by Kate Hewitt
He fell in step with her as they walked out onto the lane. “Up or down?” he asked, nodding towards the high street. “Or we could do both, like we did before. A parade of sorts.”
“As tempting as that suggestions is, let’s go up,” Laura answered with a laugh. “I’d like to see the river on a day like today. It must be rushing so fast.”
They walked in silence towards the bridge at the top of the village. James didn’t want to press and Laura seemed deep in thought. What if she was going to break up with him? He hoped she wasn’t; she didn’t look sad, merely preoccupied, but still. He wondered. Worried, because even though he’d told her he’d accept whatever decision she came to, that didn’t mean he’d like it.
Well, he told himself, if she broke up with him, then he’d take it like a man. Relationships didn’t work if only one person was invested. He’d learned that before, and he felt it now. He was falling in love with Laura, but it was no good if she wasn’t falling in love with him. He couldn’t force that kind of feeling, and he didn’t want to. He’d learned that, too.
Finally they reached the little wooden bridge that spanned the Lea River, which was burbling and splashing in a torrent down the hill, miniature crystalline waterfalls tumbling and splashing over the rocks. The banks were bursting with daffodils and crocuses and the golden stone of the village buildings practically sparkled in the sunlight. It was a scene worthy of the quaintest postcard.
Laura took a deep breath and turned to him. “Thank you,” she said, “for being patient.”
“It was the least I could do.” James paused, feeling his way. He couldn’t tell anything from Laura’s expression, which looked…tranquil. Like she’d come to a decision, but what? “How is Maggie?”
“Good. Getting there.” She let out a little sigh, a sound of acceptance rather than impatience or defeat. “I could beat myself up for not getting to the heart of what was going on earlier, but I’m not going to. That’s something I’ve learned, at least.”
“Good.”
Laura glanced at him for a moment, her expression serious and more than a little sad. “Maggie thought Tim had killed himself,” she stated quietly. “Driven into the tree on purpose.”
James absorbed this silently, realising he wasn’t as surprised as he expected to be. “Do you think he did?”
“I don’t know.” She let out a breath. “I’ve been seeing a counsellor for the last month, and I’ve hashed out a lot of things, but I realise there’s no real answer to that one.” Her gaze moved from him to the river, rushing onwards. “I suppose the fact that I don’t know is an answer in itself. He could have, and I’ve had to come to accept that. So has Maggie. It’s hard to make peace with something when you’re not sure if it’s even true, but…we have. At least, we’re in process.”
“I’m glad.” He wanted to touch her, even if to just hold her hand, but he kept himself from it, for now. “I’m so sorry, Laura.”
She nodded slowly. “Thank you.” A silence that he waited out. “I realised I needed to process a lot of stuff that I’d just kept pushing back,” she said slowly, “because I told myself I needed to be there for my kids. But I couldn’t exactly be there for my kids when I wasn’t dealing with my own issues.” She let out a self-conscious laugh. “Which might sound like a lot of touchy-feely psychobabble, but it’s the truth.”
“I believe you.” He hesitated, wanting, needing to ask about them, even as he told himself to let her set the pace. “Has it helped?” he asked instead, and she nodded.
“It has. I’ve cried a lot. And raged a lot. And generally just emoted.” She gave a wobbly laugh. “After an hour-long therapy session, I’m pretty wrung out, to tell you the truth. But it really has helped.”
He nodded slowly. “Good.” And now he couldn’t keep himself from it. “And have you come to any…conclusions…about us?” He felt as if he were offering her his heart on a platter. Here. Take it. Stamp on it, if you like. Please, feel free.
“Yes.” She smiled wryly. “Quite a few, actually.”
“Okay.”
“First off, I’ve realised that we both were, as my friend Chantal said, bloody stupid for rushing into talking about things like babies and all the rest after so short a time together. I’m sorry about that. I never should have put that sort of pressure on you.”
