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Yes, it was exactly what she needed, but it was more than that. It was her responsibility to ensure that a member of the family attended the ceremony of thanksgiving and celebration of Bernice’s life. How could she have contemplated not going? What had her life become if she couldn’t spare the time to fly to the UK and be at her funeral? And anyway, she really needed to get out of the country to escape the inevitable tantrums (Hannah’s), questions, (Lauren’s), and disbelief (her father’s). Edward no longer deserved her consideration.
This was her moment to be selfish and she intended to grab it!
In the first bit of luck that day – maybe even of that year – she spotted a yellow BMW coupé pull away from the kerb only twenty yards from her apartment and she managed to wedge her car into it. Parallel parking had never been her forte. She traipsed back down the tree-lined street to her home’s familiar limestone and red-brick façade, blistered in places by the harsh breath of the Manhattan winters – yet, in Rosie’s opinion, the scarring only added to its beauty.
Bruised clouds marched across the sky, tinted with the crimson and violet halo of dusk, bathing the rich amber brickwork in a kaleidoscope of colours. Rosie adored the unique character of their neighbourhood: the green splodges of the community gardens and roof terraces, the local, multi-cultural coffee shops and delis, and its proximity to Riverside Park and Central Park.
Feeling as though she had sustained a blow to her head, she trudged up the stone steps and pushed open the heavy oak entrance door leading into the foyer. As she clacked her way to the staircase that led up to her fourth-floor apartment, she realised how much she loved the sound of her stilettoson the black-and-white tiled floor. The added height also gave her confidence a welcome boost; the vertiginous heels ensured she held her head high, shoulders erect and her back ramrod straight – a stance with which she could usually face the world.
It hadn’t worked its particular brand of magic that day though.
As Rosie stabbed her key into the door, she paused to run her eyes over her ridiculous outfit. A sudden wave of anger grabbed her, and her face flooded with heat. It was time for Rosie Hamilton to stand on her own two feet and take responsibility for fulfilling her destiny, whatever the director of fates had in store for her.
She abandoned her suitcase in her bedroom and dumped her handbag of the counter of the tiny galley kitchen before reaching down to remove her shoes, taking a moment to rub her twisted ankle. Even though she could think of no other possible occasion when she might wear them, she extracted the dust-bag her sparkly stilettos had arrived in from the drawer in her sideboard and carefully slotted them into their protective cover. She wishedsheowned a cosy blanket in which shecould seek protection from the scuffs and scrapes of the outside world.
There was just enough time to sling some essential items into her canvas duffle bag, grab a few hours of sleep, and drive out to JFK to catch the transatlantic flight over to London. She’d have to max out her credit card, but what the heck. She would take the train down to the Cotswolds, attend the funeral, make the meeting with her aunt’s solicitor for the reading of the will, and once she’d sorted out Bernice’s affairs she would come home with a plan of her own.
She had no idea what that would be.
Could she really contemplate going back to Harlow Fenton with Edward in her face every day, even with Lauren to protect her from his barbed comments? She didn’t know, but what she did know was that the sooner she made a decision about her future, the less risk there was of her succumbing to her ostrich tendencies. Or of beginning her habitual search for a reason that what had happened was in fact her fault, that she was partly, if not fully, to blame for Edward’ indiscretion with her sister.
She ripped off her bridesmaid dress and crammed it unceremoniously into her hall closet with the other six. But the door wouldn’t shut properly, and the gowns bulged out like stuffing from a rag doll. Rosie made a promise to herself that she would never, ever accept another request, or demand, to be a bridesmaid. For one thing, she just did not have the wardrobe space.
She scrabbled in her handbag for her phone and depressed the “on” button. The wedding ceremony would be over by now and she had to let her father, and Lauren, know she was okay – that she hadn’t dematerialised in a puff of smoke or been abducted by aliens. She glanced at the screen. Thirteen missed calls; three were from Lauren, but the rest were from Hannah. She sent a brief text informing Lauren and her father that she was on her way to England to attend Bernice’s funeral and would let them know when she had landed safely. Then she gulped in a steadying breath and dialled Hannah’s number.
‘Hello, Hannah.’
‘Why was your phone switched off? I’ve been trying to ring you for an explanation of your ridiculous vanishing act. Couldn’t you have waited until after the ceremony to fly off to the UK?’
‘So Dad has told you the sad news? I’m fine, thanks for asking. How are you?’
Rosie was astute enough to realise that her father would have put her shock disappearance and weird behaviour down to her grief over her aunt’s death and had shared the news with Hannah to somehow explain her sudden absence.
‘Very funny, Rosie. I need to talk to you about earlier.’
‘Yes, Hannah, it was a huge shock. After all, she was only seventy-two. Relatively young really, nowadays.’
‘What are you talking about? I’m talking about you blundering in on me and Edward!’
‘Oh, yes, that.’
Rosie’s legs weakened and she collapsed down onto her white leather sofa before she crumbled to the floor. She shuddered in a breath and waited, fiddling distractedly with the earring in her left ear. She had no intention of making this easy for Hannah.
‘Look, I know Edward was your date for the wedding, Rosie. But, well, it wasn’t serious between the two of you, was it? With him being your boss and all that? And he’s so handsome and charismatic, all that power at his fingertips. It was one last fling before the door’s slammed shut. You won’t tell Jacob, will you?’
This last plea was clearly the only concern on Hannah’s mind – to save her own skin, completely ignoring the effect her actions might have on other people’s lives. Even the death of her aunt hadn’t registered on her sister’s emotional Richter scale.
Rosie decided to make her suffer, just a little. She deserved it, didn’t she?
‘Daddidtell you, didn’t he?’
‘Dad? Did you tell him? Oh, Rosie, no. You didn’t?’
Calm, calm, breathe, breathe, relax. Rosie raised her eyes to stare out of the French window to the little wrought-iron bistro table she had managed to squeeze onto her tiny but prizedbalcony, for those early morning cappuccinos that had never materialised.
‘Hang on a minute, Hannah.’
‘What? What? Rosie?’
