George nodded smartly in response to Miles’s question.
“Mrs. Cole.” She had been busy pouring the batter into a hot skillet, and her back stiffened even more—how was that even possible? —and she cocked her head in a manner that indicated she was listening, even though she kept her eyes on the pancake. “Meals will be informal. I will eat breakfast in the kitchen. And lunch and dinner in the living room instead of the dining room. I would prefer heartier breakfasts than boiled eggs and toast. Feel free to surprise me. I came here for solitude and rest. As such I would prefer not to have the cleaning service visit too often while I’m here. Since I won’t be using the entire house, I’m sure you can manage. Understood?”
“Understood.” She flipped the pancake expertly as she said the word. They were all silent for a moment while she finished the pancake and slid it onto a plate before starting the next. “Will you be needing anything from town, sir? The weather service says the rain will continue for the rest of the week. And that means we probably won’t be able to do another shopping run for a while.”
“Why not?”
“The river will likely burst its banks, which can lead to localized flooding. The bridge linking us to the main road could be washed out or even away. And if that happens we could well be cut off for weeks.”
“Has it happened before?” he asked. His brow lowered as he contemplated that troubling possibility.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been trapped here? Alone?”
“Amos was here the first time it happened,” she said, with a dismissive shrug.
“The first time? How many times has this happened?”
“Only twice since I’ve been here.” She slid a plate, laden with a stack of pancakes and a few rashers of bacon, toward him. Momentarily diverted, Miles took a moment to stare at the perfectly golden and fluffy stack of pancakes and the beautifully crisped bacon. He swallowed down the saliva that flooded his mouth and nodded in thanks.
Reaching for the syrup, he drenched the pancakes and shoveled a forkful into his mouth. His taste buds sang in ecstasy, and he bit back an appreciative moan. He could not remember the last time he’d had pancakes. It had always seemed like such a frivolous meal to him. Vicki had often tried to coerce him into having some of hers, but he had always preferred his boiled egg.
But this…this was glorious.
He washed the mouthful down with a sip of coffee and had some of the bacon.
Christ! So fucking delicious.
He schooled his features into impassivity, but it was hard when he was enjoying the most amazing food of his entire life.
He hadn’t had an appetite in weeks but suddenly—after just two bites—his body felt like it was coming alive again. He ducked his hands beneath the counter in an attempt to hide their trembling from George and Mrs. Cole. He was embarrassed by his reaction to what was essentially an extremely basic meal.
He stared at the plate fixedly for a moment, resisting the urge to scarf it all down like a barbarian and, after composing himself, lifted his fork and began eating again.
“What happened the second time the bridge washed out?” he asked, hoping neither of them found his behavior odd.
But when he looked up, it was to find that Mrs. Cole had turned away to clean the stove, while George had sat down at the banquette in the cozy breakfast nook. The elderly man was reading a newspaper and ignoring them as he sipped from a cup of coffee that Mrs. Cole must have provided while Miles was having his come-to-Jesus moment.
“Everything was pretty much the same, only it didn’t take us by surprise that time. We knew what to expect, and I had stocked up in the expectation of exactly such an event.”
George grunted, and Miles’s gaze swung to the man, who was staring at them over the top of his newspaper.
“Not quite the same as the first time, Mrs. Cole. Amos was in the Eastern Cape for his uncle’s funeral.”
“Well, Amos lives out in the cottage, so it’s not like we see each other all the time. I barely saw him the first time it flooded. We’d check in on each other periodically to make sure everything was fine, but other than that I might as well have been alone.”
Isolated in this huge house by herself? That must have been tough. He was amazed he hadn’t received her resignation immediately after that. He paid her handsomely. But to be completely cut off in the middle of winter? No amount of money could coerce Miles to endure anything similar.
“Do you need anything?” Mrs. Cole asked again, and Miles shook his head.
“No.” The word came out more curtly than he had intended. “Thank you.”
“You won’t be needing any…uhm, medication or anything?”
His eyes narrowed at the hesitant question. He hated how weak he probably appeared to them.
“I said I don’t need anything.” He felt a pang of regret when she jerked at his abrupt response. Her dark eyes shuttered, and she gave him her back when she turned away to wipe the already clean counters.
“But I think I’ll come with you.” His tone was gentler but, judging by the way her shoulders tensed at his words, Mrs. Cole didn’t like that idea.
Her next words, steeped in formality, confirmed that displeasure, “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
“It probably isn’t but, nevertheless, I insist.”
“You’ve clearly been ill and should stay out of the cold, wet weather.”
He felt his teeth clench as he fought the urge to tell her to mind her own damned business.
“No need to concern yourself with my health, Mrs. Cole. I know my limitations.”
His physician would get a hearty chuckle out of those words.
“Very well, sir. We’ll leave in half an hour.” The words were forced through tightly gritted teeth, and Miles bit back a grin. The prickly Mrs. Cole was proving to be unexpectedly entertaining. He didn’t respond and refocused his attention on his mouthwatering breakfast.
