Starlight Over Bluebell Castle

by Sarah Bennett

  ‘You can thank Jess. She’s the one who showed me this.’ He held up the fireplace image to Tristan. ‘This is the real deal, right? Not creative marketing?’

  ‘Every picture on the website is a genuine image of somewhere on the estate,’ he assured Tim as he offered a smile of thanks to a co-worker who’d placed a pint in front of him. Raising it, he toasted the table. ‘Well, cheers to you all. I wasn’t expecting to have the chance to see everyone on this flying visit so it’s a real bonus.’

  ‘Cheers!’ Jess joined in with everyone sitting close enough as they clinked glasses. ‘I’m really pleased you could make it.’

  ‘Me too.’ His expression grew serious for a moment as he spoke in an undertone. ‘Everything all right?’

  Oh. He knew then. She wondered if it was someone from the office, or if Charlie had mentioned it over lunch. Not that it mattered, she’d decided to be open about it when it was clear things with Steve were beyond repair. She’d never been great at hiding her feelings, and once they understood the reason behind it her colleagues had given her a wide berth on the mornings when she’d turned up red-eyed from lack of sleep and too many tears. ‘Getting there.’

  He gave her the ghost of a wink before turning away to respond to some banter flying from the other end of the table, giving her the opportunity to study him from behind the shield of her wine glass. He’d rolled the sleeves of his blue and white checked shirt to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms that spoke of many hours spent outdoors. His hair was longer than she’d seen it in a while, the shaggy curls tangling in the back of his collar. A hint of five o’clock shadow dusted his chin the way it always did at this point in the evening. It struck her then that perhaps it wasn’t the sort of thing a woman ought to know about a man who wasn’t her husband.

  Embarrassed, she looked away only to meet a knowing look from Michelle. With the slightest curl of her lip, the receptionist tilted her head to whisper something to the girl next to her, eyes never leaving Jess’s. For a horrible moment Jess was back in that toilet stall listening to Michelle bitch about her having a crush on Tristan.

  Instinct had always pushed Jess to avoid confrontation and she’d submitted to the subtle bullying of messages not passed on, post misfiled and myriad other little snipes from this woman for years. She’d always told herself she was rising above it, that the lack of respect didn’t matter, but it did. It always had, but she’d never done anything about it, too afraid to rock the boat. But this wasn’t her boat any longer, was it? Michelle would never again ‘forget’ to book a meeting room for her because come Monday morning Jess would be trying to comfort her boys as she waited for her parents to arrive and help her pack their belongings.

  Part of Jess wanted to wail about the unfairness of life, to curl up in a quiet corner and sob over her situation, but a larger part of her was angry. Angry that she and Steve hadn’t been able to find a way to stay together; angry that his plans were having such a drastic knock-on effect on her; angry at the thought of being trapped once more under her mother’s loving, but oppressive thumb. Marcus had always been the golden child, and Jess had accepted her role in the background, adoring him as she did. After his death, all that expectation he’d been unable to carry had fallen upon her shoulders. A burden she neither wanted, nor quite knew how to shrug off.

  She’d been swallowing this anger for weeks, not wanting to upset the children or descend into pointless rows with Steve that would do nothing other than hurt them both even more than they already were, and now it felt like she would choke. Letting it push to the surface, she locked eyes with Michelle and let all the contempt she felt for the woman rest in that look. It didn’t take more than a few moments before Michelle lowered her head.

  Reaching for her glass, Jess gave herself a little toast of victory then drained half of what remained in there.

  ‘Can I get you another?’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse Tristan’s offer, but she gave him a smile of thanks instead. ‘Yes, please.’

  The food Tim had ordered arrived as Tristan returned with their drinks and everyone tucked into the platters of sandwiches, bowls of chips, onion rings and other calorie-laden treats. Conversation ebbed and flowed, much of it led by Tristan, and she was content to settle into the background and let the evening wash over her.

