“Then it will be alright,” he says with certainty. “You’ll find her.”
There’s such ease to his confidence it’s impossible to not feel encouraged. “I think so too,” I say, daring to admit it out loud.
A car door slams and we both peek over the hedge to see a new car in the parking lot. “Who’s that?” I ask.
“That would be the new guests,” he says. “They’re from Australia. A family of four I believe.”
I watch as a tall blonde man pulls suitcases from the trunk. A woman, equally as blonde, says something to him with animated hand gestures. Two kids, a young boy and a teenage girl, get out of the back seat looking bored.
The tranquility is quickly broken when the daughter speaks. Her voice carries loudly as she complains about needing to charge her phone. She’s a carbon copy of her mother with long, tanned limbs, and straight hair down her back.
“Matilda,” her mother warns. “I will not say it one more time. This is a holiday and you will not be on your phone every second of it.”
I can’t help but laugh and quickly duck down before they see me.
“Things are going to get a little more lively around here,” Francois says, laughing with me.
His words prove true only ten minutes later when Jane comes outside with the family in tow. “And this is the garden,” she tells them. When she spots us, she waves and walks over. “Charlotte, it’s lovely to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back,” I say.
She gives me a smile, but I can see how fatigued she is. “These are our new guests, the Wilsons. Jim, Sharon, and their kids Michael and Matilda. They’re visiting from Perth, Australia.”
The son starts running around like an animal that’s just been released from its cage. The daughter stands, arms folded next to her parents, watching us.
I lift a hand to my eyes to shield them from the sun. “I’m Charlotte.”
“Are you American?” the girl asks.
“I am.”
I have no idea what that information means to her, her sour expression unchanging. Francois introduces himself, saving me from having to find out. The girl’s eyes, however, don’t stray far from me, and the glimpses I catch are not flattering.
Thankfully, Jane continues with the tour, leading them down the path toward the front of the house and away from us.
“Well,” Francois says after they’ve left. “I think that’s a good indication it’s time for me to head upstairs for a nap.”
“I was planning on reading, but I have a feeling this garden won’t stay peaceful for long.”
“There is a place,” he says covertly. “A secret part of the garden.”
I stare at him, wondering if he’s teasing me. “A secret garden?”
“On the other side of the barn, beneath the apple tree. It’s hedged in.”
I glance in that direction and see the tree he means. “Really?”
“No one will disturb you there.” He taps his nose twice, and with a smile, grabs his towel and heads back inside.
I wait until Jane’s finished the outdoor tour before going in search of the mystical location. Walking around the other side of the barn, I see the large hedge that’s almost six feet tall. It takes me a moment to figure out where the entrance is, but when I do, I stand, staring in wonder.
The small garden is enclosed by four walls of hedges. The apple tree adds a section of shade to the otherwise sunbathed area. With a silent prayer of gratitude to Francois, I pick a spot close to the tree and lie down.
The sun’s warmth is delightful, and since I know I’m alone and no one can see me, I decide to unbutton my dress and lay it out beneath me. Wearing only a bra and underwear, I lie back down, surrendering to the sunshine.
I fall asleep, waking when the cover of the shade has moved over me. People are in the garden; I can hear Jim and Sharon’s conversation floating over from the table, as well as the joyous screams of their son as he runs around.
Over the other side of the hedge I hear water and footsteps on the grass. I figure I better get moving before I’m discovered, so I sit up to leave when Jonah’s voice floats over to me.
“Shit,” he says, and quickly apologizes.
I eavesdrop, confused by his reaction.
“What are you doing?” The accent is female and unmistakably Australian.
“Hosing the garden,” he tells her.
That explains the water.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Jake Gyllenhaal?”
I have to cover my mouth to stop my laughter from bursting out.
“Ah, no,” Jonah replies.
“Oh, well you do. He’s really hot by the way.”
I almost want to applaud the balls on this girl. I couldn’t have dreamed of having such confidence at her age.
“I just graduated high school,” Matilda exclaims proudly. “And I just turned eighteen.”
I put my other hand over my mouth, afraid of making a sound. Jonah is nearly twice her age. Surely she must know that.
“Congrats,” Jonah tells her.
I can only imagine how awkward this is for him, and that thought alone nearly has me in hysterics.
“You know what?” Jonah’s voice carries loudly. “I forgot the weed killer. I better get that before I carry on.”
The hurried footsteps are surely his. I lie back down and try to get a hold on my giggling. I immediately stop laughing, however, when I see someone walk into the garden. Quickly grabbing at my dress, I sigh in relief when I realize it’s Jonah.
He stares at me, his eyes taking in my near naked state before he realizes he can be seen over the hedge and ducks.
“We have to keep quiet,” he urges as he moves closer to me. I watch him glance around anxiously as though expecting Matilda to high jump over the hedge at any moment.
“Do you know what I just realized?” I tease as he approaches. “In this light, you look exactly like Jake Gyllenhaal.”
A smile breaks through. “That wasn’t funny.”
