A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1)

by Brenda St John Brown

  Scarlett furrows her brow. “Why would she do that? From everything I hear, you had a blip or two, but you’re doing fab. Jasper said you were ace.”

  “Jasper bailed me out by pulling the American card.” I roll my eyes.

  “What’s wrong with that? You are American, right?”

  “It’s the principle of the thing. I don’t want to need bailing out.”

  “From Jaz? Or in general?”

  “Both.” I’m still reclining on the pillows, but my shoulders tense. A little truth can only be a good thing, but it still makes me anxious.

  Scarlett sits up, crossing her legs on the bed. “Well, it feeds Jaz’s white knight complex, but it’s probably good for him to practice empathy every now and then.”

  “He’s not so bad.” I keep my tone light, but warning bells ring in my head. Defending Jasper is the right thing to do because he helped me out tonight, but Scarlett will find it weird if I defend him too much.

  “He’s not,” Scarlett agrees. “Until he is. You watch. Tomorrow he’ll be a total plonker and all of my current goodwill will, poof, disappear.”

  “You’ve said a million times that you don’t get along, but then it seems sometimes like you do?” I’m totally fishing now.

  “We do.” Scarlett shakes her head. “Until he does something dickheaded. Which, with Jasper, is a matter of when, not if.”

  “I know I don’t have a sibling, but isn’t occasional dickhead behavior part of the deal?” I’m on treacherous ground here, I know, but Scarlett’s being open enough I feel like I can ask without her questioning my motives. Because if I could understand the root of Scarlett’s animosity, maybe I could break it down. Like a math problem with multiple operations. But with two people I care about.

  Scarlett sighs. “I’m glad he’s being nice to you, but I’ve had a lifetime of Jaz being a total arse when he wants to be, yet God forbid anyone ever calls him on it.”

  “Why not?”

  “For starters? Because he’s at Cambridge and he’s brilliant and he got the highest marks in his year. Brilliance trumps benevolence every time.” Scarlett jumps up. “And seriously, why the hell are we talking about my brother? We have a bottle of wine and some voodoo to get to, which is a much better pursuit all around.”

  Because it’s better to avoid the real issue than to confront it?

  The words pop into my head and make it all the way to my mouth before I bite them back, bringing my molars down on my tongue hard. Just as quickly, though, I ease up. I’m not brave enough to press Scarlett on her issues and, for better or worse, we both know it.

  Chapter Nine

  After another round with the Fishers at Sunday brunch, I watch them haul their suitcases through the lobby with such relief, I’m surprised I don’t cheer. I actually feel my shoulders loosen as the door shuts behind Angela Fisher. If I never see her again, it will be too soon.

  “Amen,” says Scarlett. “Made it through without killing anyone.”

  I laugh. “I can’t even tell you how happy I am to see her go.”

  Scarlett rolls her eyes. “You might wish she was still here once we start the housekeeping. You do the sheets and I’ll do the hoovering?”

  I shrug and follow Scarlett to the stairs. All I really want to do is go back to the cabin and lie down, but that’s not an option, so sheets it is.

  Hauling bedding down from one of the turret rooms is exactly as awful as Scarlett said it would be, too. The pile of sheets is awkward and the stairs too narrow and winding to see in front of me, so I feel like I’m going to fall with every step. By the time I make it to the room where I need to drop the linens for collection and pick up a new set to make up the beds, I’m sweating buckets. Because not only am I carrying a heavy pile of laundry, blankets included, the temperature has suddenly spiked, and I don’t care what BBC Weather says, there’s no way it’s only seventy-six degrees.

  I walk into the storage room and drop my pile on the floor, pushing my sweaty hair away from my face. “Okay, that’s hard work.”

  Claire, who was on her way out the door already when I got up this morning, says, “We don’t have anyone up there again until Wednesday if you want to hold off. It’s supposed to be cooler by then too.”

  “Honestly, Bea, don’t worry,” says Hannah. “Or at least have a cup of tea first.”

  I smile a little. “I’ll have a glass of water; it’s too hot for tea for me.”

