Although she suspected that she was mainly enjoying the company. Arabella was fast becoming a permanent fixture in her mind.
After the successful dinner, where she had managed to kick off the nerves and have a normal conversation, Rebecca’s mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of Arabella. Every day seemed to consist of casually wondering what Arabella would think or say about something.
She knew what it meant. She wasn’t stupid. But she also knew that Arabella was straight and simply being a good friend. Something that Rebecca was in short supply of.
She had friends. Loads of friends. But her friends were either young and immature, or completely focused on their careers. Not to mention that Rebecca hadn’t been a great friend lately. Her life had been so hectic that she’d not been very good at keeping up with friends. And when her mum had died, she received a flood of condolence text messages, emails, and Facebook updates. And then everyone had stayed away. Worried about how Rebecca was dealing with the loss and not wanting to intrude.
So, life had been a little lonely. She knew she could pick up the phone and call someone, but the truth was that she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay in her little cocoon. She wanted to paint the dining room on a Sunday morning with Arabella.
“So,” Arabella said with what sounded like fake casualness. “Travel.”
“Yep.” Rebecca scraped her paint brush against her tin, trying to remove the excess.
“You seem to have it all planned.”
“I do. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” Rebecca could sense Arabella’s wariness.
She suspected that Arabella thought the idea of travelling around the world and staying in cheap hostels was childish and dangerous.
“Have you travelled much?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“Some.” Arabella shuffled along the floor to continue painting the skirting board. “Mainly for work these days.”
“Just locations where a gazillionaire needs a holiday home to get away from the paparazzi?” Rebecca joked.
“I don’t deal with anyone below a kazillionaire,” Arabella replied.
“Of course, you must maintain standards.”
“Indeed.”
“Is there anywhere you haven’t seen that you want to see? Something to tick off the bucket list?”
“I don’t have a bucket list,” Arabella said.
Rebecca paused, her paintbrush centimetres away from the wall.
“You don’t have a bucket list?”
“No. Too much pressure. I could die tomorrow. I don’t want to be laying in the street after being hit by a bus and thinking that I never got to see the sunset over the Sahara, or the Northern Lights. I’d be quite disappointed enough that I’d been hit by a bus without the added pressure.”
“That… that’s so pessimistic.”
“I’ve never been known for my optimism,” Arabella confessed. “I wasn’t exactly encouraged by my parents to dream big. I had a path laid out for me and I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Rebecca balanced her paintbrush on the tin and stepped down the ladder.
“You may be a part of some grand plan for Henley’s to take over the London property market, but surely you’ve thought ‘I wanna do that’ at some point in your life? Not everything revolves around work. You do get some free time.”
Arabella looked up at Rebecca. “You’ve stopped painting.”
“Forget the painting, you’ve just told me that you have no dreams.” Rebecca shook her head in exasperation. How could Arabella focus on painting at a time like this?
“I have dreams, they just don’t match up to your expectations of the dreams I should have.” Arabella put her paintbrush down. “I dream that we’ll hire a really good receptionist next time, so that my clients are offered drinks in a timely manner. I dream that Mrs Taylor will stop messing about and just buy the damn house on Sycamore Avenue. I dream that—”
“These are all work-related. Come on, I know you have a life outside of work.” Rebecca paused. “Wait, you do have a life outside of work, don’t you? You must have a hobby, right?”
“I… like gardening,” Arabella admitted as if it were a struggle to come up with anything.
Rebecca stared at her.
“I do!”
“You liar, you just picked that out of thin air. I can see it in your eyes.”
Arabella turned away. She picked up the paintbrush and continued her work.
“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you and your travel plans.”
Rebecca looked at Arabella’s tense posture. She realised that she had upset her with her suggestion that she had nothing outside of work. She wondered if it were true. Arabella was the kind of person who would live for her work.
“I suggest you read the Foreign Office’s online travel guidance,” Arabella said. “There’s a lot of information on there about countries that are not safe to visit. You can’t just gallivant around the planet as if there are no consequences.”
Rebecca felt her jaw open. “Gallivant?”
“Yes, it’s hardly the most sensible option, is it?” Arabella scoffed. “Coming into a large inheritance, you should be putting it aside for the future. Buying a home, creating security. But you’re going to spend it all on seeing the world. And then you’ll presumably come back here with nothing to show for it but some knickknacks that you collected on your travels. Possibly a drunken tattoo.”
“Wow,” Rebecca breathed. “You really have that low an opinion of me?”
Arabella turned around. Her eyes widened as if she only just realised what she had said.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. That was… harsh. I apologise.”
Rebecca furrowed her brow. Arabella’s apology seemed sincere enough, but she was hurt. She knew the insinuation hadn’t come from nowhere. There was an element of Arabella’s true feelings in there.
“So, you think I should buy a small house and get a job, right?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Arabella said softly.