“Oh, it was.”
“I can’t blame the poor girl, though,” he says casually. “I mean, look at me.”
I attempt to reproach his arrogance, but I can’t. He’s not wearing a shirt, a light layer of sweat adding a sheen to his muscles. I honestly can’t blame her either.
“You know,” he says, moving to crouch over me. “Having a naked woman in my secret hiding place has always been a dream of mine.”
“I’m not naked.”
He pushes one of my bra straps over my shoulder, loosening the fabric. His lips are close to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he pushes the other strap off and slides his hand into the bra, cupping my breast.
“Jonah,” I breathe. “We’re in public.”
He murmurs in agreement and replaces his hand with his mouth. I arch in delight. But as his head moves lower, I stop him.
“The Australians are just over there.”
He looks at me, his eyes wanting. “I guess you’ll just have to keep quiet then.”
“Jonah,” I warn.
With a heavy sigh, he moves off of me. “Alright, I’ll be good.”
“We need ground rules,” I tell him, pulling my dress back on.
He regards me, amused. “Ground rules?”
“Yes. Rules for conduct while in the house, or on the property for that matter. For example, no kissing or touching.”
“You know this is only going to make me want you more, right?”
“Rule number two,” I say, trying and failing to ignore the look he’s giving me. “No flirtatious comments like the one you just said.”
“But you like my flirtatious comments,” he teases. “Remember last night when I slid my hand up your thigh and whispered how I wanted to—”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” I say, blushing at the memory.
He smiles, clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on me. “I promise,” he says, raising his hand like a
boy scout. “No touching, kissing, or flirting.”
“Good. It’s probably best we keep this between us for the time being.”
He murmurs in agreement. “I don’t think my parents would be happy to find out I’m sleeping with one of the guests.”
“It would put us both in an awkward situation. And I don’t want that.”
“Well, lucky for us, they’re leaving for London tomorrow.”
“Yes, but they’re leaving you in charge.” I finish buttoning up my dress. “We have to be careful around the other guests, too.”
“Two weeks of sneaking around then?” He grins charismatically. “Challenge accepted.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to enjoy this?”
He leans forward, bringing his face only inches from my own. “Oh, you have no idea,” he says.
For a fleeting moment, I contemplate throwing the ground rules out the window. But then I hear Matthew’s shrieks of joy from across the garden and am quickly pulled back into reality. Still, the look Jonah’s giving me has me wishing we could be somewhere private. Glancing over to the barn, an idea comes to me.
“What are you thinking?” Jonah asks, his regard of me curious.
I turn to him with a smile. “Technically, it’s not in the house.”
18
Jonah pushes open the barn doors and I walk through, taking in the incredible interior. I’ve only been inside once before, the day I arrived, and I still can’t believe the medieval exterior hides something so modern and chic.
“Your parents did an amazing job with this place,” I tell him, moving into the center of the living room.
“I’ll take the compliment,” he says, closing the doors behind him.
I turn and see the pride on his face. “You did this?”
“Me and Dad, yeah. Wait till you see upstairs.”
He walks past me, grabbing my hand, and leads me to the staircase behind the piano. When we reach the loft, I stop, staring at the room, confused.
The space is furnished in the same mahogany stained wood as downstairs, but the walls are the original stone, giving it a rustic vibe. There’s a large bed with white linen, and small barrels on either side acting as bedside tables. French patio doors open onto a veranda, and opposite, a barn door slides over the interior railing, giving privacy from the rest of the house.
As my eyes scan the room, I notice Jonah’s bag in the corner, his wallet on top of the dresser, next to a framed photo. I walk over to it and see two adolescent boys holding up a fish, their grinning faces similar.
“That’s Aaron on the left,” Jonah tells me. “He caught the fish but insisted I be in the photo too.”
It’s a snapshot of a happy moment, Aaron’s arm proudly around his brother’s shoulder. “How old were you?” I ask.
“I was ten, Aaron was twelve.”
“You both had such angelic smiles. I bet you got up to all sorts of mischief.”
Jonah laughs. “Aaron had an ability to get into trouble wherever he went. And I always followed.” A hint of a shadow crosses his eyes, his smile fading.
“So,” I say, looking around the space. “I’m guessing this is your room.”
“Yep. I live in a barn.”
“It’s a little more than that,” I offer.
“Before we refurbished it, I used to stay in a room on the first floor of the main house, next to my parents’. It’s impossible to have any privacy though. Here I have my own space, away from the guests.”
“Almost all the guests.”
“You,” he says, pulling me to him, “are welcome anytime.”
Before I can say another word, he lifts me up and throws me onto the bed. In the flurry of movement, his lips find mine, kissing me with determination. It’s intoxicating the way I feel having his hands on me. As his fingers reach beneath my sundress, gripping the back of my thigh, I breathe in the smell of him, the light scent of sweat mixed with something citrusy.
“Technically,” he murmurs, kissing a trail down my neck, “the barn is still on the property.” He uses his free hand to tug down my underwear. “What was rule number one again?” he asks, moving lower.
