The Runaway Bridesmaid (17 page)

‘Yes, I did notice that the cottage is looking smart, Rosie. You
have
been working hard!’

She smiled at his compliment. ‘Thanks, Austin.’

‘Mm, but you do know it’s a complete waste of time and effort and, if you’re paying the gardener, your money too.’

Rosie thought she glimpsed a faint twist at the side of Austin’s mouth as he concentrated on the dark ribbon of tarmac ahead, whipping the Mercedes confidently around the winding country lanes towards Brampton.

‘It’s unlikely the work you have undertaken will enhance the value of the property, either. As you know, Mr Dixon’s offer is still on the table. In fact, I wasn’t intending to mention business this evening, but as he has been the only interested purchaser I urge you not to lose him. It’s a difficult market out there, as I’m sure you know, and you’d be a fool to let Brian’s offer slide. He’s a cash buyer too, so the sale could be wrapped up in the next four to six weeks.’

‘I know. I seem to be thinking with my gut and not my brain at the moment. It sounds trite, but the lodge holds a kind of magical aura for me. Even the physical labour in the garden is enjoyable. I've discovered so much about the plants and horticulture from Ollie, but I also found one of my aunt’s journals in the…’

‘Look, Rosie, as you have instructed me to act in your aunt’s estate, it’s my professional duty to advise that you consider this offer very seriously. Brian Dixon does have other properties on his target list. Can I remind you that when we met at the will reading you were adamant about your reasons to sell? Are they still valid?’

‘Well, yes, but…’

‘Then I recommend you grab this opportunity, take the cash buyer option and you can give your sister her share of the inheritance, too.’ Austin’s voice was laced with authority and business-like determination.

It was true, she had forgotten Freya. ‘You’re right, Austin. I promise to think it through and I’ll call you next week. Okay?’

‘Good, good.’ Austin patted her knee and a spasm of electricity shot northwards. She settled into the soft calf-leather seat and started planning her moves when she invited him in for coffee. Or should she offer him something a little stronger as a nightcap? That would mean he wouldn’t be able to drive home and…

As they drew into the street, Rosie glanced over to Susan’s shop where she saw the older woman drawing her bedroom curtains, her pale face illuminated by the moonlight. Suddenly, all thoughts of inviting Austin in for anything, even an injection of caffeine, fled her mind to be replaced with shame at her brazen intentions to extend the evening. After all, this was a first date, she reminded herself, what had she been thinking! She swivelled in her seat intending to peck him on the cheek.

‘Let me know when that cricket match is?’

‘Sure. Looking forward to it.’

Austin leaned over to brush his lips over hers and she enjoyed the sparkle of desire that spread through her veins and tingled at her extremities. She would look forward to it too. She leapt out of his Mercedes, unsure whether her light-headedness was due to the unfamiliar indulgence of alcohol or the emotions Austin had stirred in her. Whatever the cause, it felt good and she craved a repeat like a dieter deprived of her fix of chocolate.

She let herself into the cottage and, as she slumped down onto the chintz sofa, flicking off her Louboutins, a schoolgirl giggle erupted from her mouth and her spirits danced. She found herself kicking her naked heels in the air like a toddler having a tantrum in the supermarket aisles.

But this was no tantrum – she felt amazing!

Chapter Twenty

July dawned with a whimper rather than a roar. At first light the morning dew laced the grasses and ferns like diamond chains but now the droplets disappeared into spirals of vapour in the warmth of the haze-veiled sun which failed to escalate to full throttle. The lavender rippled in the gentle breeze, releasing its fragrant tang to float in the summer air.

Rosie had spent a long Sunday morning pruning the privet hedges which skirted the boundary of Thornleigh Lodge and, even if she did say so herself, the cottage’s kerb appeal was chocolate-box smart. Only one patch of the front garden remained to be tackled, the border under the lounge window, and it was this tangle of vegetation that would benefit from her attention after lunch.

With her frayed straw hat squashing her locks, and buttocks raised high in the air, she set to work – her enthusiasm escalating as she anticipated the completion of what had seemed a gargantuan task two months ago. She was also feeling fitter and more toned than she ever had and her knowledge of all things green had soared.

‘Hi! Great view!’

Rosie lifted her shoulders and sat back on her heels, shielding her eyes as she turned towards her unexpected visitor, his silhouette tinted with the burnished copper of summer sun. She rolled her eyes, despite the flutter in her chest.