  After the first couple of hours, people started to drift off, home to their families, or in the case of one group on to the bright lights of the West End. They’d done their best to persuade Jess to join them, but she’d never been one for crowded pubs and clubs even in her university days. There were maybe a dozen people left and Jess had finally been able to escape from her position at the back of the table for a well-needed bathroom break. While in there, she loosened her hair from its restrictive bun to scrub her aching scalp before tying it up in a messy ponytail. She freshened the light lip gloss she favoured, although she had to squint one eye shut to focus properly on her reflection to do so. Time for a soft drink.

  The bar was busy, and she was still waiting for the server who’d given her a nod of acknowledgement to make his way towards her when someone nudged her arm. ‘Alone at last.’ Tristan’s grin looked a little wonky, maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the free bar.

  ‘Apart from the fifty people standing within about five feet of us.’

  ‘They don’t count.’ Turning his body to stand sideways onto her, he propped an elbow on the bar effectively shielding them from the rest of their group sitting beyond him. ‘I was really sorry to hear about you and Steve.’

  ‘Just one of those things.’ She tried for levity but missed by a country mile. ‘Seems like we’ll both be living back home.’

  Tristan gave her a sad smile. ‘But I’m the only one of us doing it by choice, right?’

  It would be simple to let him believe that, to indulge in her earlier need to bemoan her fate and soak up the sympathy she knew he’d offer in abundance. But that wasn’t right. She wasn’t a child, nor a passive participant in what was happening in her life. The decision for Steve to quit a job he hated and that was slowly destroying the laughing spirit she’d loved in him since they were little, had been made together. In fact, Steve had been the one to argue against it, knowing how hard it would be for her to move back home – even for a short while.

  ‘It makes the most sense,’ she said to Tristan now, echoing the words she said to Steve at their kitchen table months earlier. ‘Steve wants to go back to university, and I fully support his decision to do so. I’ve got a couple of interviews lined up next week, so it won’t take me long to find another job.’

  ‘I thought you were taking a break from work?’

  The question surprised her. ‘No. Why would you think that?’

  Tristan shrugged a shoulder. ‘When Charlie said you’d turned down his offer to work remotely, I just assumed, I guess.’

  God love Charlie, he’d been beyond understanding, and it had been very tempting to accept his offer. But the kind of work she did required too much face-time with their clients and she wouldn’t be able to do as good a job as the company deserved, which she wouldn’t be able to cope with. Jess liked to do the best she could – needed to feel like she was doing a good job. And, no, she didn’t need a shrink to tell her where that desire to please came from.

  ‘I wouldn’t have been able to give work the attention it deserved. Elijah will be starting school full-time, and both he and Isaac are going to need me around until things settle down. Isaac’s too little to really understand what’s going on, but poor Elijah is the apple of his daddy’s eye. If Mum and Dad lived closer, I might have found a way to juggle everything.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not a permanent move and I’ll take stock at the end of the year. The jobs I’m applying for are both part-time. It’ll make things tight, but we’ve got some savings and not having to pay London rent prices makes a difference.’

  The barman finally made his way to her and she ordered a bottle of sparklin
g water before asking Tristan what he wanted. ‘I’ll take a bottle of alcohol-free beer, please.’

  Drinks in hand they made their way back to the table to find the group had thinned out a bit more. Taking a free seat at one end Jess took a long, cooling drink of her water and started to feel a bit less tipsy. Not wanting to pursue their conversation at the bar, Jess waited until Tristan slipped into the seat beside her and then began to question him about his future plans. ‘How many guests do you think you’ll have at Christmas?’

  Tristan sipped his beer from the bottle. ‘Not sure, yet. As many as I think we can cope with and still give them an individual experience. We’ll do a few bigger group things, Christmas dinner, of course, and Midnight Mass at the chapel for those who want to participate. But I want each person to feel like they are spending time with family and friends rather than being just guests who I’m trying to screw a load of money out of.’ He laughed. ‘Not that I won’t be trying to do that as well, but it’s important they don’t feel like that’s my aim.’ Settling back in his seat, he stretched his legs out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles. ‘Charlie said he liked the idea of walking the dogs, for example.’

