Max and Millie gleefully launched handfuls of rice like pellets, not just at the bride and groom but the whole gathering, and then chased each other giggling around the churchyard. Rebecca turned to Josh to comment on the fantastic evening, but found him studying her with an intensity that took her breath away.
Checking to make sure Max was out of sight, he lowered his head and kissed her gently on her moist lips. “Rebecca Mathews, you are gorgeous.”
She saw Georgina watching them, flashing her a ‘well done’ smile. She moved away from Josh to wave a final farewell to Deb as a sprig of flowers sailed through the air toward her. She reached up to catch it.
Josh bent down and swept her into his strong arms, swinging her around and around, laughing as a small voice shouted, “My turn, my turn, my turn, swing me, too, Josh!” He deposited Rebecca onto her unsteady feet and grabbed Max’s little pudgy hands in his own strong ones, swinging him in a wide circle as Max squealed, “Yes, yes, yes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Bradley punched in Rebecca’s number, clutched the phone tightly while scratching his unshaven chin and running his trembling fingers through his too-long hair.
He no longer had the money for a regular haircut. In fact, since his release from the living hell of the Dubai jail and his subsequent inevitable dismissal from his employment, he had no income at all. Now that he had a criminal record and his reputation and integrity were in shreds, he knew that no law firm would touch him. Was this how Rebecca had felt when she had been suspended from practice?
An unexpected coil of sympathy and shame snaked around Bradley’s chest, but he nudged it away.
Cheryl had refused to see him and the lease on their mews home had been terminated. As he had nowhere else to live, he’d been forced into the humiliating position of confessing his shame to his horrified parents and begging his mother to allow him to return to his childhood bedroom.
His father had refused, mortified that his son should have sunk to such depths. No one in the family had ever had any contact with law enforcement, not even a parking violation, Gordon Matthews had repeatedly reminded Bradley.
His mother had relented, as he knew she would, but it was painful to see her disappointment and his father’s disgust written clearly across their faces whenever their paths crossed. He had to get away from their silent reprimands and Rebecca would be that ticket.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Rebecca, it’s me.” Bradley’s smooth tones resonated through the telephone line.
“What do you want, Bradley?” She sighed.
“What sort of greeting is that, Becky?”
“Becky? You’ve never called me that.”
“I’m just calling to let you know I’m in Newcastle. I have some free time to meet up with you. To talk about our future.”
“Our future? What’s going on, Bradley? And why are you in the area? I thought you were busy living the high life with Cheryl in Dubai?”
“Well that didn't exactly work out as I’d hoped. If you want to hear me say it, I admit I got caught up in the whole ‘networking until you drop’ scene out there. I was the new guy. I needed to make my mark. Overindulged, I suppose. So I’m back in the UK. Cheryl and I are no longer an item so I thought I’d come up to the cottage for a few days. We can talk. I can even take Max off your hands for a few hours.” Bradley was shocked to hear the tremble in his voice as an unidentifiable burst of emotion sprang to his throat when he mentioned his son.
“Take Max off my hands? Max is not and never has been a burden to be relieved, Bradley!”
“Is everything okay, Becky?” A man’s concerned voice came over the phone.
“Who’s that?” Bradley snapped.
“It’s none of your business, Bradley. And no, you cannot come across to my cottage. You gave up your chance to talk about our future a long time ago. I’m happy to report that I have moved on and I recommend you do the same.”
“But Max is my son...” Bradley began, horrified to hear a whine of desperation in his voice.
“You have never been a father to Max, Bradley. Should Max ask to see you then I will contact you via your parents, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. Your neglect of your responsibilities as a parent has repercussions. Max rarely asks about you. Your behaviour toward him has ensured that you are a stranger to him. Now, unless you have anything else to say—”
Bradley sank into the hideous chintzy sofa his mother had owned since he was a young boy. A tear trickled down his cheek as, for the first time in years, he realised he had run out of options.
* * *
Wrapped in thick, hand-knitted sweaters, Josh and Rebecca hugged steaming mugs of hot chocolate and relaxed on the greying wooden patio. The outdoor heater blazed as they surveyed the now-barren back garden of Rosemary Cottage. Rebecca’s love for the cottage grew as the house travelled through the changing seasons, each revealing different special surprises.
It was only a week until Christmas and Max was hyper. It was his first Christmas in a house with a real chimney for Santa to descend with his bountiful sack.
He’d settled well into the local village school and made a firm friend and partner in crime, Ollie, who had already visited the cottage for tea and a personal guided tour of the treasure trove at the bottom of the orchard. Max had declared that whilst he loved the teachers and Ollie, the best bit of his new school life was seeing his mum waiting for him at the school gate as he shot out from classes not a minute past three fifteen.
