The Runaway Bridesmaid (16 page)

Rosie threw him a sceptical look. ‘You told me, when I caught you lurking behind the exhibition tent, that you helped out in the kitchen – not that you are the head chef!’

‘Well, yes, my services are occasional called upon as a lowly baker’s apprentice, on the conveyer belt of Devonshire cream teas for an insatiable stream of guests. In fact, that’s why I’m here.’

‘Ah, at last he gets round to the point of his visit.’ Why was she being so short with him? But she knew it was her embarrassment that was making her snappy.

‘It’s Sunday. All the shops around here are closed and I need a bunch of fresh mint for tonight’s menu. Could I purloin a posy from the garden? Chef apparently used to call on your aunt’s garden as ‘nature’s store cupboard’ in emergencies. I volunteered to cycle down on the mercy mission.’ He grinned at his valiant deed, and Rosie’s heart lurched as a blade of lust sliced down to her abdomen and below, much to her annoyance.

‘Getting ready for a date, then?’ He settled back into the wooden chair and crossed his Levi-clad leg over his knee, displaying odd socks, running his eyes over her dishevelled appearance.

Bloody cheek of the guy! Yet she resented the fact that in both encounters she’d had with Charlie, she’d been dressed like a country hick; scruffy Barbour and mud-encased wellies or, as now, in a frilly apron and dusted with flour. Damn it! She could do Manhattan glamour!

‘No, of course not. But if you persist in digging into my privacy, as it happens I do have a date for Friday night.’

As soon as the sentence had slipped from her lips she regretted it. What was she telling him that for? Her cheeks reddened once again and she reached up her thumb and forefinger to twist her earring in her lobe but found it missing.

Charlie’s smirk rattled her.

‘Who is the lucky fellow, then?’

‘None of your business. But, since you ask, it’s the lawyer handling my aunt’s estate. Austin Meadows.’

‘Ah, the handsome Mr Meadows, the sol-ic-ci-tor! Well, best let you start getting ready… if you haven’t already?’ Charlie laughed as his eyes indicated the recipe. She prayed that he hadn’t read her aunt’s footnote. He leapt up from the table. ‘Oh, and you might like to remove that second batch of biscuits from the oven. I can smell burning!’ His black eyes glinted as she flew to wrench open the oven door, spluttering as a billow of smoke escaped into her face.

He saw her amber eyes narrow and beat a hasty retreat. ‘I’ll grab the mint on the way out, shall I?’

She watched from the front door as Charlie cocked his leg over the crooked bicycle saddle and ploughed into the interminable drizzle. A mix of emotions swirled around her chest. Obviously he was unable to afford proper transport, and for that she sympathised. But why did he have to be so irritating? She sauntered back to the kitchen and found the room drained of its recent vitality. Minus Charlie’s light banter and jovial, energetic presence to bolster the kitchen’s warmth, her spirits waned.

Calculating the time difference, Rosie knew her father would be home before setting out for his weekly visit to the Archery Club with Dot and Arnie and she craved hearing a friendly voice.

‘Hi, Dad. How’re things in sun-drenched Stonington Beach?’

‘All’s well here, Rosie, darling. Arnie and I are planning our annual trip up-state with the other Archery Club guys. Should be a blast! But Rosie, ring Freya, will you, please? I know she misses you.’

Yeah really, thought Rosie. Only because I’m not available to organise her life.

To change the subject from the murky waters of discussing her sister’s life, she spilled out the whole story of her date with Austin and her sparring with Charlie, much to her father’s delight.

‘Go for it, Rosie! A date with a Darcy-lookalike lawyer should be right up your street. I like the sound of Charlie, though. Did he ask you out on a date, too? Your mom would have loved to know that you are dating an English guy!’

‘No, of course not. Charlie’s really not my type, Dad; all sultry black curls and infuriating banter – and yes, he’s very attractive, but in that Mediterranean gigolo type of way,’ she giggled.

‘Mm, those well-honed Victorian manners and dulcet English tones discussing bottom lines. It does seem Austin is right on the button, darling. But haven’t you had your share of the sanitised corporate shark? If you want my opinion, maybe this Charlie would make you happier. He certainly sounds like you could have some fun with him. Don’t rush home, Rosie. I’m really pleased you’ve decided to take some time in the UK to figure out the rest of your life.’

