by Anna Jacobs
‘Mr O’Neal is nice, isn’t he?’ Amy cuddled the teddy close, tracing one finger round and round his ears.
‘Very nice.’
‘I wish he was my father.’
‘Well, he isn’t. However nice he is, he’s a visitor and in a day or two he’ll be gone.’ She had to keep telling herself that, didn’t dare hope for anything else.
Though he had come back.
‘I’m going to make a spell with my magic wand tomorrow so Mr O’Neal won’t go away again.’
What did you say to that? Ella wondered. She was never quite sure whether Amy believed in magic or not. ‘You aren’t – upset about anything?’
In answer Amy held out her arms for a hug and for a minute Ella cradled her close.
‘Mr O’Neal doesn’t mind my limp, does he?’ the child asked in a muffled voice.
‘Most people don’t, darling.’
‘Some of them do. I can always tell. Daddy used to look away when I walked. He made me feel stupid.’ She sobbed suddenly. ‘I don’t want to see him. Do I really have to?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid you do.’ Ella swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her own throat. What sort of man made a child feel like that? ‘We’ve said before that there are people who don’t like to see anyone limping or with other problems. Some people don’t like red hair. I used to get teased a lot about mine at school. They called me Carrots.’ They’d had this conversation many times, but Amy seemed to get comfort from the iterations, so Ella would go through it as many times as necessary.
Amy reached out to touch her mother’s hair. ‘It’s not at all like carrots. I wish mine was the same colour as yours.’
‘Sometimes red hair gets darker as you get older. We shan’t know about yours for a few years yet. But I shall love you whatever happens to your hair.’
‘And you won’t mind if I have to use a wheelchair when I get bigger?’
‘As long as you drive it carefully and don’t run me down.’
That brought the usual soft gurgle of laughter. After she’d hugged her mother, Amy pulled away, quickly rubbing a hand across her eyes. Picking up the book, she positioned the teddy carefully and snuggled down. ‘This is my mostest favourite story of all. I’m going to read it to Teddy. He always forgets the ending.’
‘He’ll enjoy that. Goodnight, darling.’
Thoughtful now, Ella went slowly down the stairs to finish cooking the evening meal for the guests. She tried never to react with pity to her daughter’s questions, but to speak about the problems Amy faced in matter-of-fact tones and treat her as you would any child. But sometimes you couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like to have a child who could run freely, wondering why any child should be born with such a burden. Life could be so unfair.
Worry about things you can change! she told herself firmly. It was one of her mantras and usually helped.
The thought of her daughter’s vivid face and loving nature cheered her up, as it always did. Amy was a delight and Ella was lucky to have a child like that.
Rose couldn’t help noticing the various staff members at the practice finishing for the day and calling cheerful farewells as they got into their vehicles. Everyone wanted to get home early on Fridays. By seven o’clock the small car park contained only one car besides her own – Oliver’s.
She’d sworn to ignore him but couldn’t get the memory of his anguish out of her mind, kept seeing him standing just below her window, looking alone and upset.
Her painting had gone well today. She tidied up carefully, put a stew on to simmer and then started on the unpacking she ought to have done earlier.
It was a while before the sound registered. Someone was knocking at the back door. She went to peer out of the window and saw Oliver looking up at her. He gestured to the door, asking her to open it. After a quick wave to show she’d understood, she ran down the back stairs and opened the door for him, surprised at how tired he was looking.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, forgetting for a moment that she didn’t want to speak to him.
He shrugged. ‘I went for a walk, probably overdid it a bit. I’ve not been well, so haven’t been doing a lot of exercise lately.’
She knew him too well. It was more than tiredness; he was deeply upset about something. She hesitated, not wanting to be drawn in, but unable to leave anyone hurting like this without making an effort to help. ‘Would you like a glass of wine? I was just about to celebrate moving in.’
He stared at her. ‘I thought you wanted to ignore my existence.’
She shrugged. ‘I can’t. You’ll be in and out of this building every day. Besides, life’s too short to hold grudges. I’m used to the idea that you’re back now. So what if you vanished without a word. I got on with my life.’
He grabbed hold of her arm and swung her round. ‘Wait a minute. What do you mean, “vanished without a word”? Since I had to go up to London suddenly and had only minutes to catch a train, I wrote you a letter and arranged for someone to leave it at your cottage.’
She stared. ‘I never received any letter.’
He took hold of both her arms, so that she was facing him. ‘Rose, I swear that I did write to you. After all we’d been to one another, I wouldn’t just vanish. How could you even think that of me? In the letter I asked you to meet me at a London hotel, on neutral territory, to see if we could work something out. You know I didn’t want us to break up.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘You didn’t turn up at the hotel. I was sure the letter would have been delivered, so I took it for a refusal to compromise. That’s why I didn’t come back.’
She studied his face. Oliver wasn’t lying. She’d swear to that.
‘You believe me?’
She nodded. ‘Who did you give it to?’
‘Your cousin.’
She stared at him. ‘Ella wouldn’t forget something like that.’
‘You can be sure I’ll be asking her what happened to it.’
