by Daisy James
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was Ollie’s last visit to Bernice’s garden. End of September and his services were no longer required, but as he and Rosie stood back to admire their handiwork, they agreed that what they had undertaken together was nothing short of miraculous. However, in Rosie’s opinion, freed of its tangled chaos the garden had lost a little of its romantic aura.
‘How’s your own garden coming along, Ollie?’ Rosie enquired whilst they worked side by side in a companionable rhythm, Ollie brandishing his secateurs to deadhead the roses like a French executioner.
‘It’s just how I want it, especially the vegetable plot. You know I’m more adept at persuasion in plants than in humans.’
Rosie studied Ollie’s features as he gathered together Bernice’s ancient gardening tools and implements and secured them in their allocated place in the shed for winter. Whilst he couldn’t be said to be movie-star handsome, he had integrity and honesty, and a passion and work ethic few young people possessed these days. He locked the summerhouse with its rusty key and smoothed back his silver hair from his forehead. Then, after hugging Rosie awkwardly, he secured his trouser cuff with a clip and cocked his leg over his bicycle.
‘Bye, Rosie. I’ll miss our chats, you know. From what I’ve heard, I’m not the only one who’d love it if you could stay here in Devon and live in your aunt’s cottage,’ his pewter eyes twinkled. ‘I’ll be available next year. Let me know?’
Rosie smiled as a surprise gulp caught in her throat. ‘Thanks for everything, Ollie. You’ve been brilliant. Indispensable.’
As Ollie’s arched back disappeared around the corner, the insistent shrill of the landline sprang from the hallway of the cottage and she shot off to answer it.
‘Hi?’
‘Hi, Rosie, it’s Charlie.’
‘Oh, hello, Charlie.’ Charlie couldn’t fail to catch the change of tone in her voice, but ploughed on. ‘I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m not required at the Manor now so I’m debunking back up to London. So, if you fancy a trip to the bright lights of the big city you’re more than welcome to stay over in Pimlico. London can give New York a run for its money, you know.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Thanks Charlie, but I don’t think so. I’m going home soon.’
‘Oh, well, can’t blame a guy for asking. What I was ringing for was to let you know that my publisher in London adores your aunt’s book and her illustrations. He’s certain there’s a ready market for it. What with all the baking programmes on the TV, there’s a real revival of home-cooking sweeping the nation right now. He wants to discuss terms. What do you think?’
She sighed. ‘Okay, Charlie. I’ll speak to him but that’s all. I don’t want any pressurised sales pitch and I’m only agreeing to this because of Freya. If it was only down to me, then…’
‘Yes, here comes the old doormat behaviour.’
‘I am not a “doormat” as you persist in labelling me. Freya is happily married to a great guy and has no need of my advice or even money from my aunt’s estate, as it happens,’ Rosie retorted, although she wasn’t sure either statement was entirely true. ‘Happily’ married might be stretching it and if that wasn’t the case, Freya would most certainly be in need of any independent income available.
‘Oh, climb down, Rosie. It’s lonely up there on the high plateau of righteousness. What’s happening with the sale of Thornleigh Lodge? When is the sale scheduled for?’
‘Contracts are ready. Brian Dixon wants to complete on the last day of October for some tax or accounting reason. I don’t object. It’ll work out okay for me to return to Manhattan then.’
‘I’ll miss you, Rosie. Is there anything I can do or say to persuade you to stay in the UK? Another sporting challenge, perhaps? Mike and James have both been asking after you. You made a lasting impression on them both.’
‘Can they distinguish me between the myriad of girls you take to their establishments?’ Why was she being like this with Charlie? What was the matter with her, why was she pushing him away? Hadn’t they called a truce?
‘You are the first girl I have taken to Mike’s farm, or down to James’ pub for that matter, since Lucy. I don’t have a string of girls on the end of my arm, as you suggest.’
‘But they’ll be queuing up in London when you arrive there, won’t they?’ What was she saying? She knew Charlie had a profound effect on her, that if she was staying on in the UK she would love to continue with their quirky days out.
Charlie paused. ‘Maybe, but…’
‘Bye, Charlie.’
