‘It’s just it’s … it’s Frasier,’ Rose said, belatedly aware that that wasn’t much of an explanation to Ted. ‘He’s been very important to me.’
‘Rose,’ Ted said suddenly, his expression intensifying.
‘Yes?’ Rose said, glancing over her shoulder to where Frasier was studying a print of some Victorian children with baskets full of apples.
‘I know we said the kiss was just kissing,’ Ted said. ‘But the thing is, I think I might like you, Rose. I mean, like you, like you.’
Rose blinked at him. ‘No, you don’t.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘Yeah, I do. I want to kiss you again. Tonight.’
‘No,’ Rose said, not sure of what else she could say. ‘You don’t.’
‘Meet me later,’ Ted said, as if he hadn’t heard a word she said. ‘After Mr Sappy over there’s gone home.’
‘What?’ Rose said. ‘No! Ted, I can’t meet you later.’
‘You can,’ Ted insisted. ‘If you really think about it, you want to. From midnight, I’ll be downstairs in the B & B. I’ve got a key, I’ll let myself in. There’s a whole annexe which no one ever goes in. I think there might still even be a bed.’
‘Ted!’ Rose half gasped, half giggled, knowing full well that Ted’s late granny’s bed was still in situ, even though Jenny had nagged Brian to take it to the tip.
‘I’ll be there, I’ll wait, all night if I have to,’ Ted said, leaning closer across the bar so that she could feel his breath on her cheek. ‘I want to kiss you again so badly, Rose. And that’s all it will be, I swear.’
It took quite some doing to get the drinks back to Frasier without necking them both.
‘Good night then,’ Rose said as Frasier escorted her to the B & B door. She couldn’t be sure that Jenny and Shona were hovering on the other side of it, but she got the distinct feeling she and Frasier weren’t entirely alone.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ Frasier said. ‘You really are the most charming company.’
‘Thank you,’ Rose said, wondering what the protocol would be on kissing him good night. Could she reasonably kiss him on the cheek, she wondered, discovering that she would really like to know what that golden stubble would feel like beneath her lips?
‘You know, I must introduce you to Cecily,’ Frasier said, smiling fondly. ‘She would absolutely love you. And you’d probably like her too. She’s awfully funny when she’s not being a vegetarian.’
‘Oh, oh, well, yes, of course. That would be nice,’ Rose said, doing her very best not to look crestfallen, or to blurt out the whole ‘So what was all the hand-holding about then anyway?’ question, the thought of Ted and his proposition lingering in the air.
‘Good night again.’ Frasier took her hand. More undesignated hand-holding, Rose thought, rather crossly. And then he shook it. ‘See you very soon.’
‘Bye!’ Rose said as she slid her key into the lock, the door opening before she had a chance to turn it.
‘He shook your hand, didn’t he?’ Shona said. ‘I saw it through the peephole. It was all sort of funny and far away, but he did actually shake your hand, didn’t he?’
‘Yes!’ Rose said briskly, shutting the door and crossing her arms. Jenny was on the second stair, this time in a fire-red nightie, trimmed with black lace.
‘Disappointed?’ she asked Rose, sympathetically. ‘I expect you fancied a nice kiss.’
‘No, not disappointed, and no, I did not expect or indeed “fancy” a nice kiss!’ Rose protested far too much on both counts. ‘Frasier is a friend, with a girlfriend called Cecily, and I am barely single. It would have been awful if he’d kissed me, dreadful.’
‘Shocking,’ Shona said. ‘Almost as bad as if he’d taken you to a remote spot and kissed your face off.’
‘Shona!’ Rose cried, feeling two hot spots of heat flare on her cheeks. ‘Stop talking rubbish!’
‘Now, now,’ Jenny said. ‘Let’s not tease the poor lass. You’re quite right, love. Best all round that he didn’t kiss you. It would have only muddled the already very murky waters. Still, you wished he had, though, don’t you?’