Fortunately, they left him to his silent enjoyment of the meal. A good thing since the delicious food soon rendered him incapable of coherent speech. He polished off his breakfast in no time and was tempted to ask for seconds but managed to restrain himself. He needed to gain weight and regain his strength, but overindulging could well see the pendulum swing in the other direction, especially since his exercise options were limited while he was still so weak.
He thanked Mrs. Cole quietly and got up.
“I’ll meet you in the garage,” he murmured, and left without further word. He had a bucket load of medication to take and would prefer not to have anyone witness that.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Her employer’s voice held no inflection whatsoever, but Charity knew he wasn’t the slightest bit sorry that he had kept her and George cooling their heels for nearly fifteen minutes. She was riding shotgun in the massive SUV that was rarely used for anything other than shopping.
George leaped out of the car to open the sliding door with an obsequious little bow for their boss. The gesture looked vaguely sarcastic to Charity. She never could figure out the relationship between the two men. George didn’t seem nearly as deferential as he should, and Mr. Hollingsworth always seemed to tolerate it with gritted teeth and a stoicism that ran contrary to his usual assertiveness.
Mr. Hollingsworth took the seat behind hers, and the hairs at the back of Charity’s neck immediately stood on end. She should have anticipated this possibility and now regretted her decision to sit up front. Having someone directly behind her, close enough to sense but not see, made her feel horribly defenseless. She shifted her body to the right, ostensibly to face George in the driver’s seat, but really to keep Mr. Hollingsworth in her peripheral vision.
He had been behaving oddly all day. Mr. Hollingsworth was usually a creature of habit. And she had found his predictability comforting, but the unexpectedness of his demand for pancakes that morning had totally unnerved her, and she didn’t like it.
“Where are we headed?�
� he asked, his voice curt.
“Knysna,” George responded cheerfully while clipping his seatbelt. “Buckle up, everybody.”
Charity was already belted in, and she knew the friendly reminder was for Mr. Hollingsworth, who hadn’t even attempted to reach for his seatbelt. An aggrieved look flashed across his face. The fleeting expression made his usually austere features boyishly petulant before it smoothed over and he assumed his usual façade of icy indifference.
He said nothing but found the belt and did as he was told.
Charity hid her smile behind a polite cough and fixed her eyes on George’s grizzled profile. The refreshingly frank man was in his mid-fifties, of medium height, and solidly built. His short, black hair was liberally sprinkled with salt, and he always sported a roguish silver stubble. His weathered, dark brown skin wrinkled attractively around his eyes and told the tale of a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors and who laughed frequently.
George lived in town and, though he didn’t have to, often popped in to check on Charity throughout the year. Especially during winter. He was contracted to do any driving errands she required of him, an amenity of which she made regular use.
Charity liked the blunt, no-nonsense man and felt safer when he was around. She regretted that he did not stay on the premises when the Hollingsworths were in residence. She always felt like George was in her corner, and it was such a comfort to have someone she could trust implicitly around. Especially when the Hollingsworths brought strangers on vacation with them.
After today—unless Mr. Hollingsworth needed George to take him somewhere—she and her employer would be alone. And the prospect of being alone with him all day, every day, filled her with dread.
“Why Knysna?” Mr. Hollingsworth asked, as George carefully navigated the dirt road toward the old, wooden bridge that led into town. “Riversend is closer.”
“Riversend’s supermarket may not have some of the ingredients I’ll need, they stock only the basics. Knysna has more variety.” Charity didn’t like explaining herself. He didn’t usually care about these things, trusting her to handle it efficiently. That’s what he paid her for.
“I told you, you don’t have to make any special effort on my behalf. If the weather is as unpredictable as you say, wouldn’t it be better not to chance the drive to Knysna? What if the bridge washes out before we get back? I say we go to Riversend and make do with what we can get from their local grocery store.”
Charity inhaled impatiently, counting silently to ten in German before pasting a fake smile on her lips and nodding.
“As you wish, sir,” she said, forcing the words out past the clenched teeth of her strained smile.
“I haven’t been to Riversend before,” he stated, leaning back—seemingly content now that he had gotten his way—and folding his arms across his chest. “We’ve always just passed through it on our way to Knysna or Plett.”
“Nothing much to see, really,” George weighed in on the conversation, more relaxed now that he had successfully reached the tarred road that led into town. “A few shops, one restaurant, one pub. And completely dead in winter.”
Charity felt that was an unfair assessment of the town George called home. It was quaint and while it was quiet—which she appreciated—it didn’t lack charm. The restaurant had changed management a year ago and was becoming quite popular with locals and tourists alike. Charity wasn’t one to eat out at all anymore, but she had heard about the splash it was making on the local scene. And it had been hard to miss how crowded it always was on her weekly forays into town.
The citizens of Riversend were friendly and never seemed particularly perturbed by the “keep away” vibes Charity deliberately exuded. But they respected her desire for solitude, and Charity appreciated that about them.
Mr. Hollingsworth and George continued to chat amicably, while Charity watched the wet, green scenery slide by. She mentally reviewed her grocery list, eliminating things she knew the local store didn’t stock and considering possible alternatives.