Rosie felt bereft when she dropped the phone back into its cradle, as though one of her limbs were missing or the lights had been dimmed. Had Charlie’s friendship been a mirage, an oasis of fun in the problem-strewn desert of her life? So Charlie did have a coterie of girls desperate to linger on his arm in the swanky establishments of Covent Garden, or wherever the trendy frequented.
She needed to get out of the cottage. She grabbed her Barbour from the banister and wheeled the silver bicycle down the weed-free, gravel path to the road and slung her leg over the saddle, pointing the straw basket in the direction of Susan’s village shop to deliver a brown paper bag crammed with still-warm scones for her tearoom. These would be the last batch of her weekly offerings as, like Brampton Manor, Susan closed the tearoom for the winter at the end of September.
The shop was empty and Rosie found Susan perched on top of a short step-ladder wiping down the wooden shelves, her ample hips swinging to an imaginary tune.
‘You knew I would find my aunt’s journal and diary didn’t you, Susan?’
‘What do you mean, Rosie dear?’ Susan’s face was blank. She’d make a great witness for the defence under pressure, Rosie thought but she persevered.
‘Did you also know about Aunt Bernice’s enduring love for a man she couldn’t be with?’
Susan reversed her bottom down the steps, waddled to the shop door, and turned the sign to Closed, even though it was only three o’clock in the afternoon.
‘Yes, dear, I knew. Gordon was the love of Bernice’s life. She was heartbroken when he left the parish to go overseas eighteen months ago. But she’d accepted a long time ago that they couldn’t be together in the way she wanted. Nothing I said over the years could convince her to move on and find someone else. She carried her torch for him until the day she died. I did wonder if his absence had something to do with her untimely death. She missed him and their brief meetings dreadfully.’
Susan glanced at her best friend’s niece, taking in the sadness in her eyes that shouldn’t be there. ‘Rosie, who was that handsome young man I saw you go out with the other week?’
‘Ah, you mean Charlie? He’s just a waiter from up at the Manor who dreams of becoming their head chef in his spare time. But he’s gone back to London now they’ve closed their doors for the winter.’ Rosie started to twirl her earring distractedly, something she hadn’t done for a while.
Susan eyed Rosie, clearly weighing up whether to share a secret with this gorgeous girl who had arrived five months ago with such confidence and glamour, and who now sat before her a little careworn and bedraggled having arrived on the back of a rickety old bicycle and substituted her glitzy designer clothes for her aunt’s cast-offs. But there was something new in Rosie’s eyes; a genuine sparkle, a spring in her step, a confidence that life was for the taking, she just had to reach out and grab it for herself, not hand it over on a plate to others more worthy. The message had struck home and for that she was thankful.
‘Does it truly matter to you how Charlie earns his living, Rosie? It’s an honest profession, although granted, not glamorous. Just a waiter, you say? Do I take it from that assessment you prefer the sharply-suited solicitor who’s been romancing you over the summer months? Because when it comes to affairs of the heart, you need to look deeper than the plastic-coated shell.’
‘I know that, Susan!’ Rosie was shocked and more than a little offended at Susan’s words. Was that how she sounded wh
en she spoke of Charlie? Was his status in the employment field the true reason she played down her attraction to him? Because he was not some corporate slicker who wore the same business badge as she did? Was she really a stuck-up snob as Emily had intimated? She needed to get out from beneath Susan’s microscope and her uncomfortable home truths. ‘Thanks, Susan. See you later.’
Rosie rattled around the lodge all afternoon, mulling over Charlie’s offer to visit him in London, musing on Susan’s astute observations on her criteria for potential dates. What did Susan know about her, anyway? But as she peeled and cored a mountain of apples from her aunt’s back garden, chopping and slicing them harder than was strictly necessary, she knew Susan had a valid argument and, reluctantly, she admitted the truth. She hadn’t ruled Charlie out at all. In fact he occupied the top spot on her expansive list of two. His lowly position at the Manor and his laidback lack of ambition did not matter to her one jot. He was handsome, quirky, inordinately cheerful, and fun to be with, and his presence did instil a storm of desire deep in her heart. But he had decamped to London, back to his old life where he had a multitude of girls willing to join him for a zip-wire ride from the Shard or whatever other ridiculous ‘dates’ he organised.
