Saving Willowbrook (22 page)

‘I'm not working. I was going to paint.'

‘Don't. We need to talk. You know we do.'

He didn't wait for her to dream up an objection but ran lightly down the stairs, still blown away by that one single painting. He had, quite simply, never seen a bird painting so exquisite.

A man's voice answered the phone, saying simply, ‘Willowbrook.'

Delighted that Ella hadn't picked up her call, Stephanie booked a chalet for three days, starting tomorrow, giving her maiden name with a simple Ms. She hadn't called herself Parnell for years. She wasn't sure whether Ella would remember her maiden name, hoped she wouldn't.

When she put the phone down, she heaved a happy sigh. First hurdle passed. Now, she needed to decide what to pack and she wanted to go and buy a present for her granddaughter. Nothing too ostentatious. From what she'd wheedled out of Miles, Ella and her daughter had both spurned his lavish present.

‘Books,' she decided. ‘You can never have too many books.'

She glanced at the shelves of books in the supermarket as she picked up something for her tea. Nothing suitable there, nothing special enough, just garish books she'd not want to give anyone. So she walked further into town and went into a small bookshop which had opened recently. She'd kept meaning to visit it. Bookshops could provide so much more than supermarkets, not just in expertise, but in variety of stock and willingness to hunt out books for you.

A long, earnest chat with its owner yielded two books she thought Amy might like, books she'd loved herself as a child. Unlike her son, Stephanie had done her research into SMA and knew that her granddaughter was no different mentally to any other child. Why would Miles not listen to her about that? Why had he abandoned his own child – and caused his mother to be kept away from her too?

Packing her suitcase was difficult. Should she dress smartly or casually? Casually, probably. But how casually? Stephanie stared at herself in the mirror with a wry smile. Even though she was retired, she wasn't into jeans, never had been. Well, she wasn't skinny enough for that. She'd fought her weight problem for most of her life and given in five years previously to her body's urge to put on ten extra kilos. Size sixteen wasn't that bad, actually, and it was heaven not to be hungry all the time. She envied women who could eat what they wanted and stay slender. She had to eat 800 calories a day or less to do that.

And actually – she leaned closer to the mirror and studied her skin – the wrinkles didn't show up nearly as much when you were this size. Was it Barbara Cartland who'd said something about being able to keep either a face or a waist as one grew older – and the eccentric author had recommended a face, because that was what people looked at first.

Stephanie grinned at her reflection. ‘That'll do me.'

It was amazing how much she'd relaxed since she quit being a high flyer.

In the middle of the night she awoke with a start. She'd been dreaming that Ella had refused to let her stay, refused to let her spend any time with her granddaughter.

She found it hard to get to sleep again.

Surely her daughter-in-law wouldn't be so cruel?

Miles had seemed quite certain his mother wouldn't be welcome at Willowbrook. Was he right? Or was he being manipulative again?

Ella returned home with Amy, whose cheeks were hectically flushed and who was only too willing to go to bed and be cosseted.

‘Do we need to call in the doctor?' Cameron asked.

‘I think I might give the surgery a ring. I'm not dragging her in to see them, though.'

‘I'll take the drink up. You ring them now.'

She looked at him doubtfully, but when he held out his hand with an imperative little shake, she gave him the glass of hot lemon and honey and went to make the call.

She knew the receptionist from school and when she'd described Amy's symptoms, Mandy said she'd send Dr Oliver out to see the child. You couldn't be too careful, could you?

Relieved, Ella went back upstairs to find Cameron sitting by the bed reading one of her daughter's favourite books to her. Even as she watched, Amy's eyelids fluttered and closed. Soon she was breathing slowly and deeply.

Cameron stopped reading, waited a moment and closed the book.

Ella beckoned.

‘She usually sleeps a lot when she's ill, but she doesn't usually have such a high temperature. If we leave the door open, I'll hear her if she calls.'

