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Rosie stood on her balcony hugging her mug of camomile tea – the balm of choice for all life’s traumas in apartment 4B. The tea tasted like cat’s pee to Rosie, but its warmth and sweetness achieved the intended goal. She mused about where her excessive caring gene had originated. Her sister, her father, her college friends, and work colleagues all held a spot on her long list, but where had such compassionate interest led her?Wasshe responsible for spoiling Hannah; had she had a hand in moulding her self-focused behaviour?
As she watched the final wisps of light disappear from the sky, she continued with her character analysis, and came tothe painful conclusion that she was a failure on all levels. Self-interest, single-minded ambition and determination led to arrogance and pride. She only had to look at Edward to know this was true. However, whilst those characteristics might be labelled as bad, they provided the impetus and tenacity to strive for the fulfilment of your dreams – the accomplishment of which delivered a happy life.
Should she strive to achieve her own dreams now?
Maybe she too should seek a relationship with a random passing stranger as Hannah had advocated, just so she wouldn’t die alone like her aunt? She caught her breath and shook the thought from her mind.
God, no! That depressing scenario would not be her future.
Finally, evening swept its cloak of darkness over New York City, signally the end of the second most agonising day of her life. Exhaustion dragged at her bones, so she fastened the windows and made her way to her pristine bedroom – a necessary sanctuary from the chaos and clutter that had been preferred by Hannah when they had been growing up.
She leaned against the collection of silk cushions on her bed and scrolled through her cell phone messages. Five missed calls from Lauren now. Not one from Edward. She jabbed the “off” button and wished she could repeat the action with her life – evaporate from this agonising world she had tumbled into. When would she be granted leave from the trauma constantly inflicted on her weary soul?
As her internal dialogue chattered with irrelevant, circular arguments, and fear cast a shadow over her aching heart, fatigue delivered her into the welcome oblivion of sleep.
Chapter Seven
Rosie woke in the early hours of the morning, fully clothed and with a burnt-orange mohair throw prickling at her chin. Her eyelids were still heavy, and her body ached with exhaustion from her unconscious exploits; of seeking to find a way out of the labyrinth of sadness and self-recrimination for what life had thrown at her. The bejewelled clock on the bedside table, a birthday gift from Lauren, ticked each painful second by, delivering with each one a slash of pain as she came to realise that Edward and Hannah’s betrayal had not been a dream after all.
She knew she had a decision to make. Would she allow the shock and bitterness she had experienced to poison her soul?
As a shaft of moonlight glanced through the drifting clouds outside her window, she dragged herself out of bed, padded to the tiny galley kitchen, and set the kettle to boil. Almost as though in a trance, she brewed up a pot of her favourite Lady Grey tea using fresh leaves – one of the many things, along with her English accent, that reminded her of her heritage – her actions measured and mechanical. When she took her first sip, she welcomed the scalding of the fragrant beverage on her tongue as evidence she was still able to feel physical pain and therefore was still alive.
She hugged her mug to her chest and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the French windows – a gaunt, transparent doll-like figure engulfed by the velvety darkness – and was saddened thatthe birth of a new day had not brought the solace she so desired. However, by the time she had finished her tea, the cool light of dawn had begun to spread its insistent fingers through the south-facing window and the wrought-iron frame of the balcony glistened with morning dew, causing her sprits to edge up a notch.
She slumped down onto her sofa and allowed her weary mind to meander the streets of Manhattan, those she and Edward had sauntered together over the last three months: the snaking paths of Central Park as the stark, spindly branches awakened with spring buds; the urban grids of Lower Manhattan explored in the slicing rain in search of a stolen moment from the frenetic activity of the office for which she now endured the inevitable punishment.
She forced her thoughts to linger on her relationship with Edward, and her chest tingled with an unidentifiable emotion. Their liaison had perhaps been inevitable. As she spent most of her waking hours either at the office or networking at client dinners, conferences or launches, no other potential date had crossed her radar.
Rosie smiled as she recalled their first night together after a conference in Boston, both too drunk and too exhausted to do anything beyond kiss and pass out. She knew Edward was unpopular in the office; his defensiveness of his higher status scratched the egos of those striving to catch him or replace him, but she had glimpsed his softer side. And no one could fail to be drawn to his charismatic charm, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room, your conversation the most sparkling he had ever heard. Not to mention his dark, brooding,sexygood looks and come-to-bed eyes.
She endured a sharp nip of shame when she realised that their relationship had been born of convenience; a snatched hourafter work here, a grabbed weekend there. She loathed herself and her emotional weakness for craving the brief episodes of solace he offered in her solitary life. But mostly her conscience was gnawed by the acid of guilt because he was her boss and office romances featured as a forbidden transgression in the Office Manual.
