Honeysuckle House

by Christina Jones

‘We might. But if we do, it’ll be their loss, won’t it?’

  William laughed, and looked across at her. He loved her very much, this fierce, mysterious girl with her baby and her huge unruly dog.

  ‘Take the next exit.’ Lisa looked up at the motorway signs. ‘Then take the road to Harbury …’

  ‘And is that where your parents live? Harbury itself?’

  ‘Harbury Green, about five miles outside the village. It’s very pretty.’

  Lisa leaned over into the back seat to tuck Lewis’s blanket more firmly round him. When she straightened up, she took a deep breath.

  ‘I know I’ve always kept my past a closed book, and you’ve never asked questions, William – and that’s one of the reasons I love you. You’ve always accepted me as I am. When you found out I was homeless and had a baby, not to mention Otis – it didn’t seem to make any difference … I – I won’t say anything about Mum and Dad – you’ll have to form your own opinion. But Lewis’s father, well, I owe you that much.’

  ‘You still don’t have to tell me.’ He smiled across at her.

  ‘But my parents will assume you know. You deserve better than that.’ She turned in her seat and looked at Lewis for a second.

  ‘Lewis’s father worked with my parents. He doesn’t now, so you don’t have to worry about running into him. I don’t know where he is now. It doesn’t hurt so much now to think about him … We were going to be married … I trusted Edward. I was so naive!’ She spat the word out. ‘When I discovered I was pregnant – well …’

  ‘He did a runner, did he?’ William tried to make his voice impartial. ‘Left you to face having Lewis on your own?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Her voice was hard.

  ‘And your parents? Didn’t they want to kill Edward – or at least make him face up to his responsibilities?’

  ‘No.’ Lisa gave a little laugh. ‘They didn’t want me to keep Lewis, so I left, too.’

  ‘And they never bothered to find out where you were or how you were?’

  ‘Oh, they tried. I made it hard for them, though.’ She glanced at him. ‘The reason I’m doing this today is because of you. I want them to know that I’m making my own way in life – with you. I want them to know that whatever happened in my past, you accept it – and that Lewis is a lovely, happy, adorable baby.’

  William reached over and squeezed her hand.

  They had entered a very pretty, picture-postcard street, with gardens that dawdled down to the soft curve of the road, and crooked cottages that leaned on their neighbours for support.

  ‘Harbury Green.’ Lisa swallowed.

  ‘Are you OK?’ He squeezed her hand again. ‘We can still turn back.’

  ‘No.’ Her chin jutted with determination. ‘Let’s get it over. Turn just here, through the gates …’

  William looked in surprise at the wrought-iron gates flung wide to herald a curving gravelled drive and a beautiful tangle of willow trees. He drove slowly until he saw a cottage nestled beneath a circle of cherry trees, and brought the car to a halt.

  Lisa scrambled to retrieve Lewis from the back seat, while William stretched, his legs cramped after the drive.

  The cottage remained silent. There was no mother bustling to the door, no father striding down the path. There was nothing except the expanse of blue sky, the gentle warmth of the sun, and the trilling of birds.

  ‘All right then?’ He looked down at Lisa, and smiled at Lewis.

  ‘Fine.’ Her smile trembled just a fraction. ‘Why did you stop here? Didn’t you want them to see the car?’

  William looked blank. ‘I thought this was your parents’ home.’

  Lisa laughed. ‘No. Mum and Dad are up the drive a bit.’

  William pushed the buggy with one hand, the other firmly clasping Lisa’s. The gardens were magnificent, sweeping round lakes of grass, dipping away into blue mistiness. His mother would love this place. He saw the house as they rounded the bend. It was huge.

  ‘What does your father do here? Is he the gardener?’

  ‘No. He – er – cooks.’

  William laughed in relief. At least they would have some common ground.

  ‘And your mother?’

  Lisa’s answering giggle was shaky. ‘She – er – cooks, too.’

  ‘So that’s where you get it from! All those wonderful menu ideas you’ve introduced at the Nook – are they from your parents?’

  ‘Some of them.’ Lisa was bumping Lewis’s buggy up the imposing white steps, and as William lifted it towards the huge oak door, while vaguely wondering that they weren’t using the kitchen entrance, Lisa tugged the iron bell pull with trembling fingers.

