‘Oh, yes, very well. It’s the winter when his arthritis plays up and makes things difficult. Come the warm weather and he’s right as ninepence.’
‘Good.’ Jed smiled down into the housekeeper’s homely face. ‘I’ll have a word with him about getting a lad in to do the heavier work—and don’t worry about him starting to feel old and redundant. I’ll make sure he knows he’s the gaffer and that we need his valuable experience and know-how.’
‘Thank you, Mr Nolan, sir!’ Edith breathed, her faded brown eyes like an adoring spaniel’s as Jed strode away to fetch the cases from the car. Elena told herself not to go soft and start admiring his understanding and compassion. He’d shown not a scrap where she was concerned.
‘And Susan Keele asked you to phone just as soon as you had a moment.’ The housekeeper had turned to Catherine, and Catherine’s eyes went round and wide, like an excited child’s.
‘She must have some definite news about the cottage! How wonderful! I’ll phone right away. You’ll want to speak to her, too, Elena. Let’s go through to the little sitting room.’
Of all the many rooms at Netherhaye this was one of Elena’s favourites. Comfy armchairs, slightly the worse for wear, were grouped around a stone hearth where apple logs burned brightly in the colder weather. Chunky little oak tables were piled with gardening books and magazines, and Marjory Allingham prints hung on the faded ochre walls, and there was a view of the mysteriously inviting edges of Catherine’s water garden from the mullioned window.
‘Here—’ Catherine held out the receiver. ‘It’s ringing out. You speak to her first.’
Elena took it and began to explain why she and Jed had returned from Spain much sooner than expected.
‘Well, it’s nice to be on the short-list, I suppose, but a pity to spoil your honeymoon,’ Susan dismissed, not to Elena’s very great surprise. Her mother had never been much interested in what her daughter did—apart from her marriages. Susan wanted her settled so she could cross her off her list of things to worry about. Elena shuddered to think what her mother’s reaction would be when she learned the truth.
‘The sale’s going through that end, and I’ve put this house on the market.’ Now she was all enthusiasm, practically buzzing with it. ‘I should have made a move years and years ag
o—got away from bad memories—but I never could seem to be able to face it. I’m really looking forward to sharing that cottage with Catherine. I do admire her. The way she coped with Sam’s death made me see that life goes on.’
After five more minutes in the same vein, Elena handed over to Catherine and went to see what Jed had done about their sleeping arrangements, wondering if her mother could be right and Catherine was far stronger than they’d thought.
It was worth thinking about. Maybe they didn’t need to pussyfoot around her quite so much. Maybe she could take the news of the breakdown of their marriage without going to pieces.
Maybe she could tell her the truth without feeling too guilty...
She found Jed in the beautifully furnished, elegantly decorated master suite. He was staring out of one of the tall windows and didn’t turn, much less greet her when she closed the panelled door behind her. Well, what else had she expected?
She said tonelessly, detachedly pleased she was at last winning the battle with her emotions, pushing them down, grinding them out of sight with a metaphorical heel, ‘I can use the room I had when I stayed here before.’ And refused to let herself remember how extraordinarily wonderful that time of falling so deeply in love had been.
‘No.’ Still he didn’t turn to face her, seeming to find the view of the gardens and the rolling countryside beyond irresistible. ‘Not until Catherine’s settled into the cottage. And by then I’ll be making myself scarce. I told you I would, remember? Then you can have the whole damned place to yourself!’
She heard the note of angry exasperation but didn’t let herself take any pleasure from the fact that she could still provoke some emotion. She told herself she was now completely indifferent. It was over. Over and finished. And because it was it had to be tidied away, put neatly out of sight, and then it could be forgotten.
‘I’m sorry, but I won’t go along with that,’ she told him in a clear, cool voice. ‘You decided we’d play at being the ideal happy couple. I wasn’t consulted. So you can play-act on your own, because after that wretched awards ceremony I’m out of here.’
‘No.’ He did turn then. Abruptly, almost clumsily. She saw the harsh lines of strain on his tough features and refused to betray her hard-won indifference by feeling any compassion for him at all. He had brought it on himself by refusing to believe that there had been nothing more than a clinical arrangement between her and his brother. ‘Have you no consideration for Catherine’s feelings? And what about the child? Doesn’t he or she deserve the care of two parents? I know Sam would have wanted that.’
Pallor spread beneath his tan, and intuitively she knew what it had cost him to mention his brother in this context She said, more gently than she’d intended, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t agree with you on that, either. Sam wouldn’t have wanted his child brought up by parents who loathed each other.’ She spread her hands in a gesture that said how hopeless the situation was. ‘You say we could be polite and pleasant to each other in the company of others. But think about it. Life would become intolerable and the cracks would start to show—Sam wouldn’t have wanted us to suffer that way.’
She probed the hard grey eyes, wondering if she was getting through to him. Impossible to tell. He seemed to have blanked off, the earlier flare of emotion under tight control. ‘I’m perfectly capable of caring for my child on my own. I don’t need support, financial or otherwise. And remember, I’m not a silly little girl; I’ve been making my own decisions for many years now. And as for Catherine, I think she deserves to be told. Not brutally, of course, but gently. I’m beginning to believe she’s stronger than you think.’
He turned back to his contemplation of the view, hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers. ‘You’re getting good at doing this, aren’t you?’
‘Doing what?’ She didn’t understand.
‘Saying goodbye and moving on.’ Hard shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Liam, Sam, me.’
‘This is different,’ she said quickly, without thinking, her feelings for this man fighting to surface.
‘Is it?’ It was his turn to display utter, drawling indifference. ‘Now why is that?’
‘Because I love you.’
She tried to bite back the words but they’d already escaped her. Why the purple petunias had she used the present tense?
Because her emotions were stronger than her will to control them.