Saving Willowbrook (15 page)

‘I'll do that.'

‘The cutlery is in the top drawer.'

While she served the other guests, he quickly set two places, opened the bottle of wine he'd brought, found the glasses and poured them each a drink. Then he sat waiting for her, sipping the wine occasionally, not making her feel rushed.

But the silence in the kitchen was like no other that she'd experienced. It fairly hummed with . . . something, as if invisible energy was flowing around them. She'd never felt like this with Miles, was a little afraid of being swept away by it, so started work again, searching desperately for some innocuous topic of conversation. ‘Um, if it's not too personal, tell me what you've been doing for the past few days.'

He gave her a knowing smile, as if he knew perfectly well what she was doing. ‘I went to see an old client, who was trying to bribe me to do one more project for him. But I refused. I've been careful with my money and have no need to rush into another job, especially one I don't fancy.'

‘You're lucky to have the choice.' She glanced towards the conservatory and saw that the young couple had finished their first course. ‘I'll just—'

He stood up and moved quickly in front of her. ‘I'll get their dishes. You concentrate on plating up the next course.'

After chatting to the two guests and admiring the baby sleeping peacefully in its buggy, he returned with the empty soup bowls and side plates. ‘They said it was lovely. I'll take those plates out, then you can serve our soup while they eat their main course.'

They ate slowly and he accepted a second bowlful, then collected the couple's empty plates while she got out the frozen desserts she kept in stock. She served them with fresh raspberries from her own garden and a ginger sauce.

By the time he'd taken the desserts out, she had their own main courses ready.

‘Tell me about your family history,' he said, after making appreciative noises about the steak and its sauce.

So she told him the story of Jane Turner, her favourite ancestor, who had brought much of the land into the family as well as the rubies which had supposedly brought good luck.

‘I envy you,' he said when she'd finished her tale. ‘I know nothing about my ancestors. My father scorns the past and won't say anything much about his own childhood or youth, and my mother only knows up to her grandparents. It's one of the things I intend to do now that I have more time, research my family history.'

She went to glance out at the other guests, but the baby was fast asleep and the couple both looked tired. Even as she watched, they stood up and the man wheeled the buggy gently towards the outer door. She went to wish them good night and find out what time they wanted breakfast, then returned to Cameron.

No avoiding him now – and she didn't want to.

Rose gestured to the elderly sofa, which was the only seat not loaded with bundles dumped as they were brought into the flat.

‘I remember this,' Oliver said with a smile, running one finger over the frayed braid on one sofa arm. ‘And I recognize that old wardrobe too.'

‘It's perfect for keeping my supplies in,' she said defensively. ‘I'll need it when I go back to the cottage, though I don't really need it here.'

He abandoned small talk abruptly. ‘Haven't you changed
anything
about your life, Rose?'

She shrugged and poured him a glass of cheap red wine, then got one for herself. After a moment's hesitation she sat down next to him. On a two-seater sofa that was too close, far too close, but it was the only other seat free. ‘I've changed in myself, I think. I'm older and wiser, but—' she raised her chin defiantly ‘—I'm just as stubborn about what I want from life. And I'm still working on my main project.'

He looked up at a painting she'd hung on the wall. ‘Your style's matured. I like that one. It draws the eyes, lets you understand the animals on their own terms.'

‘Thank you.' She took a quick sip of wine to hide her pleasure at that compliment. Oliver never gave compliments that he didn't mean. ‘And you? How have you changed?' To her dismay, that haunted look instantly returned to his face, even though he tried to smile at her. ‘Don't.' She laid one hand on his. ‘Don't pretend with me. We know each other too well. What is it, Oliver? What's happened to you?'

He took another gulp of wine, stared down into the nearly empty glass, then said tightly, ‘Don't encourage me to let the demons out. They're better locked away, believe me.'

‘Not if they're causing you so much pain.'

‘Does that show?'

‘To me – and probably to anyone who knows you well.'

He drained the glass and set it down. ‘I'd better go before I make a fool of myself.'

She set her own half-f glass down and caught his arm. ‘Don't go. Talk to me, Oliver. Tell me.' He tried to pull away, but she kept hold of him and he capitulated suddenly.

‘I was involved in an – incident. A patient on drugs. He was stronger than he looked and I was careless. He hit me over the head. When I came to, I found he'd taken me prisoner. It . . . wasn't pleasant. He locked me in a chiller unit and kept the police and everyone at bay for quite some time. There wasn't a lot of oxygen. It was dark. I thought I was going to suffocate, or freeze to death. It's left me a bit . . . claustrophobic.'

‘That's why you ran out of the building earlier today.'

‘Mmm.'

‘It must have been dreadful.'

‘Mmm.' He had never been able to put into words how bad it had been, not even to the counsellor.

He wasn't quite sure how her arms got round him, how his head came to be resting on her shoulder, but it felt good. She didn't urge him to speak, which he didn't want to do. With a sigh he gave himself up to the sheer pleasure of being held.

He'd missed her so much.

In a large, luxurious house on the outskirts of Chawton, Brett Harding lingered at table waiting for his parents to finish eating, putting up with their chit-chat, fuming inside. What he wanted to do was go out with the lads. What his father had made clear was that if he did, he'd better not come back again, and he'd be out of a job as well as a home.

He might be over thirty, but he couldn't afford that and wasn't stupid enough to alienate his wealthy father. As the only son, he expected to inherit, had been banking on that as the basis of a very comfortable future.

‘Your mother just spoke to you,' his father snapped.

Brett turned to her. ‘Sorry, Mum. What did you say?'

‘I asked if you'd like to watch a film with us. There's nothing on TV tonight.'

He judged it best to nod. ‘That'd be nice. What movie were you thinking of?'