  Within seconds the door was opened, and William almost tottered on the top step as he found himself face to face with two very familiar figures.

  ‘William,’ Lisa said in a small voice. ‘I’d like you to meet my parents.’

  ‘Your parents?’ He stared as Lisa’s father held out his hand. ‘But I – I’ve seen you both on TV …’

  Marion Ross, Lisa’s mother, reached out her hands to her daughter.

  ‘Oh, Lisa. Can I hold him? Will you let me?’ Her eyes shone with tears.

  Lisa lifted Lewis out of his nest and put him into his grandmother’s arms.

  ‘Lisa!’ Donald Ross opened his arms. ‘Forgive us, honey? You did such a good job of disappearing. We were so scared for you –’

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said, and reached for her father’s hand.

  ‘It’s all OK now. Isn’t it?’ Mr Ross said.

  ‘Well, yes.’ William grinned. ‘She’s just told me her parents are cooks. She forgot to mention the prime-time TV shows …’

  ‘It’s so nice to escape from the bedlam at home – I had no idea a few alterations would cause so much disruption.’

  Rosie and Steven were sitting in the battered armchairs outside his shop. The sun warmed the lane, and the breeze brought the soporific shushing of the sea wafting through the trees. Rosie loved Highcliffe in all seasons, but this had to be her favourite. An ageless time of gentle warmth and sleepy noises – a prelude to the bustle of summer.

  Her thoughts drifted to her children.

  Jamie, seemingly none the worse for his trip to London, was chattering non-stop about his birthday, delighted with the innovations at Honeysuckle House, and apparently now accepting his parents’ separation.

  She wondered how William and Lisa were faring seeing Lisa’s parents.

  And Kizzy … She glanced up towards Steven’s flat, where Kizzy was waiting for Andrew.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Steven followed her eyes. ‘He’ll turn up.’

  ‘I know. William said he was as keen to patch things up as Kizzy is. I just hope she doesn’t fly off the handle! It was kind of you to offer your flat for the peace negotiations.’

  ‘Neutral ground. Your place is too hectic, and at Andrew’s place his parents would be around. I do remember what it’s like to be young.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ Rosie giggled, ‘since you’ve never really grown up.’

  ‘That’s unfair!’ Steven’s eyes crinkled.

  ‘I’m something of an entrepreneur these days. I’ve got two businesses.

  ‘Both of which seem to tick over without too much help from you. The Nook is running as it always did, thanks to William, and this place –’ Rosie looked at the ramshackle shop with its piles of books and ornaments and second-hand furniture,‘– it’s about as laid-back as it’s possible to get.’

  ‘Just like its owner.’ Steven stretched lazily in his chair. ‘Don’t knock it, Rosie. Who wants to be in the rat-race when you can have a life like this?’

  Rosie nodded. Leon and Felicity Phelps could have all the wheeling and dealing if they liked. This slow-paced life was all she had ever wanted.

  Even when Honeysuckle House was up and running as a bed and breakfast, she didn’t envisage it being anything more than an extension of her family life. It would be perfect. She was a natural hom
emaker, and she would make her guests as welcome as if they were friends of the family.

  Life, at last, was beginning to settle down.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Brodie – Mr Casey.’

  ‘Hi, Andrew.’ Rosie squinted up towards the sun. ‘Kizzy’s upstairs.’

  ‘And she’s all right?’ Andrew looked as though he hadn’t slept for days.

  ‘About as all right as you are.’ She smiled kindly at him. ‘For goodness’ sake, get together and sort things out!’

  Shooting her a grateful glance, he disappeared into the shop.

  ‘Young love!’ Rosie chuckled. ‘Who’d want to go through that again?’

  ‘I would.’ Steven had pulled his hat down until it rested on his nose and she couldn’t see his expression. ‘If I was in love with the right person and if she returned the love.’

  ‘You old romantic!’ She knew she had to keep this light. She couldn’t risk delving too deeply into her own turbulent emotions.

  ‘I’ve never denied that,’ Steven said lazily. ‘But love does get easier with age. At least you’ve made your mistakes, know you won’t make the same ones again.’ He paused. ‘I’d say that middle-aged love had a bit of an edge over young love, all told.’