Charming, thought Rosie as she depressed the call button. She did still missed her home and her previous jam-packed life, especially now after her chat with her father. Life in Devon was so dull. Four weeks and the only thing she had to look forward to was a date at a local French bistro with her aunt’s lawyer.

Satisfied her father was in fine spirits and ticking along without her invaluable input, she climbed the creaking stairs to bed as the encroaching darkness pressed its velvety veil against the windows beneath the eaves.

Freedom from the beck and call of Freya and the high-octane demands of Harlow Fenton only served to deliver a sharp slap of loneliness and the realisation, particularly via father, that her presence in their lives was not essential to their happiness. She was homesick and maybe it was time to return. Rosie had been saddened when Lauren had text her to say that the first round of IVF had failed and that she and Brett were currently discussing whether to wait or delve straight into a second. Life went on despite her absence.

She dragged the woollen blankets to her chin. Under the golden glow of the bedside lamp, she drew her aunt’s diary into her lap. Within minutes, tears coursed down her cheeks as the spidery words revealed the reason Bernice remained a spinster all her life.

Chapter Nineteen

Anxiety swirled around Rosie’s abdomen and chest as she pulled on the short belted summer dress Emily had insisted on lending her for her date with Austin. To Rosie’s embarrassment, Emily had taken much too keen an interest in her love life. She couldn’t forget her love for embroidering gossip.

She slid her feet into her trusty stilettos and immediately experienced the whoosh of confidence they delivered. What was the matter with her? She’d dated intelligent, corporate guys before. Austin came straight from the mould of most of her previous dates – except Carlos; he’d been a diversion from the norm. His Italian heritage had set her heart aflame.

A toot from the garden gate broke her reverie. Perhaps English custom did not require the guy to collect the girl from her front door, she mused. Chiding herself that she was a thirty-two-year-old woman, not a high school prom date, she performed a final check in the age-speckled hall mirror before dragging open the front door.

Her straw-coloured hair cascaded in smooth, tamed waves between her shoulder blades and she’d taken care to apply the subtle makeup she preferred, refusing point-blank Emily’s suggestion of false eyelashes and a shimmering golden eye shadow. Despite the minimal effort, she felt attractive for the first time since arriving in the UK.

With his arm resting nonchalantly on the open, tinted window of his black Mercedes sports car, Austin displayed a smile good enough to grace any toothpaste advert, obviously enjoying what he saw.

As Rosie slipped her stocking-clad legs into the passenger seat, she appreciated the pungent aroma of wood-spice cologne mixed with the tannin of the leather. She chanced a glimpse at her date for the evening, respecting the effort Austin had gone to. Whilst his profile was still sharp, clean-shaven and handsome, his blond hair had been teased into a trendy surfer-dude style in honour of a Friday night out. His attire was immaculate: black designer jeans and pale pink Paul Smith shirt.

They drove in silence until the Mercedes flashed by the majestic entrance gates to Brampton Manor Hotel and Spa. Its driveway snaked endlessly towards the Italianate-style, formal front terrace, lined with old-fashioned lampposts – each emitting a soft peach glow.

‘What an architectural gem we have in our midst. I wish I could afford a day’s pampering in the spa,’ Rosie offered to break the silence.

‘Yeah, it’s a real shame the family had to take in paying guests. I’d have suggested we eat there but I don’t like the head chef.’ Austin smirked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

They drove swiftly, the powerful car swallowing the miles with ease. After forty minutes they arrived at a tiny hamlet on the border of Devon and Somerset. The bistro pub displayed a hand-crafted sign announcing The Horse and Hounds, and the best French cuisine in Devon.

Austin held out a chair for Rosie to sit down at the table, forcing her to reconsider her doubts as to his manners. He ordered a bottle of Cristal champagne for her, and she downed the first glass with relish to calm her nerves. With a dose of Dutch courage administered, she began to relax whilst Austin sipped at his iced Perrier. When she queried his choice of beverage he explained that excessive alcohol intake caused bitter introspection which he preferred to avoid if possible.