“I’m sorry, too,” James said, meaning it utterly. “Taking you back home for the weekend, considering everything else that was going on, was probably not a good idea.”
“It wouldn’t have been a terrible idea,” Laura allowed with a laugh, “if I wasn’t such a ridiculous overthinker. A panicker. And I panicked.”
“Understandable. I think I did, too.”
“Also understandable.”
They lapsed into a silence and James wasn’t sure what it meant. Was Laura letting him down gently, explaining why she wasn’t ready to date? It seemed that way, and yet…
He still hoped. He had to, because the alternative felt too bleak. A month of separation hadn’t dimmed his feelings for Laura in the least.
“So I want to go back,” Laura told him with a shy smile. “That is, if you do, too. If you’re willing to.”
“Go back?”
“To the beginning. To having only dated for a week. To having things be very exciting and different and, well, new.” She let out another self-conscious laugh. “To when we have dinner or go for a walk or a movie, and get to know one another properly, without thinking about the future or the fact that I’m almost forty-two.” She regarded him seriously. “Which I know could be a big thing, for you especially, if things do get serious and it’s too late for…well, look, here I am, talking about the big stuff again.” She shrugged helplessly. “I can’t seem to resist. But can we do that, James? Can we just…date? For now? Just have fun and get to know each other and see where it goes?”
“Yes, of course we can.” Relief was rushing through him, making him buoyant, his heart ready to float right up to the sky. “Of course we can. That sounds very sensible.”
“And hopefully a little romantic, too?” She raised her eyebrows. “Because when things are new, they can still be romantic, right?”
“Definitely,” James assured her, and he took that as his cue to kiss her. With a smile he reached for her and she came gladly, fitting into his arms, against his body, in a way that felt like both a relief and an ache. How he’d missed this. Her. In his arms, snuggled next to him, and with hope in his heart. Hope for the future—their future. Because they had one, wherever it led. Whatever happened. He’d been guilty of jumping the gun just as Laura had. Taking it slow sounded just about right, even if he’d never felt more sure of his feelings for Laura than he did now.
With Laura in his arms, he could take it very slow indeed.
*
A chill had crept into the afternoon air as Laura stood on her tiptoes to kiss James one more time before they headed back. She’d missed kissing him. Missed being held by him. Missed everything about him, actually, which was a good sign, even as she had to keep reminding herself to take it slowly. Enjoy the moment, because you never knew how many you would have.
The last month had been hard but good, as Laura had finally confronted her own grief. There had been ugly crying sessions with her counsellors, and even uglier ones with Chantal, as she’d poured out emotions and doubts and fears she’d suppressed for too long, and come to peace with them one by one.
There had been help from new and unexpected quarters too—a heart-to-heart with Harriet over coffee, an emotional discussion about the nature of grief with Lindy. And fun times too; she’d had to totter home after a night at The Three Pennies with all the Willoughby Close gang—Ellie, Harriet, Ava, Alice, Olivia, Emily, Lindy, and her. All the residents, past and present, together under one roof, knocking back wine.
It had been a wonderful, riotous evening, and even that had been part of her healing. She still had a long way to go, but she was getting there. Slowly. And that was a good
thing.
She’d learned not to rush the process…not with her grief, and not with James.
“If you rush,” Chantal had told her quite sensibly, “you miss things. All the little details. All the fun bits.”
And Laura knew she didn’t want to miss anything, when it came to her and James.
Hand in hand, they crossed the bridge and started towards home.
Epilogue
Summer, two years later
Colourful bunting wreathed Willoughby Close, with printed signs directing visitors to all the areas of the estate—the close, the manor, the gardens, and even the old gatehouse, where Jace and Ava had once lived.
A table had been set up at the entrance to the close, for interested parties to register and collect a nametag and paddle. None of the former Willoughby Close residents had been able to resist getting one of each, although they hardly needed the paddle. Today was a banner day, a poignant day, and they couldn’t help but exchange bittersweet smiles as the crowds coming in from the village headed towards the great lawn, where the auction was to be held.
