The Runaway Bridesmaid

by Daisy James

  And she hadn’t been home since April – a full six months! What was the matter with her? Where did her priorities lie? Hiding out in the UK, licking her wounds? When had she gotten so self-focused? Rosie realised how much she had changed over the last few weeks. But had that change been for the better? She wasn’t so sure.

  Having finished with the inside of the house, she turned her attention to the outside for a final dose of the therapy it offered, but a muffled ringing sound intruded on her soothing sojourn into oblivion. As the buzzing continued, she straightened her aching limbs and wondered why she felt so sluggish. A pale shaft of sunlight glanced through the drifting clouds to highlight the serenity of garden in the soft golden glow of late autumn. Would Brian Dixon appreciate the love she had lavished on the plants and shrubs that year? Somehow she doubted it.

  The phone continued its jingle as Rosie groped her way to the console table in the hall. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Clearly someone was anxious to contact her as it had taken her a while to get there – it could only be bad news. She quashed the ridiculous hope snaking through her mind that it might be Charlie.

  She snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Rosie, it’s Freya.’ Rosie’s shoulders stiffened with shock at hearing her sister’s voice. It sounded so close. And why was she ringing on the landline? She didn’t even think Freya had the number. ‘Don’t hang up. Can we meet?’

  ‘Oh Freya, yes, yes. It was the first thing I was going to do when I got back home. Will you come out to Stonington Beach?’

  ‘I don’t have to do that.’

  ‘Well, no, no of course, but…’

  ‘What I mean is, I’m right here.’

  ‘Right here…’ Rosie’s brain decelerated. What did she mean?

  ‘Jacob drove me down. I’m in this gorgeous little teashop in Brampton. Susan gave me your number and has been plying me with tea until I plucked up the courage to call. If I’d left it any longer I’d have had to make the call from the bathroom. Will you meet me? Please?’

  Rosie’s throat had seized up. She swallowed.

  ‘Yes, of course, of course. I’ll be right there.’

  Rosie jogged down the garden path, her heart pounding as she saw the For Sale board proudly announcing the words ‘Sold’ in big red letters. Her sister, Freya, the most self-focused person she knew, had flown all the way to the UK to see her. More than that, she’d even driven down from London to Devon!

  As she arrived at the tearoom door, its Closed sign dangling nonchalantly from a tiny brass chain, she glanced at her mother’s slender watch; two p.m. She would miss her meeting with Austin and Brian Dixon. She dragged out her iPhone but her call went straight to voicemail. Presumably he was on his way to Thornleigh Lodge.

  ‘Hi, Austin, it’s Rosie. My sister’s arrived in Devon and I’m on my way to meet her. I know today is the day you’re planning to exchange contracts on the lodge, so please just go ahead. Completion on thirty-first is great. I’ll ring you later to check everything went smoothly. You can show Mr Dixon around the lodge without me – the key is under the terracotta pot next to the front door. Thanks for everything, Austin.’ She jabbed off the phone and briefly wondered whether she should text Charlie to let him know she wouldn’t be at their meeting with the London publisher that afternoon. But as the arrangements had been made without consultation or her agreement, she decided she would afford him a similar lack of courtesy.

  All thought of Charlie and his schemes flashed from her mind as the old-fashioned bell tinkled above her head, and her eyes fell on her beloved sister. Her anxiety vanished and her mind cleared, her heart ballooning with love.

  Freya’s sapphire eyes met hers as Jacob stood up from the gingham-bedecked table to guide Susan by the elbow into the adjacent shop, chatting about her suppliers, asking her to show him how the ancient bacon slicer worked.

  ‘Hello, Rosie.’

  Those two words were all it took and the sisters were in each other’s arms, tears rolling down their cheeks, questions erupting from their lips until the crying ceased and they sat drinking in their sister’s familiar features, joy at their long-delayed reunion expanding their hearts.

  ‘I love you, Rosie. You were always there for me and Dad. I’m sorry I never appreciated you before. Dad sends his love, too. I’ve been staying out at Stonington Beach for the last couple of months, helping him and Dot to manage the store. They were starting to struggle to do it by themselves and I wanted to help. Everything is fine now, so you don’t need to worry.’