Conversation flowed freely over their starter of foie gras pate with grapefruit chutney and, despite their differences in upbringing, they found acres of common ground – intellectually and politically they were a good match. Rosie thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to discuss with someone the topical stories of the day and the respective futures of corporate Britain and the US after the recession had finally blown itself out. They found they both harboured ambitious plans for their future careers and a single-minded intention of personal fulfilment.

But the evening wasn’t all business. Austin confessed his love of cricket and regaled her with a number of hilarious anecdotes from recent Sunday gatherings at the local village cricket club where he and his friends dreamed of one day playing a match at Lord’s, the official home of cricket.

‘My one ambition, when I was a boy growing up in Bath, was to play cricket for England. Unfortunately, the demands of the law shunted those dreams to the side-lines but, thankfully, not into obscurity.’

Rosie’s third glass of Cristal dulled Austin’s sharp edges and she became aware of the curl of golden hairs on his forearms, the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, and, when she imagined him bedecked in his cricket whites, her stomach lurched. It was a wonderful feeling. Under Austin’s attentive scrutiny she felt desirable for the first time in a long time, well, since Carlos. Giles had made her feel like she was a precious piece of jewellery, a prize to be worn on his arm as part of his sartorial uniform, not attractive in her own right but as an extension of him, an accessory really. She realised Austin was still talking, his sensual blue eyes sparkling as he raised them in question.

‘Pardon me?’ Rosie refocused.

‘Would you be up for a trip to watch a match one Sunday afternoon? I confess the rules of cricket are a little weird to US spectators, I’m afraid, but I’ll happily talk you through them. Oh, and I’ll collect you. I know you still have no motorised transport.’

Rosie thought fondly of Bernice’s rickety bicycle which she’d scrubbed and oiled and pressed into action to collect her daily groceries from Susan’s shop and, on the odd occasion when she was feeling energetic, undertaken the five-mile round-trip to Carnleigh where Emily lived, to visit the Post Office and local pub with her.

‘Thanks, Austin. I’d love that.’

Their eyes met, but the waitress who set down their desserts – a passionfruit sorbet for Austin, a golden glitter-sprinkled ginger cupcake with home-made vanilla bean ice cream for Rosie – in front of them interrupted the moment.

Okay, thought Rosie, delighted her silent, posthumous promise to her aunt to date had started out so well. And with a handsome English lawyer to boot – she couldn’t have planned it better. Austin’s manners were impeccable, he was interesting and engaging and she’d thoroughly enjoyed his company. There really was very little to distinguish Austin from the guys who frequented the corridors of the financial hothouses back in New York. Except the accent, of course. She could listen to him talk, even about cricket, all evening. She couldn’t wait to call Lauren to tell her that she might have met her ‘prince’ without having to kiss any frogs at all! The word ‘kiss’ sent a frisson of excitement through her chest. There was bound to be a goodnight kiss to look forward to!

But was this wise?
her inner oracle raised its inconvenient head above the parapet. Hadn’t she learned her lesson about dating preppy, corporate guys with Giles? And she lived in Manhattan, this wouldn’t be a long-distance romance, it would be inter-continental!

When they returned to the Mercedes, this time Austin did hold the door open for her and Rosie slid, a little wobbly, into the leather seat, exposing an larger-than-intended expanse of sheer thigh. She felt Austin’s eyes linger for a few long moments before he twisted the key in the ignition. She experienced a delicious swirl of attraction deep in her belly.

‘So, how long have you decided to stay at the cottage, Rosie?’

‘I’m not sure; another couple of months, I think. The garden is starting to look great again, don’t you think?’

Was he enquiring because he wanted to ask her on a second date? She’d leap at the chance. She’d found his company stimulating, especially bearing in mind she had spent the last few weeks impersonating a lonely spinster in a dilapidated cottage in rural Devon with only Emily and the flowerbeds for company.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. Ollie had been true to his word and arrived on his decrepit bike every Sunday afternoon and they had laboured companionably in the front garden, the pungent fragrance of lavender and sage accompanying their toil.

The lodge’s ‘drive-by appeal’ was much improved. She intended to repaint the blistered front door the same scarlet chosen by Bernice next Saturday. She smiled across at Austin, his large hand resting loosely on the gearstick, his strong profile outlined against the inky sky. It had been a long time since she’d invited a man into her home for coffee and, as a wave of desire snaked her abdomen, she decided Austin would be the first since Carlos.