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Her shoulders stopped shaking. Slowly she raised her head. For a moment Edward was unsure about whether she was going to burst into laughter or start crying again. He decided to wait. He’d probably said more than enough already.
‘I’ll pay you rent.’ Her voice was low, a little unsteady, but there was no doubt that she was back in control of herself.
‘No. I won’t accept it.’ She opened her mouth to protest and he silenced her with a look. ‘That’s not negotiable.’
‘I could clean for you.’
‘That’s not going to work either. I have a cleaning lady and there will be hell to pay if you put her out of a job.’
Somehow, from somewhere, she managed to find a smile. It was like basking in a ray of sunshine on a rainy day. ‘I wondered whether it was you who kept all these plants watered.’
‘We have an...understanding. She looks after Archie and the plants, doesn’t move anything that I’m working on, and I keep out of her way and don’t forget to pay her. Works like a dream.’
‘I’m sure it does. Does she cook?’
‘I imagine so. Not while she’s here, though.’
‘I’ll cook for you, then.’
She narrowed her eyes obstinately and a sudden flood of longing gripped him. He hadn’t counted on these sorts of complications, and wondered whether what he was about to do was wise.
‘Okay. Deal.’
She bit her lip. ‘Isaac won’t be any trouble. He won’t touch any of your things. I’ll make sure of it...’
That sounded a bit dull. ‘I can put anything that I don’t want touched away out of his reach. And he can be as much trouble as he likes.’
She gave a tremulous laugh. Charlotte wasn’t just a pretty face; she was tough, too. And brave. And about a million other things, all of which he felt inexplicably driven to find out more about.
‘You have no idea how much trouble a determined five-year-old can be and, trust me, you don’t want to find out.’
‘Well...I’ll leave that to you. What I mean is that you should make yourselves at home.’ His mother was always telling him that this house was far too big for one. Granted this was not what she’d had in mind, but the principle was a good one. There was more than enough room for him to carry on with his life, undisturbed by two house guests.
‘Thank you. I really appreciate this, Edward. And it’ll only be for a few days, while I get everything sorted out.’
‘You can stay as long as you like.’
He knew that it would take longer than a few days to work this out, and he didn’t want her or Isaac going back home until it was. They’d both been through too much already.
* * *
After he’d taken them back to Charlotte’s house, to pack what they needed, Edward had left them to their own devices. They had their own routine, which clearly involved eating and sleeping at regular intervals, and he had his, which disregarded any such practical activities in favour of whatever he happened to be doing at the time.
When he parked outside his house on Sunday evening his mind was still racing from the concepts that had been explored in the afternoon seminar he’d attended, and then endlessly again afterwards over sandwiches. The house was dark, and as he slipped his key into the lock on the front door it occurred to him that Charlotte might have taken her son and left, leaving a note on the hall table for him to find when he got back.
‘Oh, no, you don’t...’ He muttered the words to himself, since she wasn’t around to hear them.
He slid the key into the lock and the door gave by six inches, then caught. The chain, which usually hung unused from the frame, barred his entry. At least he wasn’t going to have to get back into his car and drive over to Charlotte’s house, to make sure that she and Isaac were all right.
All the same, there was the small matter of being locked out of his own home. Ringing the bell would probably wake Isaac up, as would bellowing through the letterbox, so Edward pulled the door to, twisting the key to relock it.
He seldom took the path around the side of the house, and he jumped as a pair of iridescent orbs appeared from the bushes. ‘Locked out as well, eh?’ Archie swished his tail. ‘Yeah, I know. It’s a bit much.’
Discomfiture that his arrival home hadn’t provided the usual well-ordered release from the complications of the world began to swell into anger.
He didn’t need to find the key for the French windows; they were standing open. She was there, in the failing light, curled up in a chair on the stone-flagged patio.
‘Charlotte!’