‘Oh, lovely greeting. Pleased to see you too, Rosie. How was your date with Amorous Austin?’ Grabbing a trowel, Charlie took up position on his knees next to Rosie and began digging in the soil to release the weeds. His proximity prickled at her skin. She cast a sidelong glance from under the rim of her hat at his face; a hint of stubble brushing his jawline, his cute nose splashed with a smattering of freckles. She caught the playful gleam in his eye.

‘The date went just fine, since you ask.’

‘Just fine? I hope when
I
take a girl out on a date, she describes it as better than “just fine”!’

Rosie didn’t want to discuss dating etiquette with Charlie, so she changed the subject. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while. They keeping you busy up at the hotel?’

‘No, no, I’ve been up in London. I’m allowed to escape whenever my presence is not required, you know. I share a flat with a couple of starving actors in Pimlico.’ His eyes, the colour of liquid tar, slid to her face, expecting a reaction.

Their closeness disturbed Rosie. Her nerve endings tingled with physical attraction. Charlie exuded sex appeal and she was not sure whether he was oblivious to its effect or encouraged its spread.

‘Sooo, are you in lerve?’ He pulled a disgusted face and his cheeks dimpled. ‘Are you seeing him again?’

‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to pry into other people’s love lives?’

‘Oh, he’s the love of your life now, is he?’

She flashed him an impatient look for his juvenile behaviour.

‘Well, he does seem to be your type.’

‘What do you mean, “my type”?’

‘You know, corporate, Hooray-Henry type, career-obsessed, money-orientated. Knows what he wants and goes for it, regardless of whose toes he breaks on the steep stomp to the top, eye-permanently-fixed-on-the-bottom-line type of guy.’ Charlie’s pithy comments clearly summed up his view of Austin and his fraternity.

Rosie thought of the barren wasteland of her love life in Manhattan. ‘You couldn’t be further from the truth.’ She stood up, staring down at his crown of curls, her hands resting on her hips as he knelt before her.

‘Sorry, Rosie. It’s just that Austin Meadows handled a property sale for one of my mother’s elderly friends when she was forced to accept she needed residential care. Richmond Morton collected a hefty fee for the sale of her home. His career is money, his hobby is money, his life is money. Just be careful, that’s all.’ His nostrils flared in dislike at the recollection.

Charlie stood to face her, his curls brushing his thick eyelashes, his hands stuck into the front pockets of his scruffy black Levis. Rosie’s lips curled at the corners as she glanced down at her own attire and she giggled. What a pair of country bumpkins they were.

‘Fancy a beer?’

‘I thought you’d never ask! You obviously haven’t worked in the hospitality industry.’ Charlie followed her into the lodge’s kitchen. ‘Mm, what a mouth-watering aroma. What are you baking this time, Nigella?’

‘It’s another one of the recipes from Aunt Bernice’s
Bake Yourself Better
journal – lemon meringue pies.’ Rosie indicated the book which lay open on the scrubbed pine table.

‘May I?’ asked Charlie, his chocolate brown eyes raised in question.

‘Be my guest,’ smiled Rosie, delighted at his genuine curiosity in her aunt’s work.

‘
Lemon Meringue Pies for Sunshine-Filled Skies.
I just love the title,’ smiled Charlie as he continued to read out her aunt’s words from the journal.

‘
These little pies are filled with sunshine! I can’t make a batch without smiling at the zinging yellow filling that never fails to brighten up the day. And the lemons themselves are packed with many nourishing vitamins and antioxidants that are very good for you. Who can resist the indulgence of a jug of freshly squeezed lemonade in the summer sunshine? My mouth is watering just think of it. And don’t they say lemons repel mosquitoes, too? But even in the rain these delicious pastries will bring a tingle to your tongue. Why not bake a batch, Rosie, and smile
?’

‘It’s lovely. And she goes on to set out the recipe which, I might add, seems to be working, don’t you think? Just look at the sky!’ Charlie snatched one of the delicate little pies from the wire cooling rack and bit into the soft interior. ‘Mmm, a harmonious collision of taste, texture and smell. Delicious! You know, I have a publisher friend who would love to take a peek at your aunt’s recipe journal. I happened to mention it to him after I saw your attempt to murder her sweet basil biscuit recipe.
Bake Yourself Better
is a fabulous concept. One which he reckons will strike a chord with a wide range of readers – amateur bakers, self-help obsessives, even rom-com addicts. You do know that baking is the new therapy for the pursuit of happiness, don’t you?’