‘Talking of calls, a woman rang to book a chalet for three days. I've written it down. She's coming tomorrow.'

‘Good. The season seems to be starting earlier this year.' And she was glad, because she needed the money this would bring even more than she'd ever needed it before.

Cameron put his arm round her for another of his quick hugs. ‘I'm staying around. I may be able to help.'

‘Yes. And thank you.' She couldn't remember the last time there had been anyone but herself to rely on. Rose helped when she could, but had her own life to lead – and her own obsession to pursue. Ella knew all about that, had seen one or two of the special paintings and been blown away by them.

What a pair she and her cousin were! She with her obsession about keeping Willowbrook in the family and Rose with her Wiltshire wildlife paintings. She hoped Rose and Oliver would get back together again. They'd been so good for each other, in spite of their differences.

Oliver took the call and went out to Willowbrook, happy to renew his acquaintance with the old place. At first glance it didn't seem to have changed, but when he got closer, he couldn't help noticing the small touches that had given it added beauty: flowers, a vista which must have been opened deliberately through the gardens and trees beyond to the lake. Even the sparkling windows seemed to be twinkling a welcome.

When Ella opened the door to him, he was shocked at how drawn her face looked.

‘Sorry to bring you out, Oliver, but Amy's doing nothing except sleep and that's so unlike her. This is Cameron O'Neal, a friend of mine.'

The two men shook hands briefly then Ella took Oliver upstairs to see her daughter.

He examined Amy, who was sleepy and unwilling to co-operate, then pulled up the covers. ‘I think it's just a very bad cold, but you were right to call me out. If there's any sort of rash, or she starts vomiting, or complains of cold hands and feet, get her to hospital.'

Ella looked at him in horror, well aware of what these symptoms might mean. ‘You don't think it's meningitis?'

‘No, I don't. But one should always be aware of the possibilities. She looks to be a healthy, well-nourished child.' He patted Ella on the shoulder. ‘You've done well, and all on your own. My mother has been singing your praises loudly, and I hear that Willowbrook is doing well. It certainly looks attractive.' He frowned. ‘You're looking tired, though. Are you getting enough rest?'

‘As much as I can.' Her eyes went back to Amy and he could see she was in no mood to chat. He made a mental note to ask Rose to keep an eye on her. ‘You sit with her for a while. I'll find my own way out.'

In the kitchen, Cameron got to his feet. ‘How is she?'

‘Are you a close friend?'

‘I hope so.'

So Oliver repeated his instructions and Cameron nodded, then walked with him to the door.

‘I didn't know Ella was seeing someone,' Oliver said.

Cameron gave him a tight smile. ‘It's rather recent – but nonetheless important to me. How's Rose? Ella told me you two used to be friends.'

‘More than friends. And will be again, if I have my way.'

The two men gave each other a measuring look, then nodded as if to say they'd wait to pass judgement on each other, then went about their business.

Cameron put on the kettle, because he couldn't think of anything else to do, and waited for Ella to come down. If Amy was ill, her mother wasn't going to deal with it on her own as well as run the B&B.

He had no experience whatsoever of sick children but the thought of that bright, happy child being ill upset him, and he was prepared to do anything he could to help look after her.

Oliver arrived promptly at seven, by which time Rose had decided not to go out with him, had reversed that decision, then changed her mind again. Finally she decided she was being cowardly and got ready with grim determination to look her best.

He held out a bunch of flowers and her heart melted. He'd remembered: white roses, her favourites. She went to find the pale green vase that would be just right for them, sitting on the floor by the cupboard; staring at it she realized it was Oliver who'd bought this for her.

‘Something wrong?'

She shook her head and held out the vase, then got up slowly, trying to hold herself together.

He stroked the semi-opaque glass. ‘I remember buying you this vase at a craft fair. You fell in love with it on sight.'

She nodded. ‘I've not used it since you left. I don't know why.'

