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‘Who did you find him with?’
God, could the guy read minds? She noticed that his shadowed jaw was clench tight, the muscles in his neck were taut and his knuckles bleached white from his firm grip of the glass bottle, and suddenly his suggestion that she “lanced the boil” made sense.
‘My sister,’ she mumbled.
‘Who?’
‘My sister, Hannah.’
At last he looked up and slammed the bottle so violently on the table that the contents spilled out in droplets like tears. Then he laughed, hard. Rosie stared at him, aghast by his reaction. Why had she invited this obnoxious man into her home? She scraped back her chair and stood to face him.
‘Yes, well, that’s right; you have a good laugh at my less-than-perfect life. But may I say that, from where I’m standing, yours doesn’t look that good either. Would-be chef and herb gatherer at the local five-star hotel and spa for the summer months, mooching around with his actor pals in London, hoping some of their glitter will rub off or the girls will come flocking because of their celebrity status.’
Her indignation stopped Charlie’s mirthless laughter immediately. She met his eyes, and to her astonishment, she saw a world of jagged pain nestled there, so at odds with his familiar ebullient demeanour.
‘I’m sorry. That outburst was uncalled for. I don’t know you at all. I really don’t—’
‘It’s okay, Rosie. I love a girl with a bit of sparkle. I apologise too. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at myself.’
‘But why?’
‘Because that’s exactly what happened to me.’
‘What? Your boss boyfriend ran off with your sister?’
‘No. I stumbled upon my wife of three months sharing our marital bed with my flatmate. Apparently, it had been going on since before we got hitched – such a great boost for the old self-esteem.’ He paused before saying softly, ‘Their baby is due at Christmas.’
For a moment, Rosie was rendered speechless, and, watching Charlie pick at the label of the beer bottle, once again the flickerof desire ran through her abdomen, but it was tempered with a large dollop of sympathy.
‘Why did she go through with it, then? The wedding, I mean. If she was involved with your erm, friend? She could have called it off.’
‘I don’t know.’ Charlie stared unseeingly through the kitchen window into the garden before muttering, more to himself than Rosie, ‘Maybe it was my money and status she was really interested in, not me.’
Rosie pulled a face at his attempt at a joke. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie.’
‘Don’t be sorry Rosie, be wonderful! You don’t need a marriage to enjoy your share of the happiness pie – you need a soul mate. Stop apologising all the time. Stop being a doormat!’
‘I’m not!’
‘I bet you even apologised to your sister for blundering in on her sojourn with your boyfriend.’
‘I did not!’ A burning anger smouldered in at her chest. ‘You were in the same quandary. So, what did you do?’ she challenged, her eyes blazing. This man could send her emotions see-sawing in the space of five seconds.
‘I punched Rupert’s lights out! What did you do?’
She waited for a beat. ‘I ran away.’
‘I rest my case.’
‘You don’t know me, or anyone involved.’ Her usually dormant temper had been well and truly ignited, and her face flushed with ire. ‘I think it’s time you left… please!’
Charlie pushed his chair back on the slate-tiled floor, raising his palms to her face in surrender. ‘Okay, I’m going. You know, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry.’
She flung a tea towel at his retreating back as he exited the front door. But she knew her anger wasn’t directed at Charlie; it was directed at herself. Charlie was right; she had been guilty of perpetual doormat behaviour as far as Hannah was concerned. She couldn’t deny it and hearing the truth from him had struck a nerve.
When Rosie mounted the creaky stairs a few hours later, she was exhausted both physically and emotionally. She was homesick and, despite the pain waiting for her back home, she knew she should be brave and face it. Her future did not lie in the UK, but in the US, and the sooner she gathered the courage to chase her demons, the sooner she would be able to move forward and leave them in her wake. She decided she would ring Angus on Monday morning and instruct him to go ahead with the sale of the lodge to Brian Dixon. She would consign Charlie’s views on her character flaws to the recesses of her cluttered mind where they could gather the dust and decrepitude they deserved.
As she prepared for bed, her internal dialogue argued that she had honoured her aunt’s memory, at least in part, by tidying up the garden. The front door gleamed a cheery scarlet welcome, and the privet hedge boundaries clearly delineated the size of the plot.