  “Perish the thought.” Hannah grins and drops the stack of damp towels she’s been counting into the pile on the floor. “Lou has some fresh strawberries. Maybe we can dig up a meringue somewhere.”

  “And cream,” says Claire. “Strawberries and cream are to die for.”

  I shake my head. “Scarlett tried to sell me on that a couple of years ago. I wasn’t a fan.” Especially after I did the math on the calorie count. Heavy cream is fifty-one calories per tablespoon. Per tablespoon! And Scarlett poured it like it was skim milk.

  “Oh, Bea,” says Hannah, laughing. “We need to convert you right now.”

  “You mustn’t have had real English cream,” says Claire. “It makes all the difference.”

  “If you say so.” I shrug. “I’ll try a bite, but don’t be surprised if I don’t love it.”

  “That’s it. All further making of beds must be put on hold,” says Hannah. “To the kitchens.”

  Claire and I laugh, and as Hannah reaches for the door, it flies open. Jasper’s arms are full of bedding and, like me, he looks bedraggled and sweaty. His Star Wars T-shirt definitely looks worse for the wear and he wears the same mud-streaked plaid shorts he had on the other day, which makes me wrinkle my nose. I’ve inherited my mom’s belief of always wearing clean clothes, even if you’re doing a filthy task, and I’m about to make a joke asking exactly how dirty the guest rooms are when Jasper drops his pile on the floor and lets out an exasperated huff.

  “Darling, you’re right on time. We’re going to introduce Bea to proper strawberries and cream,” says Hannah.

  “What about the rooms?” asks Jasper. His tone is hard to read, but his eyes narrow and his mouth is a thin line.

  “They can wait a bit. We don’t have a full house again until Wednesday,” says Hannah.

  “I’ll do it now,” says Jasper. “I have other things I want to get done.”

  “Oh, come on. Have a break. It’s hot and it would be nice.” Hannah’s tone is cajoling, but Jasper’s having none of it.

  “I really don’t want strawberries and cream, Mum.”

  Claire looks like she’s bracing herself for something and I feel my knees clench too. Hannah, though, looks and sounds completely oblivious. “Well, join us for a cup of tea then.”

  “I have other things I need to do. You seem to forget I’m supposed to be working on my dissertation and pulling a journal article out of thin air, but I’ve done bugger all on it since I’ve been here because I’ve been entertaining the Fisher brats, helping with dinner service, or playing chamber maid. So forgive me if I don’t want to draw this out any more than I have to.” Jasper’s hands have found their way to the back of his neck and he’s drawn himself up to his full height.

  Hannah’s face remains impassive, but her voice is hard. “I didn’t realize we were inconveniencing you…”

  “This whole summer is an inconvenience. I said when I came home, I’d help when I could, but the assumption seems to be I’ll help, full stop.” Jasper’s gaze swivels to me. “I thought the point of Scarlett bringing a friend home was so she’d pick up the slack.”

  Ouch.

  “Bea has been here for less than a week,” Hannah says, and this time she does raise her voice. “And she’s taken on everything that’s been asked of her. Unlike some people.”

  I wish the floor would swallow me up. Immediately. Judging from the expression on her face, Claire feels the same. I’m pretty sure, aside from lobbing me back and forth in the argument like I’m a tennis ball, they’ve both forgotten I’m here.
>
  “Of course she has.” Jasper’s face closes up like shutters in a rainstorm. “I’d expect no less of one of Scarlett’s perfect friends.”

  Perfect? No one’s ever called me perfect before, but given the way Jasper just spit the word out like it was sour milk, it sure as hell wasn’t a compliment.

  “Jasper,” Hannah starts.

  But he’s gone out the door I’m pretty sure he’d slam if he could. I look at the plain wooden door, studying its single brass hook, perfectly centered, like it’s the most interesting thing on the planet. Anything to avoid looking at Claire or, worse, Hannah.

  Hannah lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Bea. Needless to say, none of that was about you, but I must apologize for my son’s rudeness.”

