Christmas at Rosewood

I didn’t venture too far in – as much as I wanted time alone, I didn’t fancy getting lost either. But as I turned to go back the way I came, I saw someone watching me, from the base of a tree twice as big around as any of the others near it.

It was a man; broad and steady, with grey hair and the start of a scruffy beard. He had no coat, just a thick, dull orange fisherman’s jumper.

I blinked, and realised.

‘Nathaniel Drury,’ I whispered. He looked just like he did on the back cover of The Rosewood Journals. As I named him, the ghost looked up, studied me for a long moment, then turned and walked away behind the tree.

I stood stock-still, staring after him, until my body caught up with my mind and I followed – but he was gone. Of course.

A ghost. An honest to God ghost.

Okay, seriously, I was losing my mind.

I raced back out along the path, bursting into the weak winter sunlight, and hurrying towards the main house again. I needed to see people. Real life people who hadn’t been dead for eighteen months.

I was almost past Therese’s cottage, when I heard someone call my name, and almost jumped clear out of my skin.

‘Freya? Are you okay?’ I spun and spotted Therese, standing by the gate to her cottage garden, watching me with concern. ‘You’re so pale! You look like you’ve seen a –’

‘Ghost,’ I blurted out. ‘In the woods.’

‘Oh.’ The colour faded from Therese’s face too. ‘Well. You’d better come in, then. I have mince pies.’

***

‘I’d only come back to the cottage to pick up the petit fours I’d forgotten – Tony likes them after his dinner, and he does so much feeding us all I thought it was the least I could do.’ Therese chattered on as she bashed about in the kitchen, putting the kettle on and pulling mince pies from their tin and arranging them on a plate. ‘But when I saw you rushing past like that… I knew something was wrong. Although, to be honest, I thought it more likely to have something to do with Aiden.’

I choked out a laugh. ‘Well, you know. It never rains but it pours.’ God, I sounded like my mum – a cliché for all occasions.

‘So, Isabelle was right then? There was something between you two?’ Therese handed me a side plate with a mince pie on it. ‘Apparently I missed quite some kiss last night.’

‘Aren’t you more interested in your brother’s ghost?’ I tried, desperately hoping to change the subject.

Therese settled into the chair opposite me. ‘Oh, him. He’s always hanging around down there by the woods. Probably more than he even did when he was alive. I keep telling him that it’s okay for him to move on, that we’re all doing fine without him. But I suppose he’s waiting for Isabelle, really.’

She sounded so matter of fact about it all, I had to take a moment to make sure I was understanding her properly.

‘So… you’ve seen his ghost before?’

‘All the time!’ She sighed. ‘I wish… I like to think of him being happy in the afterlife. Not just hanging on, waiting for us all. But I suppose it’s up to him really, isn’t it?’ She took a bite from her mince pie as she looked up for my agreement. I nodded, uncertain what else there was to do.

‘Of course, Saskia says I should have moved on, too. I tell her, I’ve been here for twenty-seven years now, and I’m settled. And probably too old to go looking for love again, whatever she thinks.’

‘But you weren’t,’ I said, abruptly, latching on to the new topic. ‘I mean, when you first moved here you were only, what, forty?’

‘Forty-one,’ Therese corrected me. ‘And I see someone’s been doing their homework.’

I waved a hand at her. ‘Everyone in Britain will have read The Rosewood Journals by January first, or near as to make no difference.’

Therese sighed. ‘So I suppose you want to know what happened with Matthew, then. The night he died. The same as everyone else.’

‘No,’ I told her. ‘I want to know what happened next. Why you married George – and why you never loved anyone again after he died.’

Therese studied me for a moment, then her face cracked into a broad smile. ‘Do you know, that is a much better question, my dear.’

‘So, tell me.’ I settled back into my chair, cup of tea in hand, and waited.

‘Matthew… I thought I was in love with him, at the time. But it was the false, fleeting sort of love. The sort that dies the moment something else – or someone else, for that matter – touches it.’ Therese stared past me, into the middle distance, as if reliving moments so long gone they’d faded away to almost nothing. ‘After he died… after everything that happened that summer… I felt lost. I moved away, left Rosewood, and I met George.’ She smiled as she said his name. ‘He was charming, flashy, a risk taker – and I loved him. I knew, from that first instant, that this time it was real. Nathaniel hated him, of course – and he was right to, in a way. I’m sure any brother would have felt the same. But for all his faults – and they were legion – I loved him, even when I knew I shouldn’t. And he loved me.’