  Good grief, was this Freya talking? In control, making an attempt to soothe her jagged nerves?

  ‘Who are you and what have you done with my sister Freya?’ Rosie attempted a smile as the tears brimmed along her lashes.

  ‘It’s my turn now, Rosie,’ she whispered.

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘Look, Rosie. I’m not completely useless, you know. You just think I am and so you treat me as though I am.’

  ‘I…’

  ‘When Mom died, you did everything for me, Rosie, and I love you for that. But not only did I lose my mom, I lost my big sister, too. Maybe when I was a child I needed you to braid my hair and get me to school on time, but when I got to be a teenager, well, what I really needed was a big sister, a friend and a confidante, not a babysitter. You’d just got into the habit of running my life for me. I needed to make my own mistakes and learn from them, no matter how hard the lesson, how far I fell. But whatever I did, you were always there to put things right and smooth over the cracks, so I didn’t have to. I want my big sister back!’

  ‘But…’

  ‘No buts this time, Rosie. Dad needs someone to help with the store and that someone is going to be me. I’m a big girl now. Let me step up and do this for him. Let me show you both I can be here for you, I can do it! Plus, Jacob is buying a house out there for us. I love him, Rosie. With all my heart and soul. It just took me a little longer to realise it. No more excessive partying for me from now on. In fact, no partying at all.’

  ‘Oh, Freya, you have no idea how happy I am for you.’ Relief at the news her sister had at last matured into an adult sent waves of joy through Rosie’s veins.

  ‘It’s time for you to start concentrating on your own happiness. Though from what I can see you are already doing that. Something, or should I say, someone has been having an effect on you. You’re glowing! Look at you; your skin is tanned, your cheeks are rosy, and it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile as a go-to expression. But it’s what’s going on inside that’s given you that halo of radiance that just can’t be manufactured. Are you in love too?’

  Rosie felt warmth seep into her features. Freya saw it and leapt from her seat to envelop her sister in a fragrant embrace. ‘I knew it! Who? What’s he like? Where is he?’

  ‘Well, you probably wouldn’t believe me, but there are two…’

  ‘Oh my God! Jacob, get in here! Rosie can’t decide between two guys. Can you believe it? All these years crossing the desert of love and two are hanging around the oasis waiting for her decision! Rosie, please, this time will you trust your heart to tell your head what to do? Not the other way round?’

  Jacob sent Freya a look of such adoration that Rosie had to fight back her emotions once again. But he was also astute enough to notice Rosie’s discomfort at having her indecision thrust into the open.

  ‘When is Thornleigh Lodge due to be sold?’ Jacob asked in an attempt to change the subject back to a more mundane level after the highly-charged emotional exchanges.

  ‘Oh, Rosie, are you sure you still want to sell it? Wouldn’t Aunt Bernie want you to keep it?’ Rosie saw Freya flash a look to Susan and realised they must have had a lengthy heart-to-heart before the phone call to the cottage. But her sister was right. Bernice had wanted her to keep the lodge. And now it was wearing its glamorous autumn coat, how could she bear to part with it? She glanced at her watch. It was three p.m. Would Austin and the buyer still be
there?

  ‘You are absolutely right, Freya. Aunt Bernice would want the lodge to stay in the family. I need to go. Will you wait for me here? There’s something I have to do.’

  ‘Sure.’ A slow smile appeared on Freya’s pink frosted lips as she laced her fingers through Jacob’s and they exchanged a wink.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rosie rushed from the tearoom into the street outside. Halloween was approaching and whilst Devon did not embrace the festival to the extreme that New Yorkers did, the event’s imminence was apparent in the gardens she passed on her dash back to Thornleigh Lodge. She loved the fruit-laden fall: the mellow veils of mist, the russet orange and amber-tinged leaves floating down like confetti to produce Mother Nature’s autumnal carpet, the ballooning pumpkins and the anticipated spice of pumpkin pie. In the distance she caught a glimpse of the familiar Welcome to Brampton Village sign, and she was surprised to experience a warm feeling of homecoming, of belonging.

