You can rely on me, Margherita. Can you rely on him?’
There ensued a long pause as she considered his words.
‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked him finally. ‘Are you going to fly back to Milan?’
‘I’m going to spend Christmas with my family in Venice, but all the while I’m going to be thinking of you and hoping that you’ll allow me to put this ring on your finger and start our life together.’ He tapped the box on the table. ‘Tonight I’m staying in the Bear Hotel in town. I’ll be on my phone if you want to reach me. If you want to talk.’
So much had happened in the last year, she wouldn’t even know where to start. Taran knew about her mother’s dementia and her new job as an artist. He knew about the present, but she and Luca had put down some very deep roots and he knew her past. ‘I’d better go,’ she said, getting up.
‘I’ll walk you home,’ said Luca. And they wandered down the lane together.
‘I’d invite you in,’ she said. ‘But I think it’s for the best if—’
He cut her off. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’ Then he put his hand in the small of her back and pulled her against him, kissing her on her cheek. The familiarity of him tugged momentarily at her heart. ‘Think about it,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I’ll be doing little else.’
Daisy decided not to tell Taran about Luca, at least not on the telephone. She knew how awkward the phone could be and she wasn’t sure he’d be too happy about their meeting. She didn’t want to incite his jealousy, or make him angry, and she felt guilty that she was feeling torn. It was better to avoid his calls altogether and text him instead, telling him she was busy. Just until she had sorted out her head. She needed time to think. The only reason she had broken up with Luca was because he hadn’t been prepared to give her what she wanted. Now he had turned up out of the blue and offered her everything she wanted. Where did that leave her and Taran? Taran, whom she loved. Did she still love Luca? She wasn’t sure. Did she just love the familiarity of him? The sense of security? The sense of the known?
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