Rita stiffened. She turned. Elodie was leaning against the frame, immaculate, smug, deliberate.
‘Oh, Rita… what a surprise.’ The Frenchwoman’s words curdled with casual cruelty. ‘I forgot my purse,mon chéri.I’ll call you tomorrow before I leave for Surrey. I’ve found some great rentals to look at. Oh, and you’d better have this.’ She madea fuss of taking the door key off her fob and putting it on the kitchen counter.
‘Thank you.’ Jago took a huge swig of his beer.
‘Oh, and one more thing before I go.’ A smirking Elodie reached for her phone. ‘I suggest you look at what I just sent you… right now.’
It was as if she had put him under some kind of spell, Rita thought as Jago dutifully opened his phone, then clicked on the video link. She looked at him, at his mouth falling open in disbelief.
Elodie’s smirk deepened. ‘Believe her if you like…’ She leaned closer, voice dropping. ‘But rumour has it she makes a habit of fornicating with her guests. Au revoir.’ And with that the victorious Frenchwomanswanned off with a witch-like cackle.
A white-hot fear suddenly went through Rita. ‘It really isn’t what it seems.’
Jago now had his head in his hands. ‘That’s the young builder fella isn’t it?’
Rita stuttered, ‘He was drunk, he surprised me by moving in for a kiss, I of course said no and…’
‘It doesn’t look like you did.’
‘Jago, come on, let me look at it.’
‘You clearly know what happened so why do you want to see it?’
All of a sudden, she felt the tickle of a baby moving in her tummy; it was what she needed to really wake her up. Her anger began to rise. Ignoring the words of her wise mother yet again, Rita Jory flew. ‘I’m not sure what I think of you anymore, Jago Jenken.’ Her voice was almost growl-like. ‘You’re mad. I can’t go on like this. If you believeherover me, I don’t want you anywhere near me.’
With that she got up and stormed off out of the house.
And this time, Jago didn’t follow.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Back at the farmhouse, Rita sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of peppermint tea. The soft, scratchy hum of a radio play filled the background, the voices distant and comforting, like a reminder that life went on outside her storm of thoughts. She stared into her drink, watching it ripple with every tremor of her hands, and let herself sink into the tide of feelings running right through her.
So much for the fairy tale she had envisaged on June the fourth. The future seemed tangled and sharp, impossible to navigate. She buried her face in her hands, shaking quietly, wishing she could just disappear.
A soft knock on the window startled her.
‘Rita?’
She blinked through the blur of tears. Zenya stood there, calm, and bright, like a lighthouse in her storm. Without waiting, Rita unlocked the door and Zenya slipped into the seat beside her.
‘I suddenly felt you might need me,’ Zenya said gently. She didn’t rush or demand an explanation to Rita’s sorrow. She just sat there, warm, and steady.
‘I… I don’t even know where to start,’ Rita whispered, voice breaking.
‘Then start with a deep breath,’ Zenya soothed. ‘In through your nose for four, hold it for seven, and let it out slowly for eight.’
Rita took a shuddering breath, letting some of the tension leave her body. Zenya’s hand rested lightly on hers, grounding her.
‘Jago,’ Rita managed after a long pause. ‘Seeing her, knowing she’s… been there… will never let him go. And who knows if Amélie is even his. I don’t trust her. There, I said it. I just don’t trust that woman.’
Zenya nodded, thoughtful. ‘Your gut is your most powerful guide, Rita. Believe it. And do you trust Jago?’
Rita paused, then let out a little sob. ‘I don’t get that awful gut feeling about him.’
‘I don’t think he’s a bad man, Rita. It sounds like she played him like a fiddle before, so she has every capacity to do it again.’
Rita let out another huge breath. ‘I just told him I didn’t want him anywhere near me.’