But he had taught her a great deal about herself. He had opened her heart and mind to trying new things and to just going with the flow. Not everything had to prearranged, controlled to within an inch of its life. If something went wrong, if the cakes burned, the musician got drunk, your boyfriend was found in a clinch with your sister, you simply inhaled a steadying breath and tried something new. And she had done exactly that with Charlie, but had never expected to fall in love!
As she scattered the apple pieces into the bottom of a buttered dish and covered them with a thick layer of brown sugar, Rosie made a decision. She would stick it out in England for another four weeks until the cottage was safely sold on the last day of October. Then she would return to New York with a firm business idea, along with a cogent, detailed dating strategy. Perhaps she would also enrol on a baking course in Manhattan to make sure she didn’t revert to her obsessive tendencies of all work and no play. Yes, her aunt would approve of that plan, she thought, though she wasn’t so sure of Lauren’s reaction.
Her iPhone buzzed and she pressed the answer button.
‘Hi?’
‘Hello, Rosie. It’s Austin here. Just checking you are still agreeable to the thirty-first of October for the sale? We should be exchanging contract in a couple of weeks. Brian Dixon is in the process of lining up his investments to be liquidated the week before so we’ll exchange when he has his ten per cent deposit available. His lawyer just wants confirmation that it’s still a definite date.’
‘Yes, Austin, you can agree that. I’m planning to vacate on the thirty-first. I’ve booked my flight tickets back to New York for that day. It’s my father’s birthday on November fourth – his seventieth – I’m arranging a surprise party so it all slots neatly into my schedule. I’ll make sure the cottage is cleared of all personal possessions, too. Thank you for all your help, Austin. I’m sorry it has taken so long; you must be fed up with my procrastinations.’
‘Not at all, Rosie. It has afforded me the time to get to know you better. And as soon as Thornleigh Lodge is sold, I’ll be able to tie up your aunt’s estate accounts. As you intend to stay until the end of the month, would you be interested in accompanying me to the local Law Society Ball next Saturday?’
‘Oh,’ Rosie was taken aback at the unexpected invitation. Her mind flicked back to Susan’s words of wisdom. ‘I don’t know, Austin.’
‘Come on. I thought all girls loved to wear ball gowns. You can wear your Louboutins! I know you’ll look spectacular.’
‘Okay, thank you, Austin. I’d be delighted.’ God knows, she needed some fun.
‘Great. I’ll pick you up at six – it’s a bit of a journey down to Exeter.’
As she laid down her cell phone on the table, she panicked. What did she have to wear to a Law Society Ball? Argh, she wished Lauren was there for one of their rainy afternoons of vintage foraging.
***
Saturday, October thirteenth: Rosie perched in Austin’s pristine Mercedes as it sliced its way through the countryside towards the cathedral city of Exeter. She loved the caress of her aunt’s sixties Dior cream lace cocktail dress against her skin in place of her ubiquitous jeans, woollen sweater and Barbour. She’d even forced her feet into the matching pair of Massaro sling backs she’d come across in her aunt’s wardrobe, which sported the same flowered-lace pattern. The opportunity to get dressed up had reminded her how much she had enjoyed attending corporate dinners and balls in the past.
The evening turned out to be a fabulous success. Austin’s colleagues and friends from the cricket club and their wives and partners were sparkling company and she relaxed in the throng of corporate bonhomie, enjoying the challenge of intellectually stimulating conversation on the economy, the political situation in the Middle East and the future of the legal profession, offering her own insights from her experiences across the Pond.
Austin was a solicitous date and she felt cared for and treated like a woman. There was only one thing that had marred the evening as they were organising the table’s sweepstake on how long the top-table speeches would go on for. She had made a throwaway comment on how a gathering of lawyers could be so clandestine about their bets when she had watched two of them curl their forearms around their tiny slice of parchment to hide their prediction from prying eyes. Austin had fixed his steely eyes on hers and snapped back like a whip that if they were talking about secretive behaviour she should ask her ‘friend’ Charlie about his undercover exploits. She had no idea what he had meant and had been unable to press the matter as the speeches had started.
