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CHAPTER 32
The battered Mini bounced the last few metres up the pitted cliff road and Rosie parked it at an angle, in a strange kind of homage to her mother. She’d promised the car to Nessa but offering to be her friend’s unpaid taxi service for the foreseeable would, hopefully, soften the blow of her hanging onto it.
She got out of the car and brushed at the grass stains on her dress. Her lips were still tingling from Liam’s kisses and, for the first time in ages, the fluttering in her stomach was because of excitement rather than sorrow. Her cheeks glowed at the thought of her and Liam, entwined in a field at Meadowsweet Farm. Rosie Merchant and Liam Satterley, whoever would have thought it? Neither of them, that was for sure.
She smiled to herself as she walked towards Driftwood House, now bathed in the setting sun. But the smile died on her lips when a figure stepped out of the shadows.
‘You weren’t in, so I waited. I hope that was all right.’
‘Of course,’ said Rosie, her heart pounding. ‘Where’s your car?’
‘I left it in the village and walked. I thought the fresh air would do me good.’ He sounded stilted and unsure. ‘I know I’ve behaved badly, to you and to your mother, but can we talk? Then I’ll leave you in peace, if that’s what you want.’
Rosie gave the front door a hefty shove with her shoulder and stood back for Charles to walk past her. ‘You’d better come in.’
The house was gloomy in the dusk and Rosie flicked on the hall light. They both stood still, the lightshade swinging back and forth in the draught from the closing door.
‘Let’s go and sit in the conservatory.’
She always found the view across the Devon landscape soothing, and her nerves were on edge. Charles followed her without a word and took a seat on the rickety sofa, next to the huge cheese plant Rosie’s mum had grown almost from seed. Suave, sophisticated Charles Epping was gone, replaced by a man who tapped his foot incessantly on the quarry tiles.
‘I don’t quite know how to start.’ He swallowed. ‘I don’t know what to say to the daughter I never knew I had.’
‘Would it have made a difference if you had known? If Cecilia hadn’t hidden the letter from my mum?’
When Charles closed his eyes briefly and frowned, deep lines scored his face. ‘The honest answer is I like to think so but I don’t know for sure. I’d already treated your mother appallingly so who’s to say I wouldn’t have continued to do so?’
‘You treated Cecilia appallingly, as well. She loves you.’
‘I know, and I love her, too.’
‘Are you angry with her for hiding the letter?’
‘Of course, she should never have done that. But I’m more angry with myself for ever putting her in that position. As I told you, Rosie, I’m not a good man.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
‘I agree, however it’s an explanation. I was weak when your mother needed me the most. I never forgot her and you might be pleased to know that I hated myself for a very long time.’
‘That gives me no pleasure.’
Charles tilted his head and fixed his piercing blue gaze on Rosie. ‘Then you are very like Saffy.’
Hearing him use her mother’s pet name sent shivers down Rosie’s spine. ‘After all these years, why did you leave flowers on Mum’s grave?’
‘I was notified that the tenant at Driftwood House had died. Your mum’s death hit me harder than I would have expected after so long and I felt I should mark it in some way, and then, soon afterwards, I find out about you.’ He breathed out slowly. Behind him, lights in scattered farmsteads and houses were starting to come on. They glittered like stars in the darkening landscape. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you were growing up.’
How different her life might have been, thought Rosie, if Charles had been a part of her childhood. If he’d read her mother’s letter and decided that ‘doing the right thing’ meant marrying the mother of his child, rather than poor, frightened Cecilia.
He’d soon have tired of living in shabby Driftwood House, so she’d probably have been brought up in his spooky house in the middle of Dartmoor. She’d have gone to a private school. No Heaven’s Cove Primary, or the high school in the next town. No gossipy villagers. No Nessa. No Liam. The thought of never having met Liam made her catch her breath.
‘I had a brilliant childhood, here with Mum and Dad in this house on top of the world. Or that’s how it felt when I was little.’
Charles smiled at that. ‘I’m glad.’
He looked around the conservatory, his eyes falling on a framed photo of Sofia, taken on a Spanish beach. The camera had caught her, in her blue swimming costume and tortoiseshell sunglasses, as she laughed at something Rosie said. She looked so beautiful and happy, Rosie had given her the framed picture as part of her present two Christmases ago.
‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you anything about me?’