Willoughby Manor, and all of its surrounding estate, including the close, was to be sold by auction that very morning. The announcement, made several weeks ago, hadn’t been as much of a shock to the former residents of the close as some of the residents of Wychwood-on-Lea had felt it was; the close had been empty of tenants for over six months, and Alice and Henry Trent, the lord and lady of Willoughby Manor, had decided to relocate their charity, Willoughby Holidays, to a purpose-built complex a few miles away. The upkeep on the manor had simply been too expensive, and Henry in particular had felt he couldn’t justify the expense when they were running a charitable organisation.
“I can’t believe this day has come,” Ellie exclaimed as she hugged Harriet in greeting. Ellie was now a viscountess, and had her own family estate to deal with. Her husband Oliver had retired from his lectureship at Oxford to run the estate full time, with Ellie’s help. Abby, Ellie’s daughter from a previous relationship, was heading to university in the autumn.
“It is strange,” Harriet agreed. “I have such happy memories from this place. Happy but hard.”
“Yes,” Ellie agreed. “We were all going through something or other when we lived here, weren’t we? And we all got through in one piece, more or less. It’s all making me feel a bit nostalgic.” She let out a soppy laugh and gave a slightly shamefaced smile while Harriet pulled her into a quick hug.
“I know, I’m feeling it, too.” Her youngest, Chloe, was now finishing up at primary school, and her oldest, Mallory, was heading to university. Life marched on for all of them, whether they liked it or not.
“No one had better cry,” Ava announced as she strolled up to them in her languid way, “or then I will, and I’m wearing far too much mascara for that.” Jace stood behind her, holding William by one hand, and Zoe, now an angelically chubby toddler, by the other. Ava had gone back to work a year ago and her charity to help women into business was taking off wonderfully. They had moved out of the caretaker’s cottage and bought a house in the village last year; Jace had set up his own carpentry business, which had been a great success, thanks to all his connections in Wychwood.
“It does feel like the end of an era, doesn’t it?” Harriet said, doing her best to be pragmatic, although her eyes were suspiciously bright. “I wonder who on earth will buy the place? Who can afford it?”
“Alice mentioned there was an American who was interested,” Ellie said, and a laughing voice called out:
“Who said what?”
“Didn’t you, Alice?” Harriet asked as Alice came up to their little group, eighteen-month-old Harry balanced on one hip. He had the most adorably impish smile, although Ava had remarked he could look as stern as Henry when he chose, his pale eyebrows drawing together in a ferocious scowl.
“An American? Yes, there was some interest, but it’s all very mysterious. We don’t have the name of a person, just one of an investment bank.”
“I hope it’s not some Hollywood star, looking for a British bolthole,” Harriet said. “There are enough airs and graces around here, as it is.”
“Maybe they’ll turn it into a hotel,” Ellie suggested a bit gloomily. “Or a golf club. It seems such a shame, not to have a family here, filling up all the rooms.”
“That would take a lot of children,” Ava remarked dryly, and everybody laughed.
“I don’t know what will happen,” Alice said, “but I hope it goes to the right person.” She glanced up at the manor, its impressive frontage glinting in the summer sunshine. “It holds so many happy memories for me.”
“And some sad ones, as well,” Ellie remarked quietly. They were all silent for a few seconds, remembering Lady Stokeley, Henry’s great-aunt who had lived in the manor when they were all resident in the close. Regal, imperious, wise, and terminally ill, she had affected each of their lives powerfully, and a sense of her presence still lingered to this day.
“I thought I’d find you all here,” Olivia announced with a laugh as she came up to the group. Married to Simon, they had bought a tumbledown cottage one village over and were doing it up slowly. Olivia had sold Tea on the Lea to a couple from London who were relocating to Wychwood, and she and Simon were hoping to start up an arts and crafts workshop that offered lessons for children and adults alike, along with Olivia’s signature scones.