After Austin had collected his winnings the dancing began and, as she had consumed another three glasses of Merlot to get through the monotonous speeches, his strange retort slipped from her mind and she went on to thoroughly enjoy the live band and the dancing to the subsequent glam-rock disco. When they drew up outside Thornleigh Lodge, she lingered over their goodnight kiss.
As she dropped her beaded evening bag onto the console table in the hallway, it occurred to her that Austin had not asked, or expected, to be invited in for a nightcap, nor had she thought to invite him in. A shiver of desire ran through her body when she thought of her kiss with Charlie as they danced to the tunes of Abba in The Dog and Gun, and she could recall every nuance of the intense urgency and deep arousal he had engendered when he thought he was instructing her on the finer points of stretching an archery bow, his warm body pressed into hers, his breath on her cheek.
She’d experienced none of these emotions with Austin which, she had to admit, was strange. After all, they were so similar in their backgrounds they should be on the same wavelength. They had just spent a very enjoyable evening in interesting company, with good food and a copious amount of Merlot. So why not?
Again, Susan’s sage words of admonishment rang into the silence of the hallway. The heart wants what the heart wants.
Was that Charlie?
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Hi, Rosie, it’s Charlie. Remember me?’
‘Funny, Charlie. Of course I do. What do you want?’
‘Always delighted to hear from me, I see.’
‘Charlie…’
‘As you know, Jasper loved your aunt’s book proposal and wants to go ahead with publishing. He’s ready to get together with you to go through the contract as your aunt’s representative. Can you come down to the Manor now to meet him?’
‘What do you mean? Now?’
‘I know you weren’t entirely sure about a book deal, Rosie, but it’s all set up. Jasper is an important guy in the publishing world. It’s a real achievement to get his interest, even more so when he says he loves a book in its early stages. You would never negotiate a better offer than he can give you.’
‘Oh Charlie, I am grateful for wh
at you’ve done, but everything seems to be happening so fast! I thought the wheels of the literary world rolled much more slowly, to be honest. And what with the cottage being sold, and packing up my aunt’s belongings I don’t think I can cope with negotiating the finer points of a publishing contract…’
‘It’s only a meeting, and don’t worry I’ll be with you every step of the way to talk you through it. I wouldn’t leave you at the mercy of one of Jasper’s zealous sales pitches. You don’t have to do any of this alone, Rosie, I’m here for you. If you really don’t like the contract or what Jasper has planned for the book, then you don’t have to sign anything. Just hear him out.’
Was what Charlie said true? That she didn’t have to do everything herself any more? Could she rely on him to protect her from not only the vagaries of the publishing world, but everything else as well? Could she at last learn to allow others to care for her instead of the other way round? Let Charlie care for her?
She glanced at her reflection in the age-speckled mirror. Yes, the smooth, groomed corporate Rosie had definitely vanished and been replaced by a more relaxed and tousled exterior. But she was a different person inside too. Gone was the stressed-out, snippy girl who had little time for smelling the roses, as her beloved dad repeatedly warned her to do. Now her go-to reaction was serenity and a willingness to grasp opportunities – no matter how fleeting – just like the one Charlie was offering. What was the worst that could happen?
And failing that as an excuse, she had to admit that the delicious churning in her stomach had little to do with nerves about a meeting with a high-flying London publisher. She was excited at the prospect of seeing Charlie again, of locking her eyes on his chocolate brown gaze, of watching his elegant fingers brush back the ebony spirals from his face only for them to fall back into those liquorice lashes.
‘Okay, Charlie. Give me twenty minutes to get the bicycle out.’
It only took her ten minutes to reach Brampton Manor, a mental picture of Charlie waiting for her encouraging swift progress. She slung the bicycle onto the circular lawn, shot up the stone steps and through the magnificent entrance door, skidding to an abrupt halt in the highly-polished parquet reception area. A pretty, ebony-haired receptionist took in Rosie’s attire, but managed not to grimace as she welcomed the dishevelled guest.