One weekend, Josh had patched up the roof for the winter months with the help of his friend Tom, whose fiancée, Hilary, had proved to be a welcome guest for dinner that night. She was a nurse at the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle and regaled them with some hysterical anecdotes. They’d enjoyed an evening of free-flowing wine and good company huddled around the warmth of the Aga at the pine kitchen table—mismatched chairs, plates, and glasses adding to the relaxed ambience.
Rebecca prayed the roof would hold out until the cottage sold, which it showed no sign of doing to date. Although dreading that day, its sale would provide her with a clean slate financially.
Deb and Fergus had just left, having spent the weekend at Rosemary Cottage and declaring it to be idyllic. Fergus and Josh had taken Max up to the farm, allowing Deb and Rebecca girl time to catch up on all the gossip.
“Georgina was gob-smacked when Lucinda called her into the hallowed corner office to discuss her maternity leave with her. She almost pled with her to consider returning to the firm three days a week,” Deb had told Rebecca. “But the shock was that she offered Georgina a partnership on a job-share basis with herself, as she intended to spend extended weekends in Palma with Raphael!” Deb smirked.
Lucinda had expressed her sadness at the loss of Rebecca, whom she admitted to engaging in April because she’d respected her as a talented advocate and had enjoyed locking horns with her during previous dealings when Rebecca worked at Harvey & Co. She desperately needed to retain Georgina’s talents at Baringer. Rebecca’s heart softened further for the re-born Lucinda.
“And you’ll never guess what else she admitted to Georgina. Lucinda had overheard one of our many conversations extolling the virtues of your Little Green Book of Wishes. Like any astute lawyer of her calibre would, she had indulged in a copy to see what all the hilarity was about. Do you know what I think, Becky? Maybe Lucinda just wanted to be part of our happy coterie, but her position as partner prevented it.” Deb’s heart was large enough to overlook her boss’s many unreasonable traits.
“What do you want to bet that she devoured its gems of wisdom and resolved to try out some of its suggestions at her sister’s wedding? The little green book delivered Raphael.” Deb dissolved into fits of giggles.
Rebecca snuggled closer to Josh, sipping her hot chocolate and smiled at the memory. Deb had been thrilled when Rebecca showed her how her newly formed interior designing business was thriving. She’d converted the barns at High Matfen Farm, each one
showcasing diverse designs and Rebecca had been amazed that the traditional design—with modern gas-powered sky blue Aga, farmhouse-style kitchen, stenciling dotted around the bathroom—had sold first and not the contemporary, muted beige and cream leather of the more modern design. She eagerly anticipated her creative juices being let loose on Josh’s four new properties, due to be completed early in the New Year.
She’d also fulfilled her silent promise to George by spending one afternoon a week reading daily newspapers and cherished books to the residents at St Oswald’s Lodge, and assisting those who needed a little support in managing a cup of tea or homemade scone.
A terracotta urn, filled with myriad fragrant herbs from Rosemary Cottage’s garden, had been donated to the Lodge in George’s memory and Rebecca enjoyed sharing the different aromas with the residents whilst they took a constitutional around the garden.
“I was waiting until I got you alone to make this announcement,” ventured Josh, sipping his hot chocolate. “We can tell Max in the morning, but I knew he would have been so excited he’d never have gone to sleep.”
Rebecca’s stomach gave a twist and she held her breath.
“That muddy disc of metal we unearthed in September. As you know Tom showed it to his colleague at the university. This morning, Professor Hicks called to confirm that it is a coin from the Roman era when this area around Hadrian’s Wall was occupied. Most bronze coins are not very valuable, as quite a few have been found. Apparently you can pick some of them up on an auction site for five pounds, would you believe.”
He paused, grasped Rebecca’s cold fingers, drawing her closer into his arms. “But your coin—remember how its face depicted the bearded Emperor Hadrian on horseback addressing his troops, clear as the day it was struck? Well, Professor Hicks reckons its value could be upwards of forty thousand pounds! He was as excited as I’ve ever heard a fifty-year-old historian. He has asked for your permission to e-mail photographs of the coin to his friend at the British Museum, as they recently had a similar coin on public display, and then he will be able to give a more precise valuation.” He watched her face as realisation dawned.
“If we decide to sell the coin, is the money ours? Do we own this coin?”
“Yes, you found it, well, Max did, on your land. As it’s bronze and not gold or silver and as you only found one, then I’m sure the find doesn’t fall under the Treasure Trove rule. But Prof Hicks will check the legal situation out with his pal at the British Museum as some finds have to be referred to the Coroner,” Josh explained.
