‘Thanks for this, Kit. It smells yummy.’
‘Good. I like cooking. Or, at least, experimenting. Dig in before it gets cold.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not much of an expert in the cooking department,’ she admitted, taking a mouthful.
‘Merely a matter of practise, and I can’t imagine you’ve had much of that, given your lifestyle. Besides, pretty disastrous if you managed to chop off a finger whilst peeling the veg.’ Kit’s eyes twinkled. ‘Might engender a few missing notes in Mr Chopin’s ‘Études’.’
‘So, what are you going to do about Wharton Park?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ Kit admitted. ‘What would you do?’
‘Oh, Kit.’ Julia shook her head, ‘I’m probably not the person to ask. You know how I love Wharton Park. And I also know my sense of fair play would get the better of me. So, I’d almost certainly tell him to bugger off,’ she smiled. ‘But that’s just me, and doesn’t take into account the financial ramifications. I mean, if you don’t sell it to Mr Hedge-Fund, what will you do? Can you afford to keep the place going until someone else comes along?’
‘Well, last night I looked through the books and this morning I paid a visit to the estate accountant. It seems that, with the income from the farm and the tenants in the cottages on the estate, it currently runs at a small loss. But that’s because any profit is servicing the interest on the debt.’ Kit poured himself some more wine. ‘The accountant pointed out that the estate could easily be turned round with a little attention to detail. The debts could be consolidated into a single mortgage on a lower interest rate, to free up funds to plough back into buying some modern equipment, and finding a good estate manager who knows what he’s doing.’
‘That all sounds very positive,’ said Julia.
‘Yes, but there still isn’t a bean to spare to sort out the house itself,’ Kit sighed. ‘The surveyor who came round when I was first thinking of selling, reckoned it would cost a couple of million at least to prevent the building crumbling away before my very eyes. And that doesn’t take into account any interior refurbishment, like a new kitchen or perhaps the odd bath one can use, without becoming dirtier than before one climbed in. There are sixteen bathrooms in the house,’ he added, ‘and, of course, I just don’t have that kind of money.’
‘So,’ Julia summarised, ‘might it be possible to hold out for a few months until another buyer comes along?’
Kit nodded. ‘Yes, if I take on the job of managing the estate myself, which would mean putting other plans I had on hold. The thing is, the longer I’m here, the less I’m going to want to part with it. And, of course, you haven’t helped,’ he added.
Julia looked at him in surprise. ‘Thanks. What do you mean?’
‘Hearing the story of my family has given Wharton Park some sort of meaning and value it didn’t have before. And, I might add, it’s part of our shared history too. If it hadn’t been for Wharton Park, I’d never have met you all those years ago.’
Kit’s expression had changed. He stared at her and, abruptly, Julia felt awkward under his gaze.
‘Well then,’ she said, sounding more brisk than she meant to. ‘You’ve got a hard decision to make.’
Kit nodded. ‘I have indeed. And not long to make it in. And, to be honest, it wasn’t just that I wanted to check up on you tonight, it was for the state of my own mental health too. I rather missed watching you slurp your soup and mopping your fevered brow.’
‘God knows why,’ said Julia, still stubbornly deflecting the change of atmosphere. ‘I was hardly good on conversation, given I was catatonic for most of the time.’
Kit placed his fork in his empty bowl and stared at her thoughtfully across the table. ‘Yes, you were. But your catatonia had a quirky eloquence to it. Far better silence from one whose company you enjoy, than constant chatter from someone who irritates the hell out of you.’
In the pause that followed, Julia finished her pasta, put down her fork and studied her bowl.
‘Anyway,’ Kit continued, ‘it’s been lovely getting to know you again. I never forgot that day, hearing you play … Are you thinking of staying here in Norfolk?’
‘I just don’t know, Kit,’ she replied honestly. ‘It’s only in the past two weeks I really feel I’ve begun to contemplate my future.’
‘I understand,’ he nodded. ‘I really do. I went through something similar a long time ago. It changes your life – and you – irrevocably. The upshot was, I found it almost impossible to form any kind of long-term relationship. In fact, I’ve been a nightmare ever since. Well, up until a couple of years ago.’ He grinned at her. ‘There’s honesty for you.’