  ‘He might be on his own there. Tim wants to sit by the fireplace and read.’

  ‘See, that’s another perfect example. The bedrooms in the castle are all different, so it will be important to establish what people want and make sure we give them accommodation that matches those expectations. We’ve got several different reception rooms available so if one couple is a bit more introverted, we could assign them their own private lounge as well as giving access to a larger one if they choose to mingle some evenings.’

  ‘A proper boutique experience,’ Jess mused. ‘That sounds brilliant, but it’ll be a lot of upfront preparation. You’ll also need to provide some kind of concierge service for guests who want to go out and about.’

  ‘You’re right. I hadn’t considered that, but I’ll have to put together an itinerary of available entertainment and ways to access them either by road or rail.’ Pulling out his phone, Tristan began tapping notes into it. ‘Bloody Charlie was right.’

  Not sure if his half-muttered comment was aimed at her, Jess didn’t ask what Charlie had been right about, though she couldn’t deny her curiosity was piqued. She didn’t have to wait long, because as soon as he’d finished jotting things down, Tristan shoved his phone in his shirt pocket with a sigh. ‘I’m just not detail-orientated enough to think of all these things, I’m really going to have to up my game, or do what Charlie suggested and get myself an assistant.’ He reached for his beer, then stopped, hand outstretched as he stared at her.

  ‘What?’

  Tristan blinked. ‘Nothing. Never mind.’ Seizing his bottle, he took a long draught. ‘Nothing,’ he repeated, sounding less certain this time.

  ‘Stop being so bloody mysterious, and tell me,’ she demanded, giving his free arm a playful shove.

  ‘I was thinking you and I might be able to offer the perfect solution to each other.’ Shifting his chair a bit closer, he slung an arm around the back of hers. ‘How do you fancy coming to work for me?’

  The wine had not only affected her eyesight apparently, because she must’ve misheard him. Gulping at her water, she silently admonished herself for that third glass of wine.

  ‘Well, what do you say?’

  Incredulous, she shifted in her seat to face him. ‘About what? Surely, you were joking.’

  He shook his head, sending a lock of his dark hair tumbling into his eyes which he twitched away with an impatient finger. ‘I’m deadly serious.’

  Maybe he was the one who was drunk. ‘I’ve just told you that my boys need my attention and you expect me to abandon them to come and work for you.’ She couldn’t hide her outrage.

  ‘Who said anything about abandoning your kids? Bring them with you, of course.’ He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

  No, not drunk, mad. ‘And do what with them?’

  ‘Put Elijah in the village school, and you can keep Isaac with you during the day if you want. We can set up a little play area for him next to your desk, but you can work flexible hours around them. Once he’s got used to things a bit there will be plenty of people around to do a bit of babysitting if you need a break. There was never any shortage of willing hands when we were kids, and that’s not changed in the past thirty years. We’ve got acres of land for them to play in, a special children’s area of the gardens where they can dig and plant stuff with Constance. Lancelot will give them riding lessons, whatever you want.’

  He was talking about people she’d never heard of, volunteering them for roles without the slightest hesitation that they might have better things to do than be saddled – literally in Lancelot’s, Lancelot! Who had a name like that anyway?, case – with a stranger’s children. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

  Tristan opened his mouth as though to argue his point further, then reached for his beer bottle with a shrug. ‘You’re probably right’

  Of course, she was right. As Tristan turned away to say something to Tim, she caught a flash of something on his face, like maybe she’d hurt his feelings by dismissing his outlandish idea so quickly. Annoyed she turned her back to him, her eyes lighting on the phone still on the table. With an exasperated sigh, she scrolled back through the photos on the castle’s blog. It was clear that growing up in a fairy tale setting had given Tristan some odd ideas. People like him just didn’t understand how things worked in the real world. She couldn’t just pack up the boys and make them live with a bunch of strangers.