Rose lay awake in the dark for a long time, missing the sound of Maddie’s breathing and the hump of her body under the covers. She had phoned John again before getting into bed, and he’d told her in rather irritated tones that Maddie was now fast asleep in her fortress, which was what she’d decided to call the book- and box-lined room that she was ensconced in. She’d eaten cheese on toast, drawn a good deal, tested him on colour theory and eventually asked to go to bed. There had been a moment when the sound of the wind rattling the window gave her pause, but John had told her not to be so ridiculous and she had complied.
‘OK,’ Rose had said uncertainly, both peeved and proud that Maddie hadn’t had her usual meltdown and demanded her mother. ‘Well, I’ll be round first thing to get her then.’
‘This presumably means I can now get some sleep, does it?’ John asked her testily.
‘Yes, sorry. And thank you,’ Rose said. ‘Night, John.’
John did not reply.
Midnight had come and gone almost an hour ago and she still hadn’t moved from her position, lying flat on her back with the bedspread pulled up under her chin. Rose had been utterly determined not to be tempted by Ted’s proposal, had pulled on a nightshirt with the image of a yellow fluffy cartoon chick on the front of it, and decidedly climbed into her single bed, which she would not be moved from for any reason whatsoever, particularly not making out with her landlady’s son.
And yet sleep evaded her, her busy brain a tangle of circling thoughts and images. Was she really simply over Richard, and the things he had done to her? Perhaps Shona was right, perhaps she did have more to face than she was able to admit to, and maybe the euphoria – yes, because that was what it was that she was feeling now – was really just a manifestation of relief. She didn’t have to be afraid any more. Not tonight, anyway.
And as for her dinner with Frasier, Rose cursed her sheltered life, because she simply could not decipher what any of it meant, if anything at all. Did a man really hold your hand across a candlelit table just to be friendly? Did he really gaze into your eyes, and all but whisper sweet nothings in your ear just to be polite before shaking your hand goodbye? Rose honestly didn’t know. She knew really shockingly little of men, of how they thought, what they wanted, what things meant. The only man she had ever spent any time with was Richard, and even after several years of marriage and having his child, Rose discovered she would never know how to make him happy, which was very likely exactly what he wanted.
Of course, she’d told Shona and Jenny and Ted that she and Frasier were just friends, and that was all she expected them to be, in her rational sensible, hadn’t-just-recently-run-away-to-Cumbria-in-search-of-her-Prince-Charming frame of mind. And half of the time, particularly when Ted was kissing her in the moonlight, she genuinely felt that way too. But tonight, all the pent-up love and longing she’d harboured for Frasier since the moment she met him pulsated as brightly as one of the stars in the sky. He’d taken her out to dinner, in the most romantic setting that Rose could imagine, held her hand and looked into her eyes. How could that not mean something?
Rose knew, as she lay there staring up at the ceiling, that the way she felt about Frasier was real and not imagined. Whether it happened seven years ago, or sometime tonight, she had fallen in love with him, and that wasn’t going to go away soon just because of the inconvenience of real life and beautiful vegetarians called Cecily.
If only she were just a little more worldly, a little more knowing, and experienced in the ways of men. Then she’d know how to read him, how to divine what he really felt about her, and communicate to him what she really felt about him without having to say it out loud. And if he knew … well, then just maybe it would make him stop and think about whatever feelings he might have for her, the woman whose image he always carried next to his heart. What Rose needed, she real
ised with a surge of adrenalin as she sat up in bed, was a man to ask for advice. And she knew where one was right now.
Deciding that it was best not to allow herself too much time to examine her motivations, Rose climbed barefoot out of bed. Pulling Haleigh’s nightshirt down over her bare behind, she paused for a moment in front of the dressing mirror, noticing with a frisson of satisfaction the fine contours of her body, just visible under the clingy material. It had been a very long time since Rose had considered herself as a woman, one who might genuinely be attractive to men. It was exciting and scary to do that now, like learning to walk all over again.
Going to see Ted was another step on her journey, she told herself as she tiptoed down the stairs, her quest to find herself, discover more about what it meant to be a woman. Ted was the only man she knew to ask about what to do.