  “He’s under a lot of stress,” Claire says. She steps in front of me until I have to look at her. “Cambridge is a pressure cooker and the journal article is a big opportunity. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so shitty and will feel awful when he cools down.”

  “Will he?” I ask. I want to give Jasper the benefit of the doubt, but that was uncalled for.

  “I’ll speak to him,” says Hannah.

  She takes a breath, but I fill it. “Please don’t. I’d rather speak to him myself.”

  “Oh.” Hannah straightens. “Of course. Yes, of course.”

  I close my eyes. No one is more surprised by my offer than I am, but damn Jasper for making me explain this to Scarlett’s mother and a girl I barely know. “Before I came here, I was engaged to a PE teacher at my school, but I broke it off in May, right before school ended. He wasn’t a bad guy. I mean, in lots of ways he was great.” I take a deep breath to push the resentment rising in my throat back down to the pit of my stomach. “But I let him take over, well, pretty much everything and by the end I kind of didn’t recognize myself, you know? And I never called him on any of it.”

  There’s total silence for a good twenty seconds. Then Claire says, “It must be hard, but good for you for recognizing it. Not that it’s good you had to go through a broken engagement to get to this point, I mean. But that you realize it is great.”

  It doesn’t feel great. It feels as lame now as it did the day I admitted it to myself. But I don’t want to stand here in a linen closet explaining my relationship with Theo and why it makes me so determined to call Jasper on his crappy comment, so I offer a weak smile and say, “I know Jasper’s just mad, frustrated, whatever. But it sets a precedent, you know? And I’d rather he knows it’s not okay to take out his frustration on me.”

  “Well, I think it’s admirable,” says Hannah. “I’d wait for Jasper to calm down enough to actually hear you, which could take a little while. And in the meantime, we still have strawberries and cream to see to.”

  Right. This all started over something I don’t want anyway. Speaking of learning to be forthright. I shake my head. “I think I’m going to pass. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. But, Bea, I hope Jasper hasn’t ruined your day,” says Hannah.

  Has he ruined my day? No, but he’s not the only one who needs to calm down. I force myself to laugh a little, if only to smooth the worry lines in Hannah’s forehead. “I’m pretty sure that was Angela Fisher, but Jasper was the icing on the cake. I’d kind of like to go for a run if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” says Hannah. “But it’s awfully hot.”

  This time when I smile, it’s genuine. “You forget where I live in real life. This is practically cold for Atlanta.”

  “True enough,” says Hannah. She looks like she’s going to try to convince me one more time, but then she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and says, “Well, enjoy and if you fancy dinner later, I’m making fajitas in the apartment.”

  I nod as Claire says, “Do you want some company at all?”

  “No, it’s okay. I think a few slow miles with some Abba blasting will do me a world of good.”

  After a few promises to come to dinner if I feel up to it, I head back to the cabin to change. Away from Claire and Hannah’s worried expressions, I give in to my own anger, flinging my T-shirt across my bedroom, yanking on my sports bra and a tank top, and tying my hair up in a ponytail tight enough to guarantee not a single strand will escape, even if I sprint.

  Not that I will. By the end of the driveway, I’m sweating enough to wish I brought a towel, if only to have something to wipe my face with other than my damp tank top. If I checked my heart rate, I’m pretty sure it would be through the roof and I force myself to slow down as I turn left on the main road.

  If you can call it that. The road in front of the castle is barely wide enough for two cars to pass. Scarlett says it’s a B road, whatever that means. All I know is the pub is a mile down and two miles further is the village. When I was changing, I thought I’d run to the village, but now I’m not so sure, even with a dose of “Dancing Queen” blasting through my headphones.

  Once I find my pace, though, I see the pub to the left and my legs feel like they’ve got at least a few more miles in them, so I continue on toward the village. The road is deserted, although I pass a couple on horseback going the other way and they give me a wave. With every step, I feel my frustration recede a bit more and by the time I turn around on the edge of the village, I even find myself mentally thanking Theo for teaching me about pace, breathing, and what he used to call maximum result.