‘Yes,’ Julia muttered, not knowing how else to respond.
‘Having said that, I hope I’m a better man now. And it could also be the fact that I’ve not come across the right person since then.’ He paused and stared at her across the table. ‘You don’t meet many soulmates in life, do you?’
‘No.’ Julia could feel her eyes filling with tears. She glanced at her watch. ‘Listen, Kit, I really must be getting home. I’m … tired.’
‘Of course. You must be.’ Kit stretched his hand across the table and laid it on hers. ‘Could we do this another time when you’re feeling better? I’d really like to see you again, Julia.’
‘Yes.’ Julia pulled her hand away abruptly, stood up and headed towards the door.
Kit followed her. ‘How about Monday night?’
‘I don’t know.’ Julia simply wanted to leave, unsure what was causing the strong emotions currently washing over her.
Kit put his hand on the latch before she could escape, blocking her way out. Then he bent down to kiss her. His lips touched hers and a sharp bolt of electricity ran through her. She pulled her lips away, but he enfolded her tightly in his arms.
‘Julia, please, I’m sorry if I’ve said the wrong thing, if it’s all too soon.’ He sighed. ‘I missed you, that’s all. We can take it slowly, I promise. I understand, really I do.’
‘I …’ Julia extricated herself, confused by the maelstrom of conflicting emotions the evening with Kit had stirred up. ‘Goodnight, Kit.’
‘I’ll call you in the next couple of days. Perhaps on Monday we –’
But she had the door open now and was off, haring away from the house and towards the sanctuary of her car.
28
Over the next two days Julia mooched about the cottage, unable to relax in front of the brand-new flat-screen television that had been delivered and set up in the corner of her sitting room. She went out for long walks across the marshes, trying to understand exactly why she was feeling so unsettled.
It was all so confusing. Kit was confusing. One minute trying to warn her what a ‘nightmare’ he was, the next saying he wanted to see her again and kissing her. And besides, what was she doing even caring? She was a recently widowed woman, still in mourning for her late husband; only two weeks earlier she had been unable to face the world. The next thing she knew, she was lying in bed, remembering how it had been when he’d kissed her and imagining – well, more.
She simply couldn’t fathom the effect Kit had on her.
The worst of it was that she had an impulse to check her mobile for messages every few minutes. And, because there was such a weak signal, even in the bathroom, she had to keep walking up the High Street to make sure.
And, four days on, the mobile had remained steadfastly message-free.
When a week had passed with no word from him, Julia woke from a restless sleep, knowing she had to forget Kit and move on. The fact he’d said he would call, but then failed to do so, was unassailable proof of a man who was not to be trusted.
As she took a shower, her mobile rang from the edge of the bath and she grabbed it, still dripping.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me, Alicia. How are you?’
Julia’s heart sank. ‘Fine, thanks. You?’ she asked as she balanced the mobile under her chin whilst she towell
ed herself dry.
‘Yes, fine. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’ve had a very busy week. How was your dinner with Kit?’
‘Fine, yes, fine,’ Julia barked.
‘Good. Seen him since?’
‘No.’
‘Okay,’ Alicia replied. ‘So, there’s no … romance then?’
‘God, no! Huh! We’re just friends, that’s all.’
‘Good, I’m glad.’
‘Are you? Why? I thought you really liked him?’ Julia was indignant, despite herself.
‘Oh, I do like him. At least, I did, but – it’s nothing, really. I just think …’
‘Think what? Come on, Alicia, what are you trying to say?’ she prodded.
‘Calm down, Julia. Besides, it really doesn’t matter if you’re not involved with him. I just wanted to warn you that perhaps Lord Crawford’s world isn’t quite as straightforward as I believed. Anyway, look, none of my business.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Julia snapped and changed the subject. ‘How are the kids?’
‘On fighting form, with an emphasis on the fighting,’ Alicia sighed. ‘Max and I wondered if you wanted to come for Sunday lunch tomorrow?’