  Rosie said nothing. She had questioned her own feelings over and over again. She still missed Leon, but although she would never have admitted it to anyone else, she could see now how awful their marriage had become.

  The hurt was healing, and from that healing a new strength was growing.

  ‘You still miss him?’

  ‘Mind-reader!’ she retorted. ‘Yes, of course I do, but I don’t hate him anymore. For the first time in my life, I’m enjoying being me.’

  ‘So are you going to see your solicitor about a legal separation?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head fiercely. ‘Not about separation. Divorce. But I have to tell the children first.’

  Steven reached out and covered her hand with his. The gentle pressure of his fingers spoke more eloquently than a thousand words.

  Browsers came and went, some buying, some not. People stopped and chatted, commenting on the glorious weather and Honeysuckle House’s rejuvenation. No one seemed to find it the least odd, Rosie thought, that she and Steven should be sitting together. But then, they’d always been friends, and Highcliffe was such a small place the news of Leon’s romance had swept through it like a forest fire.

  Rosie watched the smiling, familiar faces as they passed the time of day. They seemed genuinely pleased to see her looking so happy. And that happiness was, she knew, due in no small part to the man sitting beside her.

  He stroked her hand, and she turned to him.

  ‘And after the divorce? Do you think Leon will marry Felicity?’ Steven watched her eyes. He didn’t want to damage this fragile happiness.

  Rosie laughed at the idea. ‘Can you see Felicity Phelps giving up her Businesswoman of the Year role to become the second Mrs Brodie? No – I don’t think marriage is on the cards.’

  That the Four Seasons and Felicity Phelps might be the culmination of Leon’s impossible dreams didn’t even occur to her.

  ‘And what about you?’ Steven’s voice was low. ‘Will you be happy to play the merry divorcee? Or have you been burned too badly to risk another trip into the flames of matrimony?’

  ‘What would you know about matrimony?’ Rosie tried to joke. The questions in Steven’s eyes were finding an answering echo in her heart, and it was too soon.

  ‘You know why I never married.’ Steven’s voice continued to soothe her. ‘There’s only one lady in the world I’ve ever wanted to be with …’ He moved closer to her, his shadow blocking out the sun. ‘You smell lovely.’ He was so close that she could see his freckles, smudged like gold dust under the weather-beaten skin. ‘You smell like new-mown grass, like the warmth of the sun on flowers. Rosie, I love you so much …’

  She couldn’t have resisted his kiss even if she’d wanted to. His lips were gentle on hers, drowsy with love and promise. Rosie returned the kiss in a way she never had with Leon. This was a kiss of burgeoning love and future dreams, a kiss that floated her away on a warm, velvet sea …

  ‘Mum!’

  Kizzy and Andrew were standing in the shop doorway, gazing at them with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

  ‘Oh, Kizzy!’ Rosie blushed. ‘It’s – er – it’s not what it seems – ’

  ‘I hope it is what it seems!’ Kizzy laughed. ‘Even if you are far too old for this sort of thing! And in public, too!’

  Andrew seemed even more embarrassed. Maybe his mother was right about Kizzy’s family. Well, it didn’t matter a hoot to him.

  Steven had watched the censure on Andrew’s face and just managed to control his laughter. ‘So you consider that romance is the province of the young, and anyone over the age of twenty-five should be retired to carpet slippers and soap operas?’

  ‘Oh, no, of course not …’

  ‘Don’t tease him, Steven!’ Rosie laughed. ‘Anyway, do I gather that a truce has been called?’

  ‘Much more than a truce!’ Kizzy returned Andrew’s embrace. ‘The wedding’s on again!’

  Telling Rosie

  ‘Don’t you dare make any comment about the quality of this pizza!’ Rosie laughed across the table at Leon.

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’ He laid down his knife and fork.

  ‘Didn’t you like it?’ Rosie looked at his hardly touched plate. ‘Or are you still suffering from the after-effects of the Laserquest?’

  ‘I’m not all that hungry, and the laser thing was far more energetic than I’d imagined.’ He looked across to the crowded, noisy table beside them. ‘But Jamie and his friends loved it – and it hasn’t affected their appetites! I must be getting old …’

  ‘I can’t believe he’s fifteen!’ Rosie smiled fondly at their son. ‘I remember his birth so clearly – far better than the other two.’