  “You need to think of it like a math problem,” he said.

  “Running is not a math problem.” My hostility toward running had been pretty epic that day. Outwardly, I blamed the ninety-five degree temps. Inwardly, it was all Theo.

  “Seriously. Think about algebra. There’s more than one way to solve for X, right?”

  “Sort of. I mean, there’s only one right way, but there are varying ways to come up with the right answer,” I said.

  I played right into his hand with that one, judging by the grin on his face. “Exactly. You can dilly-dally around and somehow still find the right answer, but it helps if you understand how to do it properly. Same with running. You can run with bad form, poor nutrition, the wrong equipment, and still get a run in, but you won’t be getting the maximum result.”

  “What if I don’t care about the maximum result?”

  “You should. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  What’s the point, indeed? Now, as I glide over the country road, I’m grateful. Defending Theo to Scarlett is practically a reflex, but this is one of the first times since we broke up I’ve thought well of him.

  Which is not entirely his fault. He was consistent from day one; I was the one who changed, who wanted more spontaneity, less…less perfection.

  The echo of my laugh in my headphones surprises me. I might be the only woman in the world who complains about her ex-boyfriend being too perfect. Even if that’s why I first fell for him. I mean, who wouldn’t fall for a guy with a great physique, winning smile, and a stable job? There was a time when I looked at Scarlett and her string of artists, musicians, and fellow grad students and felt nothing but relief. I had Theo and a future all mapped out, and it felt good.

  Until it started to feel like a gilded cage.

  I round the final bend in the road and slow my pace. Another helpful hint from Theo: never skip the cool down. I set my sights on a tree, run to it, then slow some more, repeating until I reach the end of the driveway at a steady walk, where I stop, put my hands on my thighs, and let myself drop from the waist to stretch out my back. I’ll be sore tomorrow from the impact of running on the road and my back always seems to take the brunt of it.

  When I straighten, I take two deep breaths in before starting back towards the castle. I’m about halfway down the driveway when I see Jasper jogging towards me. My heartbeat spikes like I’ve been sprinting until I see he’s got headphones and running shoes on himself. He’s fiddling with the music on his phone and doesn’t see me at first, but I freeze anyway. I don’t want to confront him now and call him on his bad behavior ea
rlier, but there’s no way I can talk to him like nothing happened.

  Turns out I don’t need to worry. He shoves his phone in the pocket of his shorts and lengthens his stride. When he finally looks up and sees me, a sharp nod of his head is the only acknowledgement I get as he passes, leaving me staring after him. My mouth hangs open and I shake my head as I turn around, hoping it will dislodge the thought echoing in my head. It’s so loud, I turn my music up in an attempt to erase it, but it doesn’t work. All I can think as the castle comes into sight is: Theo would never act like that.

  Chapter Ten

  I’ve brought my laptop with me to England, but it stays in its neoprene case until Monday afternoon when I finally fire it up. Ostensibly, I take it to the library to catch up on emails. I at least owe my mother one, especially after ignoring her FaceTime call last night and her follow-up text an hour later. I start an email, meaning I open Outlook, but end up spending more time on Facebook and Instagram by far, stalking Theo, of all things.

  He’s been in my head since my run yesterday and catching up with him takes only a click of the mouse. He has a personal training Facebook page, which he’s religious about updating daily, and he’s almost as devoted to Instagram as he is to his gym routine, so I have a lot of posts to get through since I last bothered to cyberstalk him. Which was a lot longer than six days ago.

  Truthfully, we broke up in May, but I started ignoring his Facebook posts in April, and when I unfollowed him on Instagram the same week, I said it was because I didn’t think I was his target meathead audience. All true, but I knew then I was trying to work up the courage to end it and seeing his smile upped the guilt factor for me.

  Now, though, it’s oddly comforting to troll through Theo’s social media accounts. There’s him and Mike playing softball, a group picture of the guys from the gym, including Ray who always used to call me Theo’s old lady. I couldn’t stand Ray and I stick my tongue out at him on the screen because I can.