‘Thanks, Alicia, but no. I’m –’ Julia searched desperately for an excuse – ‘walking.’
‘Walking?!’
‘Yes.’ Julia moved through to her bedroom, aware the signal would fall to nothing. ‘Call you soon. Bye.’
She threw the mobile on to the bed in frustration, hating Alicia and Kit for having the capacity to upset her; but hating herself most for reacting and not being sure why.
In desperation, Julia drove to Holt to try to while away an hour or two. She bought food she had no appetite for and a scented candle she’d almost certainly forget to light. She walked listlessly up the High Street to the small boutique where she had bought her clothes a week ago and browsed through the racks. Nothing appealed, and the place only served to remind her of the excitement she had felt when she’d been in here last. She spotted a toddler, about the same age as Gabriel, reminiscent with his head of curls and big blue eyes, but not as beautiful – no, never as beautiful – trotting round the boutique as his mother paid for her shopping.
She left, tears pricking the backs of her eyes, and wandered along the street towards her car. It was then that she saw them: him, climbing out of his car and walking round to the passenger door to open it, and her, radiant, smiling at him in thanks as he moved to the rear door of the car and carefully extricated a tiny newborn baby from its seat. He kissed the baby tenderly on its head, then handed it to its mother as he opened the boot to remove the stroller. With the baby settled inside it, the three of them set off towards Julia, he with his arm draped protectively around the mother’s shoulder.
Julia instinctively ducked behind the nearest car as they passed her, close enough for her to hear Annie’s American twang and Kit’s distinctive laugh in response.
‘Oh, God.’ Julia breathed deeply then, as soon as they’d disappeared from view, ran to her own car and climbed in. ‘Jesus Christ! How could he?!’ she screamed, thumping the steering wheel as hard as her heart was hammering in her chest. She started the engine and hurtled out of the car park.
That night, she drank the contents of a bottle of wine, becoming more outraged with each glass. Kit had played with her, it was as simple as that. All that ‘I understand how you feel’ talk he’d spouted was obviously a front for a man who had a heart as hard as a highly polished diamond. Perhaps, thought Julia, draining the dregs of the bottle, that was how he got his kicks. He was nothing more than your average Lothario, with a better pedigree.
‘Poor baby, poor Annie,’ she whispered as she walked unsteadily up the stairs and sank, fully dressed, on to the bed.
And yet he’d been so kind when she was sick, so caring …
A tear ran down her face. Being angry wasn’t working any more.
She missed him.
‘Oh no,’ she moaned, alcohol making her honest enough to see and feel the truth. And the truth was that somehow, though God only knew how, she had fallen for Kit Crawford.
Monday morning saw Julia back in Holt at the travel agent, booking a flight to France. Sunday had passed in a hungover, solitary blur and, after hours of afternoon television, Julia had made herself supper and given herself a good talking to. She could not let the Kit episode ruin her path back to life. She must use the experience, acknowledge how vulnerable she was where any form of affection was concerned, and make sure she did not become involved until she was ‘whole’ and ready.
With her flight details in her handbag, Julia drove home feeling much more optimistic. She was flying on Wednesday, which gave her a couple of days to say goodbye to her family, pack and prepare herself.
As she turned into Blakeney village, her mobile rang. A few moments later it rang again. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was a voice message. Probably Alicia checking up on her, she thought, as she popped into Spar for a pint of milk and put the mobile to her ear.
‘Hi, Julia, it’s Kit. Many apologies for not calling. It turned out to be an unexpectedly hectic week. Wondered if you can make lunch tomorrow? Hope you’re feeling better anyway. Give me a call back at some point. Bye.’
‘HAH!’ Julia startled a pensioner taking some butter out of the cold cabinet next to her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, taking her milk to the counter, paying and scuttling out of the shop. As she drove around the corner to park near her cottage, Julia threw back her head and laughed out loud.
‘Hah, hah! Hectic week, eh, Kit? Hah, hah! Well, it would be, wouldn’t it, when your girlfriend, or maybe even your wife – who knows?! – was giving birth to your baby! Hah! Hah! Hah!’