He reached out and caressed her cheek briefly with his knuckles, then turned to fill the vase at the sink.

As she arranged the flowers, she sought for something casual to say and found nothing.

‘I've just been out to your cousin's. Amy's not well.'

She was instantly alert. ‘Is it serious? Because if so, Ella will need my help.'

‘She has help.'

‘Who? Don't tell me Miles is back on the scene, because he'd be no use to her.'

‘No. It's a guy called Cameron. He says their relationship is quite recent. Must be, or Mum would have known about it. She picks up all the gossip.'

‘I've met him. He seems nice, but she can't have known him long or she'd have told me. I'm reserving judgement.'

‘My own sentiments, exactly.'

Silence fell as she finished arranging the roses. He watched her, thinking, as he always had, that she was like a rose herself, a big one full of rich red colour and perfume.

He couldn't resist touching her, so put an arm round her shoulders and pulled her to him for a moment. ‘We'd better go now. I shan't be able to keep my hands off you if we stay.'

In near panic, she turned and hurried out of the flat.

He took a deep breath and followed her, held the door of his car open, then drove off without a word.

At least she wasn't indifferent to him. He couldn't have borne that.

They both relaxed slowly and the silence grew almost comfortable. Almost. But there was still just the faintest whisper of tension behind it, the echo of pain and emotions held back for years.

Rose exclaimed in surprise as he drew up at a restaurant she'd heard of, small, very expensive, with wonderful food.

‘I hope you like this place.'

‘I've never been here before.'

‘Dad said it was good.'

Rose rolled her eyes at him. ‘You must be rolling in money to come here.'

‘I've been careful, but I feel this is a night to celebrate, us going out together again, I mean.'

She wasn't sure about that, felt more as if she was walking too close to a precipice. How together were they anyway?

The menu and food gave them something to talk about – in between long, thoughtful looks at one another.

Once he took her hand and smiled down at it. ‘You never do get all the paint off.'

She looked down at his slender fingers. ‘And you still have beautiful hands.' The trouble was she remembered what those hands could do to her. Hastily she changed the subject. He let her, but smiled knowingly.

‘Do you want a liqueur or cognac?' he asked after the desserts had been cleared away. ‘I can't because I'm driving, but you're welcome to have something.'

She shook her head and as they got up to leave, she stopped at the sight of Brett Harding sitting in a corner, scowling at them. She scowled back as she waited for Oliver to pay.

When he rejoined her, he followed her gaze and said in a sharper tone, ‘How can that fellow afford to come here? His parents must pay him triple the going rate for a petrol station attendant.'

‘The Hardings probably have an account here. Mr Harding is not backward at spending their money on himself.'

Brett was still scowling darkly. His companion, a much younger woman with a very low neckline, glanced from him to them, eyeing Rose up and down with a sneering look, as if she knew herself to be superior in appearance.

‘If that fellow gives you any more trouble, let me know,' Oliver said.

‘It's Ella he fancies, always has been. Him crashing into my cottage was just an accident, but from what I've heard in the bar, he's telling everyone he blames me for it – though how he figures that out, I can't understand.'

‘Well, he's certainly looking at you as if he bears you a grudge.'

She shrugged as they went back to the car. ‘It doesn't matter. All Brett ever does is glower and sulk when you upset him. He was the same at school, blaming everyone but himself when things went wrong. I can handle him.'

‘He's a grown man now, and I'd guess from what I've heard, and what Dad's said, that he's well into alcoholism. That can change people's behaviour and personalities.'

She didn't pursue the matter. She wasn't afraid of a bully like Brett.

But the encounter had destroyed the quiet, companionable mood and she was both glad and sorry about that. Glad because it wasn't safe to spend time with Oliver, sorry because . . . just because! She wasn't going there yet.

When they got back, she said abruptly, ‘I'm tired now. It was a lovely meal, but it's late for me, so I'm not going to invite you up for coffee.'