‘Cake and chocolate and meringue as therapy? Sure, I can definitely see the sense in that,’ she giggled as she crammed one of the little pies into her mouth, crumbs spilling down her chin and onto the table. ‘I’m not sure about the book publisher though. Let me think about it, eh?’

‘No problem, the ball’s in your court. So, is it okay if I pinch some rosemary and coriander from the garden for the hotel kitchen – I have a couple recipes of my own I need to tweak.’

‘Of course, help yourself.’

Rosie smiled at Charlie’s infectious enthusiasm for experimenting with fresh new flavours in the Brampton Manor kitchen. He might not be head chef yet, but with his passion for cooking it would only be a matter of time, she was certain. Part-time kitchen helper one day, Michelin-starred chef the next! Why not?

‘Bet you’ve got a queue of guys to date back in New York, eh? One long social whirl, is it? Can’t wait to get back and away from this dull backwater? Why are you still doing the rural banishment thing, anyway?’

Rosie shot him a glance and was shocked to find her eyes smart with hot tears.

‘What? What’s up? What have I said?’

Rosie shook her head, biting down hard on her lower lip as she liberated two Budweisers from her aunt’s ancient refrigerator.

‘Go on, Rosie, tell me. It’ll do you good. Spill what horror has maimed your heart. When you escape back to NYC you can forget you ever told me, can’t you?’

She held his eyes for a beat. ‘I don’t have a string of dates lined up back home in New York, as you assume. I was in a relationship just before I left to come to the UK for my aunt’s funeral. But I found… I found him, erm, with someone else, intimately.’

‘And?’

‘What do you mean, “and”? Isn’t that enough?’ she shot back, immediately regretting her candour.

‘Of course it is, but there’s something else you’re hiding.’

‘There’s not.’

‘Yes, there is. Look, you might as well lance the boil completely for the full cure.’

Rosie sighed. ‘The guy, well, he was my boss.’ She cringed with shame. Saying those words out loud to an audience, it struck home what a huge mistake she had made.

‘That’s a regrettable choice of partner, Rosie. And?’ Charlie twisted the beer bottle in his fingertips.

She stared at him, at the challenge floating behind his eyes. ‘Pardon?’ Embarrassment spread blotches across her chest as she held Charlie’s gaze before he lowered his eyes to the bottle in his fist.

‘Who did you find him with?’

God, could the guy read minds? She saw his shadowed jaw clench tight, the muscles in his neck taut and his knuckles bleached white from his firm grip of the glass bottle.

‘My sister,’ she mumbled.

‘Who?’

‘My sister, Freya.’

At last he looked up and slammed the bottle so violently on the table that the contents spilled out in droplets like tears. Then he laughed, hard.

Rosie stared. Why had she invited this obnoxious man into her home? She scraped back her chair and stood to face him.

‘Yes, well, that’s right; you have a good laugh at my crappy life. But may I say that, from where I’m standing, yours doesn’t look that good either. Would-be chef and herb gatherer at the local five-star hotel and spa for the summer months, mooching around with his actor pals in London, hoping some of their glitter will rub off or the girls will come flocking because of their celebrity status.’

Her indignation stopped Charlie’s mirthless laughter. Their eyes met, and Rosie saw the jagged pain reflected in the dark depths of his, so at odds with his familiar ebullient demeanour.

‘I’m sorry. That outburst was uncalled for. I don’t know you at all. I…’

‘It’s okay, Rosie, really. I love a girl with a bit of sparkle. I apologise too. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at myself.’

‘But why?’

‘Because that’s exactly what happened to me.’

‘What? Your boss boyfriend ran off with your sister?’

‘No. I stumbled upon my wife of three months sharing our marital bed with my flatmate from college. Apparently it had been going on since before we got hitched – great boost for the old self-esteem.’ He paused. ‘Their baby is due at Christmas.’

‘Oh, erm, right.’ Rosie was rendered temporarily speechless, and, watching Charlie pick at the label of the beer bottle, once again the flicker of desire ran through her abdomen.

‘Why did she go through with it, then? The wedding, I mean. If she was involved with your erm, friend? She could have called it off.’