  She pushed open the cottage’s picket gate. Her ears pricked up when she caught a snippet of voices floating on the wisp of a breeze. She knew it would be Austin. Relief surged through her as she sent up a fervent ‘thank you’ that she had arrived in the nick of time as Brian Dixon undertook his final inspection of the property.

  With her breath creating vaporous spirals in the cold air, Rosie experienced a frisson of excited anticipation of seeing Austin again. She imagined his surprise when he saw her approach whilst he talked business beneath the skeletal canopy of the cherry tree, knowing he expected her to be gossiping over a pot of tea with her wayward sister.

  She decided she would offer to buy him dinner as compensation for the lost sale, a token of her appreciation of his patience and the hard work he’d put in, and as a celebratory finale to the completion of their business relationship and, maybe, the start of a more personal one.

  The men’s voices were audible now as she walked towards the summerhouse, freshly glazed with peppermint and cream paint, behind which their conversation was taking place.

  ‘... rip it all up?’

  ‘Silly cow, and she didn’t realise a thing? So much for the future of corporate America if all their executives are as naïve as Rosie Hamilton,’ a broad Devonshire accent pronounced.

  Rosie froze in her path.

  ‘She probably will never know, anyway.’ Austin’s dulcet English tones assured Brian Dixon. ‘She’ll be ensconced in her life in the “city that never sleeps”. Her sister has paid her visit, probably to persuade her to go back home with her. Marvellous timing, if you ask me. I’ll cover our tracks, don’t worry. She trusts me. All the paperwork is in order, ready to exchange with your solicitor on your say-so when I get back to the office.’

  ‘Fantastic job, Austin, my friend. Go right ahead. I’ve just had the nod from my planning officer friend at Devon County Council that my planning application will be sympathetically considered, subject to one or two minor amendments to the drawings, for the erection of six retirement apartments. You’ve done a great job holding her off for so long and thwarting all the interest from other purchasers. And she never realised a thing, you say? Gorgeous little chocolate-box cottage like this? Like bees to nectar are potential buyers round here!’

  ‘Not a thing, Brian. But then, I do have my ways and means.’

  ‘Bet you have, mate. I heard through the cricket grapevine you were wining and dining our auburn-haired Miss Hamilton. So your job wasn’t that difficult for you, was it?’

  ‘Look, Brian, all I’m interested in is my twenty per cent.’

  Rosie’s heart flayed her chest in objection to what her ears were hearing. An involuntary shudder radiated from her locks to her Louboutins and goosebumps prickled on her forearms. Her knees crumbled under the shock. She leant against the side of the summerhouse to steady her collapse, bent double, clutching at her stomach to prevent the involuntary dry retching.

  Why did life have to throw so many missiles in her path? Rip up her aunt’s beloved garden? Knock down the cottage? Her breathing became laboured and her mind struggled to catalogue the facts revealed by the conversation. As she steadied her stance, her senses were devoured by an anger so intense that pins and needles shot to her extremities.

  The traitor!

  Austin had been aware of Brian Dixon’s intentions for the cottage from the outset. In fact, he had played an instrumental part in brokering the whole deal, discouraging other buyers who might have offered a more realistic price, or who might have wished to use the cottage as a family home or retirement cottage. But what hurt the most, at that precise moment, was that he’d encouraged their friendship for the sole purpose of ensuring a smooth transmission of the property from Bernice’s naïve executrix to Brian Dixon for his twenty per cent cut!

  As the full implication of the context of their six-month relationship slammed in her gut and the level of his betrayal dawned, an unprecedented nausea rose into Rosie’s throat and she lurched forward to vomit.

  ‘What was that?’

  Austin appeared round the edge of the summerhouse. His handsome face blanched to match her own mortified expression when realisation dawned that she’d overheard his conversation. Her jaw tightened, her tiger-like eyes narrowed as she scoured his face and her upper lip curled in disgust. But she couldn’t find the words to express her horror at his callous treatment of her.

  ‘Rosie! What the hell are you doing here?’ Austin blurted.

  ‘Well, this is my house, isn’t it, Austin? Still?’

  ‘Well, yes, yes it is.’