My need of him takes over all my senses. “No kissing or touching,” I say, my words barely audible.
“That’s right.” He ducks his head between my legs.
I let out a pleasured moan.
Consider rule number one broken.
* * *
With my naked body half-draped over Jonah’s, I stare at the large framed painting on the opposite wall. It’s mesmerizing, the gray and blue of the cloudy evening sky in contrast with the orange and brown of the lamplit street below.
“Who painted that?” I ask.
He lifts his head to follow my gaze. “John Atkinson Grimshaw.”
“It’s beautiful. What’s it called?”
“Blackman Street, London.”
“Is that close to where you’re from?”
Jonah’s hand moves down my back, finding a comfortable spot on my hip. “No, I grew up in a town called Wycombe in Buckinghamshire.”
“That sounds very fancy.”
He laughs. “It’s a nice place.”
My knowledge of England outside of London is limited to movies I’ve seen. The rolling hills, charming lanes and woods from Jane Austen and Thomas Hardy adaptations. “But you live in London now?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
My curiosity gets the best of me. “What’s your place like?” I only know Jonah here. In France. I can’t help but wonder what his life is like beyond it.
“It’s ... well, not much to be honest.”
I crane my neck to look at him. “It’s an apartment?”
“Kinda.”
I’m too curious to drop it. “What does that mean?”
He moves his hand from the small of my back, running it through my hair. “It means the rent in London is so bad that I live above my pub.”
“You live in your bar?”
“Above it. In a small flat.”
I try to envision it. “Do you work out of there, too?”
“No, I work in the office in the pub.”
It’s quite the image of a bachelor’s life. “I suppose that must work well when you pick up women at the bar.”
He gives me a guarded look. “You don’t actually want me to answer that, do you?”
I realize instantly that, no, I do not. “Do you ever work behind the bar?” I ask.
“Not really. I’ll step in if they need me, but that happens less and less now.”
“So, web design is your main job?”
“Yeah.”
There’s something curious about it all, a piece of the puzzle I feel like I’m missing. “What made you want to buy a bar?” I ask.
I feel his muscles tense ever so slightly beneath me. “I suppose you could say I kind of inherited it.” He traces figure eights on my shoulder and stops. “It was actually Aaron’s pub. I took it over when he died.”
And just like that it all makes sense.
“It was his dream. He wanted us to do it together, but I chose something else.”
I remember how Steve reacted when Jonah talked about the bar the day I met him. At the time, I thought it was a classic parent-being-unhappy-with-your-career-choice type of situation. But now I see it’s something much more complex.
“Are you hungry?” Jonah asks me, changing the subject. “I have chocolate in the kitchen.”
“You know all the right things to say.”
He kisses my forehead and moves off the bed, pulling on his shorts before heading downstairs.
I stretch out my arms and legs, then get out of bed, walking to the barn door. I push it aside a little and glance down over the railing. Jonah is out of view, but I can hear him in the kitchen, pulling something from the fridge.
Another door opens, this time from the opposite end of the barn. Someone walks in. With horror, I realize that it’s Jane and quickly move out of view
.
“Jonah!” Jane calls out.
“Mum?”
“Oh good, you’re here.” Her footsteps sound across the wooden floor, approaching the kitchen. “I wanted to talk to you.”
The acoustics are good, her voice carrying clearly to the bedroom. Worried that any sound I make will also carry, I return quietly to the bed and don’t dare move.
“As you know, your father and I will be away the next two weeks.”
“I’m well aware, Mum.”
“We have another family arriving on Wednesday, and a couple from Italy on Friday.”
I hear Jonah put something down on the counter. “Mum, it’s in the book. You don’t need to give me the rundown.”
“I just want to make sure everyone is taken care of.”
“They will be, don’t worry.”
A heavy silence fills the air.
“There’s something else,” Jane says cautiously. “It’s about Charlotte.”
I feel my entire body tense.
“What about her?” Jonah asks nonchalantly.
“Well, this business with you taking her away for a few days. I don’t understand it.”
“There’s nothing to understand. She needed help, and I had the time to offer it.”
“I don’t want you leading her on. No, don’t give me that look. She’s a lovely girl, and she’s our guest.”
“Nothing’s going on between me and Charlotte.”
I cringe at the thought of him lying to his mother. Being present for this conversation is reaching a whole new level of awkwardness.
“Good,” Jane says. “Because I was talking to Betsy this morning, and she said that Catriona is—”
“Mum,” Jonah cuts in. “Everything is fine. I’m gonna take care of the place. There’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“I know you will, darling. I just wanted to check in before we leave early tomorrow.”
“What’s this really about?” Jonah asks, an edge to his voice.
There’s a shift in the air, a subtle tension I can feel even from upstairs.
“I’m not supposed to say anything.”
“Mum,” he presses.
“Your father had a spell a few months back. He asked me not to tell you.”
“A spell? What does that mean?”
The Sea of Lost Things Page 16