So would she. ‘Come up and share a wine, then.’ She felt shaky inside, didn’t know what to do next, only knew she had to get to the bottom of this.
What could have happened to Oliver’s letter?
What would have happened to her life if they’d found a way to compromise?
She took a deep breath. Best not go down that path. Water under the bridge.
Ella turned to see Cameron standing in the kitchen doorway. ‘Hi. Shall I show you to your table?’
‘I’d much rather stay here and lend a hand.’
‘I’ve just about finished. It’s only casseroled steak, which is my main standby and freezes well. I made a big batch today, so that I could freeze some. I don’t claim to be a gourmet cook.’
‘It smells wonderful.’ He went to sit on a kitchen stool. ‘I’ll stay and chat, then.’
‘I’ll be moving to and fro, serving.’
He caught hold of her hand, forcing her to stop and look at him. ‘Are you nervous about being alone with me? Surely not?’
She was going to deny it, out of sheer pride, but couldn’t lie to him. ‘I am a bit nervous.’
‘So am I.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes. I don’t want anything to go wrong between us. I want to – well, give us a chance. I know it’s early days, but I really like you as well as finding you attractive. I love your hair. It’s a glorious colour.’ He raised one hand to touch it, and even that slight gesture sent warmth through her.
She really liked him too, but didn’t dare go as far as to admit that.
While she was still trying to work out what to say to him, the guests with the baby turned up for their evening meal and the moment was lost. She forced a bright smile and showed them to their places, suggesting they park the buggy in which the baby was sleeping in a place where she could switch off the wall light. She then went to fetch their starters. It was only tomato and red pepper soup with cheese croutons, a soup that also froze well and was another of her standb
ys, but guests seemed to like it.
‘You’re at the other corner table,’ she told Cameron as she came back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll serve your soup now as well and—’
‘No. I’ll eat here with you later and we’ll take it in turns to keep an eye on your other guests. I can serve them for you. It’s no fun eating on my own.’
He spoke firmly, as if he didn’t intend to take no for an answer, so she didn’t argue. She’d been looking forward to sharing a meal with him. ‘Oh – well, all right. Amy and I usually eat at this table. I’ll set it in a minute.’
‘I’ll do that.’
‘The cutlery is in the top drawer.’
While she served the other guests, he quickly set two places, opened the bottle of wine he’d brought, found the glasses and poured them each a drink. Then he sat waiting for her, sipping the wine occasionally, not making her feel rushed.
But the silence in the kitchen was like no other that she’d experienced. It fairly hummed with . . . something, as if invisible energy was flowing around them. She’d never felt like this with Miles, was a little afraid of being swept away by it, so started work again, searching desperately for some innocuous topic of conversation. ‘Um, if it’s not too personal, tell me what you’ve been doing for the past few days.’
He gave her a knowing smile, as if he knew perfectly well what she was doing. ‘I went to see an old client, who was trying to bribe me to do one more project for him. But I refused. I’ve been careful with my money and have no need to rush into another job, especially one I don’t fancy.’
‘You’re lucky to have the choice.’ She glanced towards the conservatory and saw that the young couple had finished their first course. ‘I’ll just—’
He stood up and moved quickly in front of her. ‘I’ll get their dishes. You concentrate on plating up the next course.’
After chatting to the two guests and admiring the baby sleeping peacefully in its buggy, he returned with the empty soup bowls and side plates. ‘They said it was lovely. I’ll take those plates out, then you can serve our soup while they eat their main course.’
They ate slowly and he accepted a second bowlful, then collected the couple’s empty plates while she got out the frozen desserts she kept in stock. She served them with fresh raspberries from her own garden and a ginger sauce.
By the time he’d taken the desserts out, she had their own main courses ready.
‘Tell me about your family history,’ he said, after making appreciative noises about the steak and its sauce.
So she told him the story of Jane Turner, her favourite ancestor, who had brought much of the land into the family as well as the rubies which had supposedly brought good luck.
‘I envy you,’ he said when she’d finished her tale. ‘I know nothing about my ancestors. My father scorns the past and won’t say anything much about his own childhood or youth, and my mother only knows up to her grandparents. It’s one of the things I intend to do now that I have more time, research my family history.’
She went to glance out at the other guests, but the baby was fast asleep and the couple both looked tired. Even as she watched, they stood up and the man wheeled the buggy gently towards the outer door. She went to wish them good night and find out what time they wanted breakfast, then returned to Cameron.
No avoiding him now – and she didn’t want to.
Rose gestured to the elderly sofa, which was the only seat not loaded with bundles dumped as they were brought into the flat.
‘I remember this,’ Oliver said with a smile, running one finger over the frayed braid on one sofa arm. ‘And I recognize that old wardrobe too.’
‘It’s perfect for keeping my supplies in,’ she said defensively. ‘I’ll need it when I go back to the cottage, though I don’t really need it here.’
He abandoned small talk abruptly. ‘Haven’t you changed anything about your life, Rose?’
She shrugged and poured him a glass of cheap red wine, then got one for herself. After a moment’s hesitation she sat down next to him. On a two-seater sofa that was too close, far too close, but it was the only other seat free. ‘I’ve changed in myself, I think. I’m older and wiser, but—’ she raised her chin defiantly ‘—I’m just as stubborn about what I want from life. And I’m still working on my main project.’
