“Why should she care?” He threw back his head and let out a rich laugh, hiding the discomfort her words had caused. “I’m sure she’d love to have you teach her how things are run.”
“Yeah, right. Typical.” Charlotte shook her head and gave the lamb a jab. “Only a man would say something as silly as that.”
“I don’t see what’s silly about it,” he replied.
“I don’t suppose it occurred to you that Sylvia might want some independence?” She sent him an irritated glance.
“But we’ll only be here a few weeks. Why would she care? We could work out something satisfactory for all of us.”
“Wishful thinking, I’m afraid.” She turned down the gas, left the casserole simmering and faced him. “Get one thing straight, Brad—no amount of arguing is going to get me back to the castle. It’s yours and will soon be Sylvia’s, too. There’s no room for me there any longer and I’ve my own life to lead. All I’d do is make your life hell. And you’ve known me long enough and well enough to realize that’s probably true.” She jabbed his chest, looked at him through her dark lashes once more. “Deep down, you know I’m right. You just won’t admit it.”
“I don’t agree. There’s no reason for anything to change. Everything’ll go on exactly as it always has.”
“No, it won’t and it’s naive of you to believe it. Remember when you took over Harcourts? Didn’t you want to implant your own management system? I remember all the ideas you had and how you were determined to see them carried out.”
“Those were corporate decisions.”
“This isn’t very different. It’s only right and proper things should change. But I don’t want to be a part of it.” Her eyes went misty and she bit her lip. “I’ve had enough ups and downs as it is. I’d resent the changes and only be a hindrance, Brad, and we’d all suffer.” She swept a stray strand of hair behind an ear and turned quickly back to the cooker. “This needs a few more minutes.”
As he watched her, Brad reluctantly began to understand. Her whole adult life had been a crazy insecure roller coaster. John had manipulated and undermined her constantly. Now she was slowly regaining territory, desperately cleaving to tufts of earth and rock jutting out from the crevasse into which she’d sunk, climbing out bit by bit. He wished things could remain exactly as they were, that he could keep her safe in Strathaird Castle, the one place that had always remained untouched, where she knew no harm could befall her.
“I’m sorry, Charlie.” He squeezed her shoulder gently, understanding the emotional consequences of what it must feel like to have your home usurped by another. His heart clenched and his anger at fate resurfaced. Taking her face gently in his hands, he wiped another tear that had escaped onto her cheek. “God, I’d give the world to change the inheritance, Charlie, and leave Strathaird all to you,” he muttered. “God knows I tried.”
“Don’t.” She pulled away and sniffed loudly. “I know you’ve done all you could. It’s not your fault, Brad, it’s just the way the cookie crumbles.” She smiled, let her hand rest on his a moment, then drew it quickly away. “It’s taken me long enough to start getting my life in order, and the sooner I face these changes and get on with it, the better it’ll be for all of us. Let’s take the wine and sit outside until dinner and you can tell me all about the twins.”
He followed her out the French door, into the little back garden where a small bistro table covered with a checkered blue and white tablecloth stood under an open umbrella. Charlotte flopped onto one of the foldable chairs and he followed suit, listening to the soothing murmur of the sea, the relentless rise and fall of waves bathing the rocks below the bluff, the subtle scent of heather and roses wafting in on the evening breeze. Twilight still hovered, loath to surrender to the couple of stars that already shone timidly. Hermione crossed the tiny patch of lawn and curled up at Charlotte’s feet, purring softly, occasionally raising a paw to the handful of bees buzzing hopefully among the bluebells and perennials. In the half-light, he could still distinguish the windswept grass beyond the picket fence and the gentle hue of heather etched on the moors soft as a Monet.
For a while they remained in congenial silence, transported back to adolescence, those long evenings spent confiding secrets, sharing dreams and cracking jokes. It felt strange to have him sitting only a few feet away after so long, Charlotte reflected, casting a quick glance at his profile. She’d gotten used to him at a distance, a phone confidant whom she trusted implicitly but with the advantage of being heard and not seen. Now Brad was very much here, his presence overwhelming. It came as a shock and she half wished for the old long-distance relationship that was far less daunting. Ridiculous, she chided herself. With Brad, there was no need for words, though God knows they could talk for hours when they wanted. She let out a long sigh, closed her eyes and tried to relax. She should be savoring the moment instead of wishing him a million miles away, particularly as this would probably be one of the last times they would share alone together. Whether Brad realized it or not, Sylvia’s arrival would inevitably alter things, however determined he seemed to believe the contrary.
“Tell me about the jewelry,” he remarked, breaking the spell. “What inspired you to get into designing?”
“I don’t really know. It was when things were really iffy with John…” Her voice trailed off and he waited. “I saw a program about jewelry design on telly one day and it seemed a good idea. So I took a course and loved it. It really helped.”
“You mean it helped you see things in a clearer light?” he murmured perceptively.
“I suppose you might say that. At the time, it seemed that way. But then John had the accident and I wondered if—oh hell, I don’t know and it doesn’t matter anymore,” she said in a rush, gulping down the wine. The last thing she wanted was to get into a conversation that would surely end in Brad telling her she should leave her husband and get on with her life. Nobody, least of all him, could understand her reasons not to.
“I think it’s great you’re taking it so seriously,” he responded in a neutral voice and she sighed, relieved.
“Yes. I enjoy designing and lately visitors seem to be quite taken with some of the pieces. Moira’s my goldsmith, you know. She went to the Royal Academy and has been in this business for years now. Real luck, that, wasn’t it?” she added, grinning. “I wasn’t sure that expensive jewelry would work here on the island, but you’d be surprised at the number of tourists who’ve bought pieces.”
“I hear you’re planning something with Armand. He seems to think you’re very talented.”
“It’s just an idea. I haven’t really given it a lot of thought,” she lied, taking another gulp of wine and reaching down to pet Hermione.
“You’re taking this to heart, aren’t you, Charlie?”
“I suppose so.” She shrugged. “Keeps me busy.”
“I’m glad. You needed something to fill your life.”
“God, Brad! Don’t be patronizing,” she snapped crossly.
“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He leaned back, laughing.
“Then how did you mean it?” Her eyes flashed and she plunked her glass down with a bang. “Charlotte has something to keep her busy while Genny’s at school?” she mimicked. “You make me sound like one of those silly women—” She cut off, bit her lip and turned away, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Brad, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I always get the impression you all think I’m a flake who can’t take care of herself.”
He