Feeling ridiculously better that Kit had proved himself to be just what she’d thought he was – maybe worse – Julia continued laughing manically as she entered the cottage. The adrenalin inspired a frenzied session, packing the few clothes and odds and ends she wanted to take back to France.
Fifteen minutes later, she was done. She flopped down on the sofa, exhausted, occasionally shaking her head in disbelief at Kit’s message.
To think at one point she’d even measured him up against Xavier, her poor dead husband, who might have had his faults, but had always adored her.
‘Jesus,’ she muttered, then stood up and left the cottage to drive to Alicia’s house and say goodbye.
‘I’ll miss you, darling,’ said Alicia, ‘but I’m glad you feel you can face going back. I know how hard it’ll be for the first few weeks. If you ever want to talk, I’m always here, you know,’ she added pointedly.
‘I promise I’ll try and keep in contact,’ said Julia. ‘I know I wasn’t great before. I was always so busy, travelling, playing, Xavier and Gabriel …’
Julia’s voice trailed off, but she persevered, knowing she had to, had to be able to talk about them openly, if she was to survive in a place where everyone had known and loved them. ‘I think the thing I’m dreading most is walking into the house, knowing they won’t be there.’ Julia bit her lip hard to stem the tears. ‘But, as you say, it will get easier eventually. I just have to find the courage to go through the pain.’
‘You will, Julia, and you can.’ Alicia sat down next to her and took her hand. ‘I just want to say, well, how much I admire you.’
Julia raised an eyebrow. ‘Admire me? Hardly, Alicia. I’m always in such a mess and you’re always so together, sorting me out.’
‘That’s simply our different personalities. And let me tell you, I honestly don’t think I’d have survived what you’ve been through. Yes, I’m very organized, so I can run a house and a family and life. But put me in your shoes and I’d be completely broken.’
‘Would you?’
‘Yes, I would.’ Alicia nodded vehemently. ‘Anything off the tracks, and I know I couldn’t cope. It scares me sometimes, the thought of it, it really does.’
It was rare to see Alicia vulnerable and it made Julia feel churlish for her rese
ntment. ‘You’ve been wonderful too, Alicia. Thank you for everything. If you ever fancy a quick trip to France, you know you’re always welcome.’
‘I’d love it, but I can’t see it happening personally, can you?’ Alicia waved her hand around her immaculate kitchen. ‘What? Mum going away? Their little worlds would fall apart,’ she smiled.
‘Well, the offer’s there, anyway.’
‘Thanks. So, all packed?’
‘Yup. Took me all of ten minutes. Is Dad still here in Norfolk? I should go and say goodbye.’
‘He was in London, preparing for his trip to the Galapagos when I last spoke to him, but give him a call,’ advised Alicia. ‘What about Elsie and the other half of the story?’
‘Actually, I thought I’d leave that to you. Why not take a trip down to see her sometime? She’d love it.’ The last thing Julia wanted just now was to hear further Crawford intrigue.
‘I will. Are you going to say goodbye to Kit?’
Julia’s eyes blazed. ‘No. I think he’s rather busy at the moment, don’t you?’
‘I … don’t know,’ Alicia replied weakly. ‘Well, bon voyage, little sis,’ she added, and Julia allowed herself to be enveloped in a hug. ‘Please, please, keep in touch this time.’
‘I will, and thanks for everything, really.’
‘You know I’m always here for you, Julia.’
‘Yes. Bye, Alicia. Give my love to the kids.’
On her way home, she listened to half of a new message from Kit, wondering whether she’d received his last message. She gave another loud ‘Hah!’, deleted it and switched off her mobile.
*
The next day, Julia sat out in the weak sunshine of the pub garden and called Elsie and her father, to tell them she had decided to return home. Elsie, recovering from a lesser version of Julia’s flu, could hardly speak, and George’s mind seemed to be already in the Galapagos Islands.
‘Going home, darling? To the cottage? Good, good. Lovely to hear from you.’
‘No, to France, Dad,’ Julia explained patiently, used to his vagueness when he was preparing for a trip.
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