Rose held her breath as she crept into the living room, which was silent and dark, save for the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Ted was not there. For a second she felt foolish and disappointed, and a little relieved. But then she remembered the annexe, where Ted said there was a bed and, her heart rattling against her ribs, she tiptoed across the carpet, feeling the grime and grit between her toes, made her way through the tiny dark hallway, and opened the door to the shadowy annexe. There were no curtains up at the window, so the moonlight flooded in, throwing mysterious shadows and cutting a silvery pathway right to the bedroom.
Silently Rose repeated again and again exactly what she planned to say to Ted, if she could find the courage.
Sitting on the edge of the stripped bed, Ted sat up sharply when she came in through the door, catching his breath at the sight of her, which was when Rose remembered that she was mostly naked. Hiding as much of her body as she could behind the doorframe, she waved, which on reflection seemed rather odd, even in what was a rather odd situation.
‘Hi!’ she squeaked nervously, her resolve in great danger of evaporating into thin air.
‘I thought you would never come,’ Ted said, standing up and taking a few steps towards her.
‘So did I,’ Rose said. ‘But I haven’t come because of what you think …’
‘It’s OK,’ Ted said, closing the space between them, taking her hand and drawing her out into a pool of moonlight. ‘I know what you want, and I promise I won’t try anything else. Wow,’ he said, taking the sight of her in. ‘Bit freaky that you’re wearing my sister’s nightshirt.’
‘I’m not sure if you understand,’ Rose said, turning back towards the door. ‘I haven’t come for more kissing, Ted. I need to ask your advice.’
But before she could move, Ted put his hands on her hips and pulled her close to him so that their bodies were almost, but not quite, touching.
‘I know this doesn’t mean the same to you as it does to me,’ Ted whispered, his hands gently resting on her hips. ‘And I don’t care. I just want the chance to feel the way I did the other night. That’s enough for me, I swear it.’
‘No, wait,’ Rose said. ‘That’s not what I want.’
Ted looked disappointed. ‘What then?’
‘I’m … oh, this is hard to say so don’t look at me, OK?’
‘OK,’ Ted said slowly, looking over her shoulder, just a twitch of a smile playing around his lips.
‘I want you to explain men to me,’ Rose said. ‘Like, for example, tonight. One minute Frasier couldn’t have been more attentive and sweet, and the next he was shaking my hand.’
‘Are you serious?’ Ted took a step back from her. ‘Do you literally think I’ve got no feelings? Rose, I don’t care whether or not Frasier is in love with you. Don’t you get it? I’ve fallen for you.’
Rose caught her breath as she finally understood that Ted really meant it when he said he was in love with her. It was overwhelming to know that somehow she’d touched this lovely sweet man so deeply, without ever meaning to, and she had no idea what to do about it.
‘Oh, Ted,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I was rather hoping you wouldn’t say anything,’ Ted said. ‘I was thinking there would just be more kissing. More kisses for me to think about again and again every second that I am not with you.’
Rose gasped, the suppressed passion in his voice, the intense look in his dark eyes threatening to sweep her off her feet. She wasn’t equipped to deal with this, she didn’t know how to, only that for a man to look at her that way was both new, exhilarating and terrifying all at once. And yet she had to be honest with him, she owed him that much.
‘The thing is, Ted, do you remember on the mountain when I told you I loved someone else? That person was Frasier. And I do love him. I really truly do love him. I think I always have. I wish I didn’t – everything would be so much simpler if I didn’t – but while I think there might be even the slightest chance he feels something for me, I can’t feel anything different. Not even for someone as totally, wonderfully amazing as you.’
For a moment Ted said nothing at all, and as he turned his gaze away from her Rose thought that now might be the best time to run away.
‘Say something,’ she urged him.
‘Can’t.’ Ted shook his head. ‘Don’t know what to say, except that even knowing all that, I’d still give anything to kiss you again. Look, you were in love with Frasier then, on the mountain and you still kissed me. Why not now?’