The sound of her name in Mr. Hollingsworth’s mellifluous voice startled her from her thoughts, and she was jerked back to the disagreeable present.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” she said, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible.
“I asked if you come into town quite often,” he repeated.
“Not often. Once a week for uh...” Her voice petered out, as she considered a reasonably honest substitute to what she had been about to say. “Gym.”
“Gym? There’s a fully equipped gym at the house.”
“Yes. I use that regularly as well, but there are special classes I like to attend on Wednesdays.”
“Like Tae Bo, you mean?”
Tae Bo? Did people even do Tae Bo anymore?
“Something like that,” she murmured.
“My daughter, Nina, is a big fan of that Zumba thing,” George offered conversationally. “She’s tried to get me to go to a couple of classes with her. But I’ve seen it on the TV. Just a lot of jumping and bumping and gyrating, if you ask me.”
“Is that what you do, Mrs. Cole?” Mr. Hollingsworth asked, his deep voice utterly serious. “Jumping and bumping and gyrating?”
Charity pinched her lips between her teeth and refused to reply to the borderline inappropriate question.
Seeming to recognize the impropriety himself, Mr. Hollingsworth’s color heightened. He cleared his throat and diverted his attention to his driver. “How is Nina these days, George?”
Charity very much doubted that Mr. Hollingsworth had ever met Nina Clark, but George talked about his only child often enough that anyone who knew him would be at least loosely familiar with her antics.
A disgruntled frown settled on George’s face, and his jaw tightened.
“Pregnant.” The word was succinct and teeming with fatherly disapproval. “Thirty-two years old and she finds herself pregnant and single. Can you believe that? And she won’t tell me who the father is. But at least I’ll be a granddaddy. The rate she was going, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be one.”
Mr. Hollingsworth made a suitably sympathetic noise, and that was enough to set George off. He ranted about Nina and the mystery man who had gotten her “into trouble,” rhapsodized about his impending grandfatherhood, and updated their employer on the local gossip.
Thankfully that let Charity off the hook again and she relaxed somewhat and dragged out her tablet to adjust and recategorize her shopping list.
When they reached the tiny town, Miles found himself at loose ends. Mrs. Cole clearly didn’t want him to accompany her, that much was evident from the way she leaped from the SUV before George had even brought it to a complete standstill and—her shoulders hunched against the cold wind—proceeded to walk at a brisk pace toward the supermarket.
Miles was left to either jump out and run after her—a humiliating prospect since he wasn’t sure he would catch up with her in his current condition—or explore the town. An equally unappealing thought considering the weather. And since the place literally consisted of one main road lined with shops and a few streets branching off that led to the suburbs, he was pretty sure it would be a very short walk. Not that he had the energy for anything more than that. There was the beach boulevard that, George had informed him earlier, had undergone something of a facelift and rejuvenation thanks to a recent injection of local and foreign investment into the community. But Miles wasn’t certain many of the beachside stores would be open in weather like this.
He was still debating his next move, when George exited the vehicle and opened the sliding door for Miles. His choices were limited to staying in the van with George or wandering around aimlessly. After a brief consideration, he chose the latter and stepped down onto the wet curb.
Fortunately, it had stopped raining, but he nonetheless gratefully accepted the closed, black umbrella that George silently handed him.
“Text if you need me,” George instructed him, and climbed back
into the SUV. Miles watched as his driver lifted a tattered paperback and leaned back to read. Feeling thoroughly dismissed, he looked left and then right, wondering which direction would yield the most interesting results. Foot traffic was relatively light, but there were enough people on the streets giving him curious looks to let him know that this was the kind of small town where strangers were viewed with both interest and suspicion.
He coughed and decided to go in the same direction as Mrs. Cole. He wasn’t following her, but if he happened to see her, he could perhaps accompany her on her shopping excursion. He laughed bitterly at himself. How goddamn pathetic that he had been reduced to following around his housekeeper because he felt so lost and weak. He, a man who commanded his own empire, didn’t know what the fuck his next move was going to be, and he was hoping that finding Mrs. Cole would give him some direction at least.
As he walked, his chest drew tight in the frigid air, and he stopped frequently, both to catch his breath as well as to regain his strength. He was grateful for the umbrella, which he was unashamedly using as a walking stick. He doubted he would get very far without it.
What he had believed would be a short, unchallenging walk, was now becoming a nearly insurmountable distance, and he could hear the familiar, horrible wheeze forming in his chest as he battled to breathe. He staggered a little before righting himself, casting a humiliated look around to be sure no one had seen him. Thankfully, everybody seemed preoccupied with their own concerns and, while curious at first, most of the townspeople were now ignoring him.
He leaned on the umbrella and was about to admit defeat and reach for his phone to call George—who was parked just three hundred yards away—when he spotted an A-frame advertising chalkboard ahead. Parked beneath an awning to protect it from the rain, the board sported blue, green, and red chalk curlicued writing to advertise the day’s specials. He had been so focused on his colossal struggle to breathe and walk at the same time that he hadn’t noticed the restaurant at all.
The Best Next Thing Page 3