  Her heart clenched at the image of a tyre swing hanging from the boughs of an ancient oak, and she thought about the prim neatness of her parents’ back garden. About how her mother had pretended – unsuccessfully – not to mind when Elijah had trampled a row of gladioli when retrieving his football from one of her pristine flower beds. And it wasn’t just the perfection of the garden to worry about, there was also the cream carpet in the front room just waiting for a blackcurrant squash disaster. It had really begun to bother her how much her boys would have to compromise to fit into the neat and tidy box her parents called home. They’d have to be small, and quiet, and neat at the very age when they should be able to explore their environment without fear of the constant drip-drip of criticism she and Marcus had been subject to. A place for everything, and everything in its place. How many times had she bitten her lip as she watched her mother correct the boys for breaking some rule that only existed in the pristine bubble of Wendy Wilson’s perfect world? She imagined Elijah whooping with joy as she pushed him on the tyre swing, of Isaac tumbling around in great piles of autumn leaves; of them just being free. ‘I’ll have to talk to Steve.’

  Sitting up straighter, she nudged Tristan’s arm to get his attention. ‘I’ll have to talk to Steve,’ she repeated.

  His expression was puzzled for a moment before he gave her that dazzling, tummy-flipping grin. ‘Well, okay then.’

  Chapter 3

  ‘It’s a stupid idea,’ Jess said for what must’ve been the tenth time in as many minutes. When Steve remained silent, she paused in the act of sorting the clothes from the bottom of Elijah’s chest of drawers to stare across the bed to where Steve was doing the same task from the blanket box they used for Isaac’s things. ‘Well?’

  Steve held up a tiny pair of dungarees with a dinosaur patch sewn on the front pocket. They evoked a flood of memories of both their boys wearing them. She’d been determined not to put Isaac in too many hand-me-downs, but they were too adorable for her to consign to the charity bag. ‘Are you keeping these?’

  Downsizing her own wardrobe had been a doddle compared to this. She had no emotional attachment to an array of Dorothy Perkins skirt suits in varying muted shades, and it had been quite liberating to shed the uniform she’d moulded for herself. She’d kept a couple of the newer ones for future interviews, but the two suitcases already stacked against the wall in her room were mos
tly casual clothes. These dungarees though, the idea of parting with this little scrap of denim was breaking her heart. They couldn’t keep everything, though. ‘They’re too small.’

  Steve tugged at a loose thread, ‘And this hem is getting frayed.’ He gave her a smile. ‘Keepsake bag?’

  ‘Keepsake bag,’ she agreed, and they shared a laugh. It shouldn’t be this easy, to parcel up six years of their lives, but apart from the odd heart pang over a few pieces of old baby clothes she’d found it remarkably straight-forward. Maybe too straight-forward. Crumpling the jumper in her hands, Jess sank down on the edge of the bed. ‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?’

  Abandoning his own packing, Steve circled the bed to crouch down before her. ‘Aren’t you?’

  She stared into a pair of blue eyes as familiar as her own and wished she felt more than deep affection. The first storm of passion they’d shared in those dark days after losing Marcus had inevitably blown itself out, leaving the aching realisation they had little in common other than the friendship they’d grown up with, and two beautiful boys who meant the world to them both. ‘We’re blowing up entire lives.’

  Circling her ankle with a hand, Steve gave her a little squeeze. Hugging was too awkward now, but those urges to comfort each other didn’t just vanish overnight. ‘Because we want something better.’

  ‘Because we deserve something better.’ It was the conclusion they’d reached together in those long, painful hours when they’d been coming to terms with the truth about their feelings for each other. ‘But what about what we’re doing to the boys?’

  Releasing her leg, Steve sat back with a sigh. ‘They’re young enough to adjust. We just need to give it a bit of time.. Isn’t this better than spending the next twenty or thirty years together when our hearts aren’t truly in it and destroying each other with a million tiny acts of bitterness?’