  ‘You lying scumbag, Austin! I overheard everything you and this man discussed. You’ve lied to me for six months just so you could get your hands on my aunt’s cottage! Not only is that unethical, but, as a solicitor, I also believe it is professionally corrupt and potentially illegal. I heard how anxious you were to collect your twenty per cent from that conman over there.’ The stench of deceit forced her nose to crinkle and mouth to grimace.

  Rosie had to grant Austin some credit for swinging his mortified expression towards Brian Dixon with a look of such intense loathing it could wither any plant in the vicinity, but he remained silent as Brian meandered across.

  ‘Is this Rosie Hamilton?’

  Austin nodded, clearly not trusting himself to speak.

  ‘Then are we screwed?’

  Austin nodded again.

  ‘Never mind, I have a Plan B lined up over in Tavistock. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just give my lawyers a call. Leave you to it, mate.’ And with a slap on Austin’s broad back, he strode off down the gravel path and out of sight.

  Rosie quickly recovered her faculties. She was so incensed at the way Austin had treated not only her but her aunt’s memory, she had to fight down the urge to lurch for his jugular and squeeze until he stopped breathing.

  ‘What you have done is abhorrent – at the very least it is a flagrant breach of your professional code of conduct to act in your clients’ best interests. It goes without saying that any deal on the cottage is off. I will be transferring my instructions to a firm of solicitors with integrity and will seek their advice on my avenues of recourse against you personally as well as against Richmond Morton. I will be reporting you to your professional body and I hope you will be struck off the solicitors’ roll for gross misconduct.

  ‘And, on a personal level, Austin, I hope you rot in hell. Now get off my property before I call the police and have you arrested. Now!’ She trembled from her golden tresses to her stiletto heels as she stumbled down the gravel path to escort Austin in the wake of his accomplice, but minus the Plan B.

  Rosie slumped onto the rickety garden bench under the awning of the cherry tree, its branches now stark and bare. The dawning horror that she had come within a whisker’s breadth of losing Thornleigh Lodge to the likes of Brian Dixon was too intense to allow tears to form. As she sat, wrapped in her apricot pashmina, she attempted to slot the pieces of the unfolding nightmare into some semblance of order. Inevitably, her brain
alighted on the conversation she’d had with Charlie when he’d tried to warn her about Brian Dixon, even provided her with evidence about another property the man had bought and razed to the ground.

  Charlie had been right about Austin, too. She’d been stubborn, too dismissive of his local knowledge to even perform due diligence as she would for any investor client of her own. But had she deserved what Austin had done to her? Had everything he had told her been a lie?

  Charlie!

  Remorse tormented her conscience. She owed him an apology. She would grab her aunt’s bicycle and rush over there immediately. Would Charlie have waited for her? She couldn’t blame him if he hadn’t. She ditched her stilettos, slammed her feet into the ancient Hunters, wrapped her legs around the cracked leather saddle of the ancient silver bicycle and pedalled as fast as her calves could manage to Brampton Manor.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rosie pumped her knees with the last ounce of strength she possessed to whip through the impressive wrought-iron gates, along the ribbon of tarmac, her chest low over the rust-speckled handlebars, sweat dripping from the end of her nose, hair flying wild in the resulting slipstream. She looked like a witch on a broom – appropriate for the time of year, she supposed.

  She ditched the bicycle and took the steps to the front door two at a time.

  ‘Oh, hi, Rosie isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I wonder if Charlie, sorry, Charles is still here?’

  Charlie’s sister, Amelia, smiled and pointed out of the front door to the white-tented pavilion crouched like a hardened meringue on the Manor’s pristine croquet lawn. ‘Over there.’

  Rosie glanced down at the marquee. What a strange place to hang out. But, she mused, as she trotted towards the open flap billowing in the breeze, as the hotel was closed for the winter, perhaps he was helping set up one of the conferences that take place in the grounds far enough away so as not to disturb their well-earned peace. She didn’t blame them at all. She knew first-hand how it felt to have your home invaded, violated even, by strangers. She raised her walk to a trot, her heart bouncing with anxiety as she approached the entrance. What was she going to say to Charlie? He’d been right about Austin, after all. Was he right about everything else too? That it was important to be sure of a partner’s motives before letting them into your heart? Yes, knowing his history, damn right it was justified.