“If you sold the coin, Becky, it would mean you could stay in Rosemary Cottage. I know how much the place means to you. You could pay back all the money to the bank and your dad’s care fees, even apply to be restored to the Solicitors Roll, if that’s what you want,” he said earnestly.
She was silent for a few moments, drinking in his eager, happy face. “I love you, Joshua Andrew Charlton.”
“I love you, too, Rebecca Jane Mathews, but I’m thinking I could love Rebecca Jane Charlton even more!”
She fell into his strong, welcoming arms.
As they kissed in the moonlight, neither of them paused to notice The Little Green Book of Wishes perched on the kitchen window ledge, discarded. Its work here was done!
Please read on to learn more about the author, Lindsey Paley, and to read a sample from another Prism Book Group novel, Falling Like a Rock by Bonnie McCune.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lindsey Paley is a Yorkshire girl who now lives in North East England with her husband and young son. When not writing in her peppermint and cream summerhouse (shed), she can be found either up to her elbows in flour baking cakes and biscuits or practicing her swing on the golf course.
The Wish List Addiction is Lindsey’s third novel.
If you were inspired by Rebecca’s lists, Lindsey would love to hear what’s on your ‘Wish List’ or ‘Bucket List’. Please contact her on her Author Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/lindseypaleybooks.
Please enjoy this sample from Falling Like a Rock by Bonnie McCune.
Copyright © 2014
Ker-choo-cha, ker-choo-cha, whoooooop, thunk, clunk. Those sounds were courtesy of Elaine’s car, exhausted and defeated, as it swiftly approached clunker status. She was on I-70, en route through Limon, Colorado, a deserted stretch of two-lane highway, trying to make the one-thousand-plus mile trip in two days or less, with as few stops as possible. She hadn’t expected much traffic, but she only saw huge semis, whose strong slipstream drafts rocked her little auto. One had caused her to swerve into a pothole in the road and resulted in a bone-shaking bump, followed by ominous clatters and crashes, jingles and dings, which indicated the destruction of some of her breakables loaded to the ceiling in the backseat.
The movement now wasn’t rocking but more like a grind. A slowness. A shiver. She knew she had to leave the main road and find help. She swerved onto a pull-off that appeared as if by a miracle, turned off the motor, and sank into the seat. In all directions she saw flat monotone prairie. If spring was about to arrive, no sign of it blossomed here. An occasional bush of greenish sagebrush nodded, but most of the landscape consisted of earth-toned dirt and dirt-toned pebbles scoured by a constant wind, which threw a thin top layer of particles hither and yon.
What she knew about auto mechanics fit on a matchbook cover. She’d been shown where to fill up on gas and wiper fluid, and that was the extent of it. She flicked the ignition off and on several times, peered at the dashboard, even popped the hood. Nothing looked out of place or broken.
She returned to the driver’s seat to think and worry her tooth with her tongue. It wasn’t safe to sit out here alone, and dismal warnings from her parents to never trust a casual passerby in a situation like this darted in her mind. So she hauled out her cell phone. No service. She slumped in her seat.
The plains spread horizon to horizon around her, and an appreciation rose in her for the courage and hard work of the pioneers who had traveled one slow step at a time over an endless landscape to reach their new homes. At least nowadays an asphalt ribbon transversed the plateau. On the road an occasional semi whooshed past, rattling her vehicle as it traveled. One trucker slowed to a crawl and honked, but by the time she decided he was offering help, he’d disappeared.
She twisted her brain in knots to find some way to save herself. Surely if she were careful, stayed in her car and blinked her lights and beeped, someone should rescue her. Perhaps she should wait until a woman stopped, but another female would be as afraid to pull over as she to chance an encounter.
Clouds began to build in gray billows, flowed from west en route the east, and the sun plunged toward twilight. If anything terrified her more than an appeal to a stranger for assistance, it was spending the night out here in the open. In her rearview mirror, a battered Land Rover appeared, and almost on impulse, Elaine switched on her hazard lights and leaned on the horn.
The vehicle slowed but didn’t stop. Not until it was some yards down the road. Next a tall, lean figure climbed out, the engine still in operation. A man dressed in jeans, ski jacket, and a black Stetson. Elaine would have laughed if she hadn’t been worried about the security of the car door locks. She was in the West now. It made sense for a cowboy to show up.
He approached with careful deliberation, halting a few feet from her, and she rolled her window down several inches and studied him in case she had to describe him later to the authorities. Not particularly suave or polished, but certainly with the rugged strength typically associated with cowboy types. Dark, as if he spent time outside or had some Mediterranean or Latino ancestors. A prominent nose, off-centered, perhaps from being bashed once too often.
“Need help, ma’am?”
Want to find out what happens? Falling Like a Rock can be purchased through all major eBook retailers.
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The Wish List Addiction Page 20