‘An oldie, I'm afraid. Probably not to your taste but it'll pass an hour or two. Or maybe you and your father would like to play billiards for a while. That table is hardly ever used and you were the one who was so keen to get it.'

He did
not
want a tête-à-tête with his father, had already been lectured several times about his appalling behaviour and how much it was going to cost to hire a good lawyer. ‘I'm a bit tired. I think I'd rather watch the movie.'

‘Film,' his father corrected. ‘This is England not America.'

He took a deep breath. ‘Film, then. Can I get you something to drink, Dad?'

‘Not tonight. And you're not having anything, either, not till I'm sure you're not an alcoholic.'

Looking distressed, his mother stood up. ‘I'll just clear the table.'

Brett stood up. ‘I'll help you.'

Those bloody Turners! he thought as he obediently carried crockery to the kitchen. It was all their fault. Ella had been asking for it. If it wasn't for her leading him on, he'd not have been so drunk. And her cousin was just as bad, even if she was a Marwood by name. She had Turner blood in her, didn't she? He was sure Rose's van had been badly parked. If he hadn't had to swerve to miss it, he'd not have ploughed into that stupid old cottage. She'd had time to move the van after the accident, so he could prove nothing. But he knew he'd seen the van looming up in front of him, in the wrong place.

Uppity bitches, the pair of them, thinking they were better than anyone else. They always had been, even at school.

He smiled. He still had friends, good friends, who were prepared to pick him up when he crept out of the house after his parents had gone to bed. Fancy having to do that at his age! Only he didn't intend to be disinherited.

Well, he'd already put the wind up Ella Bloody Turner tripping the outside security lights out at that dump she lived in. He'd seen her outline at the windows, going from one to the other, seen the curtains move. He'd go back and do that again when he felt like a good laugh.

He hadn't decided yet what to do about Rose. He'd think of something though.

Ella turned to find Cameron watching her from the kitchen doorway. Feeling self-conscious, she walked across to join him, not protesting when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

‘I've been dying to do that.'

It was the gentlest of kisses, and yet it sent another storm of response through her body.

He didn't kiss her again, just held her close. She could feel his heart beating, his soft breaths against her temples. It seemed so right to be held by him she was suddenly terrified and pushed him away.

‘What is it?' he asked in bewilderment.

‘We shouldn't. I'm not – not into chance encounters.'

‘I thought I'd made it plain that I don't consider this a chance encounter.'

‘How can it be anything else? We barely know one another.'

‘There's a simple remedy for that. I have all sorts of things to sort out, either online or by phone. If I stay here, we could spend the evenings together, maybe an occasional half day if you have the time. I'm not trying to rush you, but it seems so simple to me – and so right.'

She stared at him, one hand across her mouth, afraid to speak in case she said yes.

‘You've been hurt, I know.'

She nodded.

‘I won't hurt you, Ella.'

No one could promise that, she thought bleakly, even with the best will in the world.

He gave her a hug and said into her hair. ‘I'm enjoying your company but you look exhausted. Go to bed now. I'll see you in the morning.'

After she'd locked the door on him, she watched through a window as he strolled away towards the chalets. He looked so relaxed, so attractive, and he hadn't pressured her for more than she was willing to give. She liked that about him as well.

But did she dare trust him? Or rather, did she dare trust her own judgement where men were concerned?

When she went upstairs, she looked in on Amy and stood for a moment staring fondly down. She tucked the covers in more securely, picked up the book which had slid to the floor and went out, still thoughtful.

It wasn't just her who stood to be hurt, it was Amy. So she had to be doubly careful.

But perhaps this man wouldn't upset the child? He certainly spoke to her in a sensible, normal way, and Amy liked him.

How did you tell for sure whether you could trust someone?

Well, you couldn't be sure of anything or anyone. Life was chancy at best. So she'd take it one day at a time, give him a chance.

She went back out on to the landing and could have sworn she saw a shimmer at one corner. Was it Jane Turner, keeping watch on her descendants? At times Ella felt she could see a woman's outline, even her face. At others, just a shimmer of light.

Or was that too an illusion?

Nine

On Saturday morning Amy was grumpy from the minute she woke up.

‘What's the matter with you today?' Ella asked in exasperation, though she'd already guessed the reason.

‘I don't want to see Daddy.'

Ella was busy getting things ready for the guests and had no time to stop work and go over it all again. ‘We've talked about that, darling. You don't have a choice. And it's only for an hour or two.'

Out of the corner of her eye she saw something move and turned to find Cameron at the door, just as her daughter spoke again.

‘Well, I'm not going to speak to him. I don't care if he is my daddy, I don't like him. He makes you cry.'

Ella could feel herself blushing.

‘Good morning,' Cameron said as if nothing was wrong, though he must have overheard.

Amy looked at him unsmilingly, head slightly cocked, as if considering. ‘I wish
you
were my daddy, not
him
.'

‘He's a lucky man to have a daughter like you.'

Ella shot an embarrassed glance at Cameron, and he shrugged and gave her a quick half-smile, as if to say he understood.

‘I have to get on. I've set a table for one in the far corner.'

‘Perhaps this young lady would like to show me where?'

Amy nodded and led the way, talking earnestly as he took his place. Ella wondered what they were saying, but then the toaster shot bread out and a timer pinged, so she turned back to dealing with breakfast.

When Amy returned, she slumped down at the table, picking at her breakfast in silence, where normally she'd have been wolfing down food and chattering non-stop.

Ella sighed and said nothing.

Miles woke late. He'd allowed himself a night out and hadn't got home till four o'clock, after meeting an old friend who'd invited him back to her place. He enjoyed her company and they shared a bed from time to time, satisfying their needs without the hassles of getting involved, which she wanted as little as he did.