‘Because that was different,’ Rose said, struggling to clarify exactly why. ‘It didn’t mean so much.’
‘That’s not what it felt like,’ Ted said earnestly. ‘It felt like it meant a lot to you. Not in the same way that it did to me, I realise that, but you said kissing me chased away the darkness, it cleansed you. So what if you love someone else? He’s not here tonight, he won’t be here tomorrow night or maybe ever at all. If one more night of kissing me can make you feel good and me happy, just for a little while, what harm can it do?’
Ted took a step closer to her, resting the fingertips of his right hand on her cheek.
‘Please, Rose,’ he whispered, bending his lips to hers. ‘Please.’
Rose meant to stop him, she meant to stop him as soon as she felt his soft warm breath on her cheek, the second his lips met hers, the moment his arm snaked its way around her waist and pulled her close to him. She meant to, but perhaps it was because she knew she could trust Ted to stop whenever she told him to, and because the feeling of love, tenderness and kindness that enveloped her as long as she was in Ted’s arms was really so wonderful, that the moment when she wanted him to stop kissing her never came.
Chapter Twelve
‘BUT I REALLY don’t want you to go home,’ Rose said, as Shona packed her carrier bags. ‘Please, Shona, stay a bit longer.’
‘I can’t, babe,’ Shona said, with a regretful smile. ‘It’s been over a week, Mum’s fed up with the boys and anyway, I miss them! I need to go home, get my life sorted the way you are.’
Rose wasn’t at all sure she was getting her life sorted in any sense of the word. It had been four days since she’d woken up in the annexe, with the dawn light streaming in through the uncovered ground-floor window and found herself entirely naked and wrapped in Ted’s arms. Having left her watch upstairs, she’d been unsure of the time, but, aware that it wouldn’t be too long before Jenny was up and preparing breakfast, she knew she had to get back into her own bed pronto.
The events of the night, which really had only just stopped about an hour earlier, were something that Rose was going to need a good deal of time on her own to process, and to make sense of. But the short story was that Ted had swept her into a passionate momentum that seemed to have an impetus outside her control. When it came to it there had been no need for talking, or any rationalisation at all, for that matter. And Rose had let herself get deliriously lost in his embrace, delighting in his pleasure just as much as her own, forgetting everything for those few hours except the wonderful discovery of what it was like to be with a man who didn’t want to hurt or humiliate you. Ted had been
so gentle, so hesitant at first, and caring. He knew that Rose was very far from ready for sex, and he’d never pushed it that far, instead only layering pleasure upon pleasure until, for several wonderful hours, Rose forgot herself, and her crazy paving life that lay just outside the door, completely.
In the cold light of day, though, she had found it hard to believe that she and the woman who’d spent the night with Ted were the same person. This small, nude, flimsy individual had no idea how on earth she had managed to be quite so passionate, and whilst mainly sober too. Quietly, she had extracted herself from under the exhausted and spent young man’s arm and, pulling on her nightshirt, raced as quickly and as quietly upstairs as she could, falling into bed with a good deal of relief, waiting and watching the clock until it was an acceptable time to get up again.
Ted must have woken up to find himself alone and sneaked out sometime before Jenny started breakfast, because when Rose did come down Jenny seemed as bright and breezy as she ever was, with no idea that her precious son had been all but seduced by her paying guest. Rose could not know for sure that Ted had said nothing to his mum, apart from the fact that Jenny had not murdered her, because she had neither seen nor heard from Ted once in the days since their tryst. And it wasn’t because she was avoiding him, apart from not actively deciding to go to the pub. In fact, it had started to look a lot like that he was avoiding her, which threw Rose into all sorts of paroxysms of anxiety. What if she’d done it all wrong, what if she’d disappointed and appalled him, and what if what was meant to be her moment of carefree womanly blossoming had actually been a career-ending disaster, which she, as stupidly naïve as she was, had been too ignorant to notice?
And now Shona was going home.
Dearest Rose Page 24