  ‘So do I,’ Leon said with feeling. ‘He only gave us a moment’s notice of his arrival, didn’t he? And he’s been the same ever since.’

  Now, he thought, I’ll tell her now, while she’s talking about babies, while we’re in a public place so that there won’t be a scene …

  ‘Rosie –’

  ‘It was kind of Felicity to buy him that football strip.’ Rosie tore off a chunk of garlic bread. ‘None of his friends has got the latest one – it’s a definite feather in his cap. I’ve told him to write and thank her.’

  ‘He could say thank you in person.’ There was a lump in his throat. ‘It may be a good time for him to meet Felicity. Or would you object?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Rosie’s laugh sounded brittle. ‘After all, she’s part of your life now, and the children have accepted that. I just don’t want her to come to the house. Not yet. Maybe one day …’

  ‘No, of course not. I thought perhaps I could pick Jamie up tomorrow, after my meeting with the architects. Felicity could do him a meal?’

  ‘Ask him. We mustn’t make decisions for him. He’s got football training tomorrow afternoon – you could collect him from there.’

  Leon nodded. ‘Look, Rosie. There’s something else –’

  ‘Mum! Dad!’ Jamie had scrambled from the adjoining table and was beaming at them both. ‘This is an epic birthday! Gary and Robert said they’re going to ask their parents to do the same thing, and Simon wishes his parents were like you two. He says his would never let him do anything half so brilliant!’ He swallowed his mouthful of pizza and grinned. ‘I don’t reckon I deserve this – not after … well – I just want to say thanks …’

  ‘Quite a speech.’ Leon smiled across the table as Jamie re-joined his friends. ‘And quite an accolade.’

  ‘It’s a sad fact, Leon, that if we were still living together, we probably wouldn’t be here like this, would we? You’d be busy at the Nook, and I would have felt unable to cope with it alone. We’d probably have told Jamie he was too old for special birthday parties. We wouldn’t have
bothered.’

  He frowned, recognising the truth of that. He had been guilty for a long time of neglecting his children and taking Rosie for granted.

  ‘Do you know what we are now, Leon?’ Rosie sipped her coffee. ‘We’re friends. We talk to each other about our separate lives, and because of that, we have more time for our children. Weren’t you going to tell me something before Jamie made his speech?’

  ‘Was I?’ Leon had caught the waiter’s eye, and was sorting out the bill. ‘I can’t remember.’

  This wasn’t the right time. But when was there going to be a right time? The fragile friendship Rosie had just been talking about would be smashed to smithereens once he’d broken the news to her.

  ‘Dad!’ Jamie leaned across their table. ‘Are we going home now?’

  ‘In a moment. Why?’

  ‘I wondered if we could have half an hour at the fairground? Mr and Mrs Beatty gave me some money this morning. “Mad money”, they said. To spend on enjoying myself, because that’s what birthdays are for. Please, Dad. Mum?’

  They looked at each other and laughed.

  ‘“Mad money” sounds like pretty poor advice from a bank manager!’ Leon grinned. ‘All right. You can have an hour from now. We’ll pick you up at the entrance dead on ten o’clock, not a minute later!’

  Jamie enveloped them both in an uncharacteristic hug, then he’d gone.

  Leon pulled on his jacket. ‘Well, that gives us another hour together. Shall we find somewhere quieter and have a drink?’

  Alarm bells jangled in Rosie’s head. He had wanted to tell her something earlier. She had been married to him for too long not to know how his mind worked.

  They walked along past the amusement arcade which had led to Jamie’s downfall, to the Cat and Fiddle, a quiet, intimate bar.

  ‘What would you like?’ Leon found it strange that he had to ask her.

  ‘A tomato juice, please.’

  Rosie sat at a corner table, feeling odd. They were like polite strangers instead of a couple who had shared nearly twenty-five years of their lives.

  ‘I couldn’t remember if you had Worcester sauce.’ Leon put two tomato juices on the table.

  ‘No – this is fine.’ Rosie lifted her glass, glad to have something to do with her hands. ‘Leon, what’s wrong?’