“I wonder what it will go for,” Ava remarked with a nod towards the manor. “Someone has got to be seriously loaded to take this place on.”
“All the proceeds from the sale will be going to the charity,” Alice felt compelled to remind them. “So frankly I hope there’s a bidding war!” She nodded towards a couple strolling towards them. “Look, there’s Emily and Owen. Isn’t she blooming?”
Emily was six months pregnant, and it suited her well. Her skin was glowing, and she radiated happiness. She and Owen had been married for just over a year.
“I see we all have paddles,” Emily said with a laugh as she waved her own. “And yet somehow I don’t think any of us will be bidding!”
“Not unless it goes for a tenner,” Ava joked. “Look, there’s Lindy. We’re almost all here.” She took a bottle from the hemp bag looped around one wrist. “I brought a bottle of bubbly to toast the manor and of course the close. But we need all the residents together!”
“I can’t miss the bubbly,” Lindy teased as she came up to them, Roger behind her, looking slightly incongruous with a baby strapped to his chest in a sling. Lindy had given birth to a little girl, Daphne, three months ago. After they’d married, she and Roger had moved to his cottage in the village. His mother, Ellen, had died soon after the wedding, but she’d been beaming for the whole ceremony, overwhelmed with joy.
“And here’s Laura,” Harriet said with satisfaction as Laura appeared with James by her side, Sam bounding out in front and Maggie slouching behind, giggling with a friend.
“Let me see that sparkler,” Olivia said, and with a laugh Laura waved her hand about. The diamond ring, flanked by two sapphires was duly admired; she and James had become engaged just a few months ago, after a long, slow, steady courtship. The wedding was going to be before Christmas, and they had plans to add to their family through adoption.
“Right, then. Let’s get this party started.” The cork came out of the champagne bottle with a satisfyingly loud pop, and Ava began to pass around papers cup of fizz. “To Willoughby Close, and all the happy memories made there!” she pronounced, her cup held aloft. “And may many more be made, whatever happens.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone chorused, and toasting paper cups, they drank.
A few minutes later, the auctioneer, a stern-looking woman from London dressed in a power suit of bright cerise and wearing a pair of stilettos that sunk into the grass, came to the front of the lawn.
“It’s about to begin,” Ellie whispered excitedly, and rather unnecessarily. Everyone was rapt as the woman went through the rules of the aucti
on. A fair crowd had gathered, many of them significantly well-heeled, all armed with paddles. Already there was a buzz of expectancy in the air, a hum of excitement. Then the auction started.
All eight women listened and watched, spellbound, as the bids flew from one end of the lawn to the other and the price of the estate climbed higher—one million and a half, two.
“My goodness,” Emily murmured. “It feels a bit like a game of Monopoly, doesn’t it?”
After two million, most of the bidders dropped out, leaving only two—a dark-haired man in his thirties who looked louche and slightly bored, raising his paddle languidly, and a woman in a polka-dot sundress who couldn’t yet be out of her twenties, her auburn hair pulled up into a high ponytail, looking fresh-faced and bright-eyed with determination as her arm shot out, holding her paddle high.
“I like her,” Ava whispered. “But who on earth is she and how can she possibly have so much money?”
“They might just be agents,” Harriet said knowledgeably. “Acting on behalf of some rich old biddy somewhere.”
It was at two and a half million, two and three-quarters… Without realising they were doing so, everyone had started to hold their breath.
A look of annoyance had crossed the man’s face, as if he felt this whole business was being drawn out unnecessarily, while the woman’s eyes shone brighter. Every single Willoughby Close resident was transfixed by the drama as the tension ratcheted higher and higher, the whole crowd gathered on the lawn captivated by the bidding war raging between the two.
“Three million two,” the auctioneer called out. “Who will give me three million two?”
“That is so much money,” Olivia whispered, scandalised, and they all watched as the woman hesitated, her face a mask of hesitation, while the man, who currently had the highest bid, started to look smug.