He looked up at a painting she’d hung on the wall. ‘Your style’s matured. I like that one. It draws the eyes, lets you understand the animals on their own terms.’
‘Thank you.’ She took a quick sip of wine to hide her pleasure at that compliment. Oliver never gave compliments that he didn’t mean. ‘And you? How have you changed?’ To her dismay, that haunted look instantly returned to his face, even though he tried to smile at her. ‘Don’t.’ She laid one hand on his. ‘Don’t pretend with me. We know each other too well. What is it, Oliver? What’s happened to you?’
He took another gulp of wine, stared down into the nearly empty glass, then said tightly, ‘Don’t encourage me to let the demons out. They’re better locked away, believe me.’
‘Not if they’re causing you so much pain.’
‘Does that show?’
‘To me – and probably to anyone who knows you well.’
He drained the glass and set it down. ‘I’d better go before I make a fool of myself.’
She set her own half-full glass down and caught his arm. ‘Don’t go. Talk to me, Oliver. Tell me.’ He tried to pull away, but she kept hold of him and he capitulated suddenly.
‘I was involved in an – incident. A patient on drugs. He was stronger than he looked and I was careless. He hit me over the head. When I came to, I found he’d taken me prisoner. It . . . wasn’t pleasant. He locked me in a chiller unit and kept the police and everyone at bay for quite some time. There wasn’t a lot of oxygen. It was dark. I thought I was going to suffocate, or freeze to death. It’s left me a bit . . . claustrophobic.’
‘That’s why you ran out of the building earlier today.’
‘Mmm.’
‘It must have been dreadful.’
‘Mmm.’ He had never been able to put into words how bad it had been, not even to the counsellor.
He wasn’t quite sure how her arms got round him, how his head came to be resting on her shoulder, but it felt good. She didn’t urge him to speak, which he didn’t want to do. With a sigh he gave himself up to the sheer pleasure of being held.
He’d missed her so much.
In a large, luxurious house on the outskirts of Chawton, Brett Harding lingered at table waiting for his parents to finish eating, putting up with their chit-chat, fuming inside. What he wanted to do was go out with the lads. What his father had made clear was that if he did, he’d better not come back again, and he’d be out of a job as well as a home.
He might be over thirty, but he couldn’t afford that and wasn’t stupid enough to alienate his wealthy father. As the only son, he expected to inherit, had been banking on that as the basis of a very comfortable future.
‘Your mother just spoke to you,’ his father snapped.
Brett turned to her. ‘Sorry, Mum. What did you say?’
‘I asked if you’d like to watch a film with us. There’s nothing on TV tonight.’
He judged it best to nod. ‘That’d be nice. What movie were you thinking of?’
‘An oldie, I’m afraid. Probably not to your taste but it’ll pass an hour or two. Or maybe you and your father would like to play billiards for a while. That table is hardly ever used and you were the one who was so keen to get it.’
He did not want a tête-à-tête with his father, had already been lectured several times about his appalling behaviour and how much it was going to cost to hire a good lawyer. ‘I’m a bit tired. I think I’d rather watch the movie.’
‘Film,’ his father corrected. ‘This is England not America.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Film, then. Can I get you something to drink, Dad?’
‘Not tonight. And you’re n
ot having anything, either, not till I’m sure you’re not an alcoholic.’
Looking distressed, his mother stood up. ‘I’ll just clear the table.’
Brett stood up. ‘I’ll help you.’
Those bloody Turners! he thought as he obediently carried crockery to the kitchen. It was all their fault. Ella had been asking for it. If it wasn’t for her leading him on, he’d not have been so drunk. And her cousin was just as bad, even if she was a Marwood by name. She had Turner blood in her, didn’t she? He was sure Rose’s van had been badly parked. If he hadn’t had to swerve to miss it, he’d not have ploughed into that stupid old cottage. She’d had time to move the van after the accident, so he could prove nothing. But he knew he’d seen the van looming up in front of him, in the wrong place.
Uppity bitches, the pair of them, thinking they were better than anyone else. They always had been, even at school.
He smiled. He still had friends, good friends, who were prepared to pick him up when he crept out of the house after his parents had gone to bed. Fancy having to do that at his age! Only he didn’t intend to be disinherited.
Well, he’d already put the wind up Ella Bloody Turner tripping the outside security lights out at that dump she lived in. He’d seen her outline at the windows, going from one to the other, seen the curtains move. He’d go back and do that again when he felt like a good laugh.
He hadn’t decided yet what to do about Rose. He’d think of something though.
Ella turned to find Cameron watching her from the kitchen doorway. Feeling self-conscious, she walked across to join him, not protesting when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
‘I’ve been dying to do that.’
It was the gentlest of kisses, and yet it sent another storm of response through her body.
He didn’t kiss her again, just held her close. She could feel his heart beating, his soft breaths against her temples. It seemed so right to be held by him she was suddenly terrified and pushed him away.
‘What is it?’ he asked in bewilderment.
‘We shouldn’t. I’m not – not into chance encounters.’