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‘Wooden benches and a rose garden and arbours?’ he said smilingly. ‘I bet it has all those?’
She nodded. ‘And rambling roses scaling old stone walls and apple and plum trees. It’s just perfect—to me, that is.’
‘It must be worth a small fortune,’ he said softly, glancing at the mullioned windows. ‘I didn’t realise lecturers were paid so well over here.’
‘They’re not. George’s father was something big in the city, a real wheeler and dealer, which is pretty amazing to think about when you meet George. He’s a dear but hardly of this world, such a genius in his own field he doesn’t know what day it is most of the time. Beth’s perfect for him; she’s more mother than wife. Anyway, as the only child he got everything when his parents died in a car accident just after he and Beth married, and so they decided to plough the lot into their own little piece of English heaven which is near enough the university for it not to be a huge problem. Of course that was over two decades ago now, and the price of property has gone crazy since then. As an investment it was pretty cute. I think George’s father would have been proud of him for once!’
‘Undoubtedly.’ He turned fully to face her in the tight confines of the car as he reached out a hand and touched the shining silk of her hair, letting one finger trail down the smooth skin of her cheek. ‘Real peaches and cream,’ he murmured almost to himself, ‘and very English. And yet the French side is apparent too.’ Rosalie had told him during the wait at the hospital some weeks before that both her parents had died when she was young, but that was all, and now he asked, ‘Your parents? Was it an accident like George’s parents or something similar?’
She answered the way the family had decided to handle it at the time of her father’s suicide. ‘My mother died of a brain haemorrhage, and my father felt he couldn’t go on without her…’
‘He took his own life?’ he said very quietly.
She nodded, flushing slightly. She had never found it hard before to leave out the more pertinent facts that clothed the bare truth in quite a different garment, but now she felt uncomfortable. Therefore it was with a real sense of relief that she saw Beth at the front door beckoning them into the house. ‘Beth’s calling us.’
She turned to open her door but he caught her hand for a second, saying quietly, ‘You’ve had a tough start in life one way or the other.’
‘People have worse.’ He was making her feel twice as guilty. ‘My grandparents were wonderful to me, and my mother’s two sisters spoilt me rotten. You might meet Jeanne—she normally calls round if she knows I’m here, like Beth does if I visit Jeanne. She lives quite close.’
Why had she said that? It was too cosy. As if he were her boyfriend or something. She didn’t want him to meet her relatives, or know all about her. She pulled away from him now, cross with herself and everyone else. She had always been so careful to keep the opposite sex at a distance since Miles, even the harmless ones, and now she was in the most farcical situation and through no fault of her own. Beth might be one of the warmest and most hospitable creatures under the sun, but right at this moment she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate her aunt’s generosity.
She hoped George and Kingsley would take an instant dislike to each other, and Kingsley would be bored stiff here. She always spent time with Beth when she visited, knowing how lonely her aunt got with the children gone and George ensconced in his study most of the time he wasn’t at the university, and she saw no reason to change things because Kingsley had engineered an invite. Perhaps he’d give up and leave early if things were too dull? He was used to the jet-set lifestyle, after all.
‘You’re frowning again.’ Kingsley had come round to the passenger door, opening it and helping her out, and now his voice was soft when he added, ‘Smile sweetly for Beth. We don’t want to upset your lovely aunt, do we?’
She murmured a word that was rude enough to make him blink, and, encouraged at that small victory, stitched a smile on her face as she hobbled off towards the front door, cursing the plaster and the fact she couldn’t sweep elegantly in front of him.
George and Kingsley did not take an instant dislike to each other at all. Kingsley displayed such an interest in the other man’s work that George was in danger of becoming positively effusive over pre-dinner cocktails, and Rosalie groaned inwardly as she contemplated her aunt’s gratified expression, for all the world like a satisfied mother whose brilliant child was being appreciated.
‘I’m just going to show Kingsley the garden.’ When she couldn’t stand it a minute more, Rosalie put down her cocktail and all but frogmarched him out through the open French doors and into the last of the spangled evening sunshine.
‘You don’t have to humour him quite so enthusiastically, you know,’ she said snappily once they were far enough away from the house not to be overheard.
‘I’m interested,’ he protested mildly, pulling her down onto a sun-warmed bench near an old tree providing a giant sculpture for sweet-smelling roses to ramble over. ‘Sit awhile and relax, you’re too tense,’ he added reprovingly. ‘You need to learn to chill out.’
Chill out? Chill out? She might have got some very nice chilling-out time this weekend, but with Kingsley around relaxing was not an option. She’d never felt so edgy in all her life.
A couple of blue tits were busy stocking up for the night from a nut feeder Beth had hanging from the tree, and Rosalie kept her gaze on the small birds, willing herself to calm down. She had a whole weekend to get through; she couldn’t afford to let him get to her like this.
Nevertheless, she was painfully aware of him sitting next to her, one arm stretching along the back of the old wooden bench so that his body was inclined towards her. She had noticed the faint dark shadow of body hair under the blue shirt earlier, and now the delicious scent of him she had smelt once or twice before teased her nostrils, forcing her to acknowledge her heightened senses.
Kingsley stretched out his long legs, his voice easy as he said, ‘This is great, isn’t it? You could believe the rest of the world didn’t exist here, it’s so peaceful.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you were the sort of man who wanted peace.’ It slipped out and she regretted it immediately.
‘No?’ He bent closer, turning her face to him. ‘Why is that?’
Rosalie flushed. ‘Just your reputation,’ she said after a moment. But she knew he would persist with this now.
‘Which is?’ He didn’t seem inclined to let go of her chin.
‘Work hard and play hard.’
‘Ah, I see.’ She wasn’t quite sure what he saw, but then he said, ‘Amazingly I’m not a robot, Rosie. I get tired, I get sick on occasion, scratch me and I bleed, just like any other man.’
She lowered her eyes; the intensity of his gaze was unnerving ‘I know that,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Of course I know that.’
‘I don’t think you do.’ He let go of her, and they continued to sit without speaking in the warm, scented air. Fat honey-bees buzzed busily among the profusion of flowers, paying special attention to the roses, and the evening was alive with bird song. Why had she never brought Miles here? Her hands were clasped too tightly together and she forced herself to relax her fingers one by one. Had it been because university life had been so frantic, so busy, their circle of friends so absorbing? Or because she had been frightened the cracks in their relationship, which had begun to appear shortly after the quick register office wedding, would have been apparent to Beth? That her aunt would have recognised the same spirit of tyranny and oppres