She’d been unsuccessful in keeping their illicit relationship a secret from eagle-eyed Lauren, who had made it her mission to regularly caution her against its continuance. She was grateful for a confidante with whom to share her woes, but Lauren had refused to let her ignore the inadvisability of such a slip in her usually level-headed judgement, especially when she had confessed that she’d asked him to be her plus-one at Hannah’s wedding.
Her sister’s wedding had been the first of the last seven weddings she’d attended that she’d actually had a proper date, and it had been a wonderful feeling. Of course, she hadn’t been totally without offers to accompany her on that most special of days; Daniel, one of her gay friends, had stepped up to offer his services as wingman, but she had refused, fearing an outburst of British honesty similar to the last time he’d met her sister and casually enquired of her what personal qualities had first attracted her to the multimillionaire, Jacob Bennett, Jr. When she had told Dan who she had chosen over him, she couldn’t fail to see the look of disappointment in his eyes.
However, she didn’t need Dan or Lauren to remind her that Edward was unpopular. Not only was he resented as the person with the final say on his team’s promotion prospects, but he was widely disliked for his tendency to grab every ounce of credit where credit most certainly was not due. His mediocrity of talent forced him to engage the skilful manipulation of that possessed by others at the firm. Accuracy and honesty were superfluousin this regard, and it was this not-uncommon corporate trait possessed by Edward which alarmed her the most. It was the reason she had been determined not to hand over her Baker-Colt Family Trust file for him to complete a share purchase the following week. She knew he would grasp the opportunity to milk all the credit for her hard work.
This portfolio investment was for a wealthy family’s trust fund set up in the name of their deceased daughter, Charlotte Baker, and Rosie had been meticulous in her preparation. She had been grateful, and excited, to at last be sufficiently trusted to handle a transaction based solely on her own thorough research and advice. Now, annoyingly, as she was flying to the UK for her aunt’s funeral, Edward would get his way after all because Monday was the deadline to complete the share purchase.
Before her scattered thoughts started to overwhelm her, she forced herself to take a re-energising cold shower before adding the final few things to her suitcase and calling a taxi to take her to the airport. Despite her sadness at the reason behind the trip, she had to admit that she welcomed the chance it offered to distance herself from recent events.
But then what?
With the happy couple safely dispatched on their honeymoon to Hawaii, she had previously intended to throw herself into her work to make up for all the time she had lost whilst away from the office undertaking a myriad of wedding duties. Now she had no idea what she was going to do. After she had attended the funeral, met with the English solicitor and sorted her aunt’s legal affairs, could she really see herself back at her desk the following Friday morning as though nothing had happened?
Chapter Eight
As picturesque Cotswolds villages flashed by the taxi’s window, and the low orb of the sun rose above the horizon, the diaphanous light of dawn skimmed its silvery fingers over the rooftops. Mist draped its veil over the fields and dew sparkled on emerging leaves, as Rosie’s exhausted brain meandered the labyrinths of memory to alight upon the time she had spent with her aunt the previous year – repairing her broken heart and expanding her soul.
The abiding image from those recollections was of Willowbrook Lodge, its scarlet front door framed by a garland of ivory roses and its garden resplendent with swathes of vibrant fuchsias and yellow cat-faced pansies. The whole bucolic scene had been presided over by a majestic cherry tree under whose canopy of blossoms she and Bernice had lingered, reading, sketching, painting, talking, the latter activity being the balm and then the cure for her splintered heart.
She had assured Bernice that she intended to continue these quiet pursuits which had generated such a feeling of calm when she returned to Manhattan, but of course she hadn’t. Nor had she undertaken the promised return visit to the UK, a failure which once again produced a squirm of discomfort deep in her abdomen.
As they entered Bernice’s home village of Somersby, a flash of familiarity hit Rosie, and she couldn’t prevent a smile from tugging at the corners of her lips when she noticed theproclamation above the Somersby village road sign proudly announcing “Winner of Britain in Bloom Contest”. To her surprise, and delight, she experienced that elusive feeling of coming home, something she never enjoyed when she returned to the neighbourhood of her apartment in Manhattan.
The taxi continued to follow the narrow country road that ran like a ribbon through the pretty English village, past the grocery store and adjacent tearooms, past the Fox & Hounds pub, and past the quaint little haberdashery boutique called Gingerberry Yarns with a row of old-fashioned knitted jumpers displayed in the window, like something from a bygone era.