“No, it does. I know I’m young, you think of me as a child compared to you and all your adult accomplishments. You think I should settle down and get on the career path, don’t you? I suppose not having a stable career makes me a bit of a failure in your eyes, right?”
“I never said that.” Arabella put her paintbrush down and climbed to her feet. “And I don’t feel like that.”
“It’s okay, I get it. I know we’re different people,” Rebecca continued. “You have your life together, I don’t. I’m a dreamer, you’re practical. I’m just some loser with fanciful ideas about travelling that will amount to nothing important.”
“Don’t change a thing about you,” Arabella said forcefully. “I shouldn’t have said what I said, I’m sorry. It comes from a place of fear, I worry about you. But I don’t have any right to tell you what to do.”
“You worry about me?” Her breath caught in her throat.
“Of course I do. You’re about to sell everything and pack a bag and go god knows where to see god knows what. You won’t know where you’re going to be sleeping from week to week. Knowing you, you’ll walk into some war zone and get yourself killed!”
Rebecca saw real fear in Arabella’s eyes. She noted that her hands were balled into tight fists.
“Yeah, but it’s a really great bag,” she joked to defuse the tension.
Arabella shook her head and marched out of the room. Rebecca rolled her eyes at herself. She always reverted to joking when she really ought to be serious. And now Arabella was mad at her.
She walked out of the room and into the kitchen where Arabella had her back to her.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have joked like that.”
Rebecca waiting for a reply, but none came.
“I just joke when things are tense, you know?”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot.
“And it is a g
reat bag…”
She heard a sniffle. Arabella’s shoulders shook slightly.
Rebecca stared in shock.
“Are you… are you crying?” She quickly walked around to get a look at Arabella’s face.
As soon as she moved, Arabella moved as well.
“Stop turning,” Rebecca ordered.
Arabella ignored her. They spun around a few times like children playing chase.
Eventually, she took a hold of Arabella’s shoulders and forced her to make eye contact. Red eyes and wet cheeks looked back at her. She wondered what on earth she had said to upset her so much.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Arabella mumbled. She turned to shield her face. “I keep thinking that you’re going to go wander into a minefield or get taken hostage by ISIS, or… or die of exposure on a sand dune!”
Rebecca pulled her into a hug. Arabella struggled slightly. Rebecca knew she felt embarrassed at becoming upset but held on tighter. She waited for Arabella to stop resisting and give in to it.
“I don’t know where you think I’m going,” Rebecca whispered into her hair. “I want to see the Coliseum, bathe in the waters off Bali, and see the Sydney Opera House. I don’t have any intention of wondering around Syria. I’m not going to do a weekend tour of Mosul.”
“They have terrorist attacks in Bali,” Arabella whispered.
“They have terrorist attacks in London,” Rebecca countered. “You’re in more danger here than I am.”
“Thanks, now I’m worried about that, too,” Arabella mumbled. She adjusted her stance and wrapped her arms around Rebecca, holding her tight.
Rebecca swallowed nervously. She wondered what to do. Arabella didn’t seem like the kind of person to just break down in tears. This had obviously been bothering her for a while. Rebecca wondered if Arabella maybe felt something for her. Her heart soared at the very thought.
“Come with me,” Rebecca suggested.
Arabella took a step backwards. Rebecca felt the loss keenly.
“Come with you?” Her brow knitted.
“Travel with me,” Rebecca said.
Arabella wiped at her tears as she chuckled. “I can’t do that. I have… I… I just can’t do that.”
Rebecca started to feel stupid for even suggesting it.
“I know, I— I just offered so you can see for yourself that it’s safe.”
Arabella took another step backwards.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have become so emotional. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”
Rebecca could see that she was planning to make her escape. She had seconds to decide on whether she wanted to let her go or bring up the elephant in the room.
“I think you do know,” Rebecca said.
Arabella looked hesitant before shaking her head.
“Just tired, I’m sure. It’s been a busy week.”
Rebecca wasn’t about to accept that excuse. “I think it’s more than that.”
She couldn’t control the shaking in her voice. Nor could she predict what Arabella’s reaction would be, and it frightened her. Would she laugh it off? Would she run a mile? Gay paranoia was a thing, Rebecca had seen it before.
Arabella looked at her in surprise, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find something to say.
Suddenly, she grabbed her handbag from the kitchen worktop and hurried away. Rebecca momentarily considered running after her, but she knew that emotions were high, which made it a bad idea. She watched as Arabella rushed through the front door and out of her life.
Chapter Thirty
Arabella took off her reading glasses and tossed them onto the desk. Reading the fine print on legal contracts was the bane of her existence. And, to her mind, the sole reason why she now had to wear glasses.
Usually she’d pass the tedious task on to one of the juniors, but she was keeping herself busy. Anything to avoid the voice in the back of her head whispering and ridiculing her for running away from Rebecca the previous month. And ignoring her calls. And passing the paperwork for Rebecca’s sale on to someone else.