‘The real thing,’ I murmured, and Therese nodded.

‘It was. It really was.’ Then she sighed. ‘But that’s not to say it wasn’t bloody hard work – or that we didn’t have some screaming rows. He wasn’t always a good husband, and he was frankly terrible with money. We’d have some weeks where there were diamonds falling out of our pockets, and others where it was all I could do to scratch together enough for food. And he had the most extreme ups and downs…’

‘It sounds tiring.’ At least my life with Darren had been mostly lacking in drama. Until he decided to fall in love with another woman, at least. ‘How did you stand it?’

‘Because we had love,’ Therese said, simply. ‘And it didn’t solve everything, not by a long way. But it made it worthwhile. And in the end, I chose to believe that our love was more important than all the other things I thought I’d wanted.’

‘Until you lost him.’ I regretted saying it almost immediately, but Therese just gave me a sad, sad smile.

‘Yes. He died too young – not surprising, given the pace at which he lived his life. And once he was gone…’ She shrugged. ‘There was nothing left. No money, no house. All I had was a suitcase full of evening gowns – and a loving brother, thank God. I came home to Rosewood, and I stayed here. Because… loving George, by almost every measure, was a mistake. He didn’t give me any of the things I’d always been told I needed – security, prosperity, contentment, even a family. But I’d loved him, all the same. And he’d made me happy, in his way. And I never wanted anything more.’

I couldn’t decide if that was the saddest story I’d ever heard, or the most romantic. Either way, I couldn’t help but be glad that it wasn’t the story of my life.

Except perhaps the opposite wasn’t any better. I’d had everything George couldn’t give Therese, after all – but what had I given up to have it? And would I make that same choice again now?

‘So, what about you?’ Therese reached for her teacup. ‘Did your husband make you happy?’

I thought about lying, but it seemed impossible, after Therese had shared all her secrets with me. ‘No. He didn’t. He gave me those other things – security, contentment, Max… so I can’t hate him. That was everything I thought I wanted. But it turned out it wasn’t enough. Not for either of us.’

Therese tilted her head, studying me, her lips pursed, like she was trying to decide whether to say something or not. Finally, she made her mind up. ‘And what about Aiden?’

I laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as bitter as it felt in my throat. ‘He was my risk taking. My crazy two weeks before I settled down with the sensible boyfriend and the future we had planned.’ I’d always followed the familiar path, made the choices I knew others would approve of. Aiden was the only risk I’d ever taken.

‘And now?’

‘And now I have responsibilities. I have Max.’ I placed my cup and saucer on the side table and got t

o my feet, my mince pie still half unfinished. ‘And I should get back to him. Thank you for your hospitality.’

Therese struggled to her feet too, reaching out to touch my arm. ‘Freya, wait. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, you know. Like I keep telling Nathaniel, it’s all right to move on. In fact, it’s necessary.’

‘You never did,’ I pointed out.

She smiled, faintly. ‘Oh yes, I did. When I arrived here… I was so angry with him. So furious at George for dying, for leaving me in such a state. I never expected to love again, and I didn’t – not that way, at least. But I came to love this place. My family. My life here. And that helped me fall in love with him, and what we had shared, all over again.’ Her grin broadened. ‘Besides, I’m only sixty-eight. Maybe Saskia is right, after all. Maybe there’s still time yet!’

I grinned back. ‘There is. And for me too. Just… not yet. Mum, Max… They wouldn’t understand.’

‘Then you need to talk to them,’ Therese replied. ‘And they need to talk to you. You can’t guess their feelings, or the depth of their understanding. And they can’t support you until you tell them what you need.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s not the right time. It’s only been four months. I’m not going to rush any of us into anything.’

‘He’s not the sort to hand out too many chances, I don’t think,’ Therese said, thoughtfully. ‘But for you… perhaps he’d make an exception.’

I didn’t pretend for a moment I didn’t know who she was talking about. We were far past that. ‘I’m not expecting him to wait around for me or anything. Whatever we shared… it was fourteen years ago. It was a fantasy. I’m an adult now – a real one.’

‘That doesn’t mean you can’t still be blindsided by love,’ Therese said softly. ‘And when love comes calling… there’s really very little point in trying to resist, my dear.’