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‘This Angus Meadows chap?’ said Emily, changing tact. ‘What’s he like? Nick and I met Old Mr Richmond when we redrafted our wills after Lorcan was born. Their offices are like something out of Dickensian London. I expected Mr Pickwick to pop out of the bookshelves at any moment.’
‘Actually, Angus is a junior partner. I think he’s probably in his early thirties.’
Annoyingly, Rosie felt a hot flush seep across her cheeks and up her neck. She reached to twiddle with her earring. Of course, Emily missed nothing.
‘You like him, don’t you!’
‘No, of course I don’t!’
‘Come on, Rosie, he could be your perfect match, you know – both corporate high-flyers, career-obsessed, intelligent, sophisticated, similar academic backgrounds. Hmm, I wonder if he’s single. I’ll ask around.’ Rosie groaned inwardly; she knew that Emily had an extended coterie of mummy friends from whom to elicit nuggets of gossip. ‘Was he handsome? Oh, I can see the answer is “yes”.’
‘That’s not the point! Look, Em, I need to get back to New York. Whether I like him or not is irrelevant. For your information, yes, he is good-looking in that clean-cut English gentleman sort of way.’ She resisted sharing with Emily the frisson of interest she’d experienced when he clasped her hand in his. ‘If Angus says Willowbrook Lodge is marketable in its current condition, then it must be okay to put it up for sale. I have no time or inclination to “do up” the lodge, and if I can’t trust my aunt’s solicitor then who can I trust?’
‘But…’
‘It’s the only solution. I’m sorry it can’t be any other way. If the lodge sells quickly, I needn’t worry about its maintenance over the winter months, and I can give half the proceeds from the sale to Hannah.’
‘But Rosie, your aunt wantedyouto have the cottage – not Hannah – otherwise she would have left it to you both. The way I see it, by leaving it to you, and only you, she wanted you tokeepthe lodge – to use it as a refuge, like you did before.’
‘She didn’t say keep.’
‘But she implied it!’
Rosie grasped Emily’s hand and leaned in. ‘Em, I know you mean well, and I’d love to spend more time here in the Cotswolds. It’s a truly idyllic retreat from the manic circle of a corporate career, and I do envy what you and Nick have here: two beautiful, if somewhat boisterous, boys, a comfortable home bursting at the seams with love, a community to feel part of. Compared to my Upper West Side apartment and frantic lifestyle, what’s not to like?’
Rosie paused to meet Emily’s eyes so she could make her point more clearly.
‘But my life and work are in Manhattan. Now that Mission Hannah is finally accomplished, I can truly concentrate on my career which means I’ll have no spare time to squeeze in a visit to Dad in Stonington Beach, never mind hop on a transatlantic flight to the UK, then take an exhausting train journey up to Gloucester and an exorbitant taxi fare from there to the lodge!’
‘But Rosie—’
‘Sorry, Em, but the only logical solution is to tie up Aunt B’s estate as swiftly as possible and that involves selling Willowbrook Lodge. My taxi’s booked for five a.m. tomorrow morning. When the cottage sells, I’ll try to grab a weekend over here to clear out the contents.’
Rosie’s heart softened when she saw Emily’s distress clearly etched on her attractive face, but it wasn’t her decision to take. Fortunately, the tension of her friend’s disapproval of her decision was broken by a piercing scream when Ethan evicted Lorcan over the edge of the trampoline and Emily’s attention was required to broker a fraternal peace.
***
To Rosie’s dismay, the same taxi driver that had brought her to Somersby on that first morning drew up outside Emily’s house to take her back to the cottage. Once again, no pleasantries were exchanges, and after alighting from the cab and handing over almost everything she had in her purse, she watched the car disappear from the village, hoping he wasn’t scheduled to take her to the airport the following day.
She turned round and stopped, her hand flying to her mouth as she gasped out loud in horror at the sight before her eyes.
‘What the—’
Hammered into the garden gate post, was a For Sale board standing proud and incongruous. She gulped down on her rising emotions. Was it swift service or unseemly haste? Her aunt’s funeral had only been the day before. She stumbled up the path, cursing the way her heels sank into the gravel making her look like a drunken duck, pushed open the paint-blistered front door, and headed to the kitchen where she dropped into one of the wooden chairs and expelled a long, ragged breath. Moments later, the cottage had wrapped its tendrils of calm around her shoulders and her elevated heartrate had slowed and, strangely, she felt safe from harm.
Lauren had been right.
Distance did help to alleviate the immediacy of the trauma she had experienced since the wedding, which otherwise would have been insurmountable. At least in Somersby she could manage to go a full two hours without bursting into tears. She got up to switch on the kettle, a reflex action now, and filled her aunt’s stout brown pot with tea leaves that were left in the cupboard. Inevitably, just as the kettle clicked off, there was a knock at the front door.
‘Oh, hi, Susan. Come in, come in. The kettle has just boiled.’
‘Thanks, Rosie, dear. I saw you get out of the taxi as I was closing up the shop for the evening, and wanted to ask you about… well, about the For Sale sign outside. Is there no possibility of you keeping the cottage on? Bernice adored Willowbrook Lodge, and I know it’s none of my business, but it would have made her so happy if it could remain in the Marshall family.’
Rosie smiled at her aunt’s oldest friend, her neatly pinned hair and rosy cheeks the epitome of a country shop proprietor and the village busybody. Clearly nothing escaped the notice of Susan Moorfield. However, in Somersby and villages like it,privacy did not equate to friendship, nor did it contribute to a much-prized sense of community. Susan’s gentle smile and her soft serene voice with a slight Gloucestershire accent ensured her otherwise accusatory words landed on Rosie’s ears with a caress instead of a thud.
She splashed hot water into the teapot, placed it on the table with two mismatched china cup, and invited Susan to take a seat while she tried to work out the best way to respond to what her aunt’s best friend had just said without causing too much unnecessary upset.
‘Susan, I’m sorry about the For Sale board—’