Helen burst into the office. Arabella jumped.
“Sorry, couldn’t knock,” Helen explained.
She held a large package wrapped in brown paper. It was nearly as tall as she was and only a couple of inches thick.
Arabella got up and walked over to help her.
“It was just delivered; are you expecting something?”
“I ordered a new phone case, but I’m assuming that’s not it,” Arabella said as they leaned the heavy package against the wall.
“Not unless screen sizes have really gotten out of control. Can I get you anything else?”
Arabella shook her head, distracted by the package. She heard the click of the door closing as Helen left the room. She started looking around the package for a delivery note. She tore at the clear plastic address label and pulled out the paper. Her heart stopped when she saw the sender’s name.
Rebecca Edwards.
She took a deep breath and put the delivery slip on her desk. She regarded the package suspiciously for a moment. Then, she plucked the scissors out of her pen pot and carefully sliced the top and sides of the cardboard.
It flopped open, revealing several large picture frames. She frowned and separated the first two. Her eyebrows raised in shock and she gasped. The frames contained large photographs of the beautiful vista they’d seen when travelling in Spain.
She pulled the first frame out of the cardboard packaging and held it in front of her. It was just as beautiful as she remembered it, the sun hitting the distant mountains and casting light across the land. She placed the first frame in front of her desk and quickly picked up the second. It was another shot of the view, but from another angle. The sun had lowered a little more giving a dramatically different effect.
She held the frame up with both hands and turned to look at the dreary artwork on her walls. She walked to the other side of the room, placing the frame below the painting she disliked the most.
She returned to the cardboard box and pulled apart another two frames. An envelope fluttered to the floor.
Scooping the envelope up, she walked over to her desk and slumped into her chair. She was scared. Part of her desperately didn’t want to open the envelope, afraid of what Rebecca’s words would say.
But then she knew the curiosity would be too much for her to leave it unopened. She held her breath for a moment before plunging in. She pulled out a piece of paper and a photo.
The photograph was of her. She was smiling and standing in front of the vista, having just discovered that Rebecca was a professional photographer. She’d been enjoying watching the girl in her element. And being told that she was beautiful. She placed the photo and the envelope down on the desk and held the paper in shaking hands.
She unfolded the letter and took a deep breath before reading.
* * *
Arabella,
* * *
I had intended to give you these after we’d painted the dining room. You desperately needed new artwork for your office. If you don’t like them, then feel free to give them away, or even throw them away. I include my favourite photo but assumed that you aren’t narcissistic enough to want it blown up to a metre high like the others.
* * *
I miss you.
* * *
Rebecca
* * *
Relief swept over her. She’d expected ranting and raving, a claim that she was running away from her feelings. A hastily scribbled note about being homophobic. But Rebecca was as kind as ever, not even mentioning her terrible behaviour, running away in the middle of a project and ignoring the girl’s subsequent calls.
The door burst open for a second time, and she opened her mouth to berate Helen for scaring her again. But it wasn’t Helen entering the room, it was Alastair.
“I need you to sign these,” he said without preamble, tossing some legal documents onto her desk.
S
he discreetly folded Rebecca’s note and slid it into her desk drawer. She picked up the documents and started to look at them.
“The solicitor won’t talk to me about anything to do with the sale of the cottage unless you sign that. Pedantic old man,” Alastair grumbled.
He sat on the edge of the desk, picked up a stray elastic band, and started to play with it.
Arabella nodded in understanding.
“I’m sorry, I’d forgotten to tell him that you would be dealing with the cottage. My fault.” She picked up her fountain pen and started to read through the document thoroughly, never one to sign anything without reading it.
“Not a problem,” Alastair replied. “How have you been?”
“Well. Busy.”
“As you like it.”
She looked at him.
“Alastair,” she warned.
He held up his hands. “Just a comment, I don’t mean anything by it.”
Strangely enough, her relationship with Alastair had actually improved since the break-up. They fought less, listened to each other more. The pressure of the wedding and the new life they were embarking on had vanished, and, instead, they were just two people working together to separate their lives.
It reminded her that Alastair did actually care for her in his own strange way. Despite initially not wanting to break off the engagement, he was now happy to do his bit to split their interests.
She returned her attention to the document and picked up where she had left off.
The elastic band pinged from Alastair’s fingers and landed on the floor. Arabella rolled her eyes as he bent down and picked it up.
She signed the document and looked up to hand it back to him.
She paused in fright. He was holding the photograph of her in his hand, looking at it curiously.
“If you want my advice,” Alastair said, as though he could read her thoughts, “you’ll find whoever it is who can make you look this happy and build a life with them.”
He took the proffered documents with one hand and held out the photograph with the other.
The Road Ahead Page 17