‘Doesn’t know yet. Owen is getting it all formalised before he tells him.’
Sabine stood up and cleared the plates away before placing an apple tart and a dish of clotted cream on the table in front of Johnnie.
‘Help yourself. Had my first American of the season book a ticket today. And guess what? He’s researching his family history! Quelle surprise! Why can’t they leave the past alone? Asked me if I knew any Holdsworths.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Basically that, unlike smalltown America, I knew the name but I don’t know everybody in the town.’
‘Pretty sure there aren’t any living in the town now,’ Johnnie said. ‘Didn’t we go to school with a girl who had Holdsworth relatives, though?’
‘She was the one I wanted you to marry so we could be sisters,’ Sabine said. ‘Wonder if he’s going to turn out to be related to that branch of the family.’
‘You ever hear what happened to your friend?’
Sabine shook her head. ‘Nope. Family simply vanished at the height of the scandal.’
On his way home later that evening, Johnnie stopped by the yacht to check everything was okay before crossing the embankment road and making for Undercliffe. The cottage he and Annie had bought when they married, filled with youthful optimism, no longer felt like home without her there. It had lost the wonderful homely and safe feeling that Annie had created within its walls. Now it was just a cottage where many painful memories blocked out the happy ones. He needed a drink to stay in the place these days.
Picking up the post from the doormat, he rifled through it. A letter from France, caught up in between the pamphlets and newspapers of junk mail that his post mainly consisted of these days, he placed on the table. He recognised Cousin Martha’s writing. Daughter of Tante Brigitte, his father’s younger sister, she was the one who kept him and Sabine up to date with family news these days. She was also the one whom he’d stayed with during those first dreadful days after he’d lost Annie and he’d fled to France.
Pouring himself a finger of whisky and taking the letter, he wandered through into the small sitting room and sank down onto the leather Chesterfield. Thank god his drinking was under control, thanks to Sabine, but he knew she would still have taken the bottle of whisky he’d hidden under the kitchen sink away if she’d realised it was there. ‘Too much temptation,’ she’d say.
Carefully he opened the letter. Bound to have lots of family news – there was still quite a large contingent of Le Roys over there in his home town. As he’d thought, the letter was full of news about the younger generation not doing well at school, the state of fishing was terrible and the new prime minister didn’t have a clue and when was he coming over? It would be a good idea if he came soon – but there was no reason given. Normally Brigitte simply said: ‘Looking forward to seeing you sometime soon’, but this: ‘It would be a good idea to come soon’ sounded more like an order. Was something up? Did they need his advice or was it a typically French reaction to something minor? Well it wouldn’t be until after Easter, that was for sure. A couple of deliveries were lined up – one to Spain and one to the west coast of Ireland. He’d give her a ring later. Find out what the problem was exactly. He took a slug of his whisky, savouring the warmth as he swallowed. Closing his eyes, he leant back against the settee.
Annie had loved the whole cottage, but this room had been her favourite to sit in and read. Johnnie could still see her curled up, lost to the world as she read the latest bestseller. Part of him knew the sensible thing would be to sell the place. He rarely spent a night here these days, preferring to be out on the boat.
He should buy another place without the memories. Or even a bigger boat. Move on like Sabine had when Dave died. Buying the cottage after the trauma of Dave being lost at sea, had certainly helped Sabine to get her life back on track. Strange really how they’d both lost their partners so early in life, but he’d always felt that while Annie had been the love of his life, Sabine hadn’t loved Dave in the same way. Oh they’d loved each other for sure, but he wasn’t convinced that they’d been true soul mates like him and Annie. Sabine had deserved a second chance with someone, but sadly it had never happened.
A voice in his head asked how could he bear to severe the tenacious connection the cottage provided with Annie. The simple answer was: he couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe at the end of summer he’d think about it.
RACHEL
Rachel stood back and looked at the cake critically. Cake decorating had never been high on her list of ‘learn how to do’ skills. In the past it had been so easy to nip down to the local patisserie and buy their most highly decorated concoction whenever she’d been asked to provide a cake. Somehow, even if that option was still available, she doubted that approach would go down well with the organisers of this particular fund-raising event who’d asked her to donate a cake. Every one of them was sure to be a closet Mary Berry.
So this chocolate-covered three-tiered sponge had to be as good as she could make it. No doubt it’s homemade appearance would lose her brownie points and its butter-cream icing would be found wanting, but so be it.
Rachel smiled wryly to herself as she carefully placed the cake in the largest box she could find, ready to deliver it later that morning. Who’d have thought, six months ago, she’d be baking a cake and participating in a spot of charity work? Not her, for sure. When she’d arrived, still stunned by the changes in her life, she’d simply wanted to shut herself away. Which she did. The only person she’d spoken to on a regular basis was Hugo, who phoned her daily, telling her she should never have left France and begging her to return to the villa. The one thing Rachel was determined not to do. At least not permanently, maybe a holiday in due course to see everyone would be wonderful. But first she had to sort her life out.
Avoiding face-to-face contact with people, for weeks she ordered her food over the Internet for home delivery on a Friday with the instructions to leave the box in the porch. It had taken two months for her to discover she wasn’t cut out to be a hermit and to start craving some sort of social life. When she told Hugo she was starting to go out, his sigh of relief was audible down the phone. Within weeks she’d joined the library, been roped in to help at the town’s charity shop, found a favourite place for coffee and been cajoled into joining a book club which was where, after several glasses of wine following a particularly boring discussion, Susannah and Caroline had extracted a promise from her to bake a cake for their next coffee morning. And so far nobody had questioned her too closely about her past.
Her, ‘I’ve lived abroad for years’ reply when asked about where she’d previously lived, quickly followed by, ‘My husband died recently’ earned her sympathetic looks and stopped people probing too deep. Although there had been a moment just last week at the book club when Caroline had pursed her lips and said: ‘Where are you from originally? I’ve been trying to place your accent but can’t quite make it out.’ To Rachel’s relief, before she could answer, somebody called out for more wine and Caroline had moved away.
Glancing out of the kitchen window, she saw a sailing boat beating its way up river and for a moment she longed to be out there on board. Sailing was definitely on her agenda for this summer. She’d ask Susannah at the coffee morning later if she knew anybody who wanted the occasional crew. Maybe she’d brave the sailing club too and ask there.
Moving into the sitting room, with its large patio doors opening onto the terrace, it struck her how at home she was beginning to feel in the house. Something she hadn’t expected to feel in such a short time. But here were no memories lurking in every room to pull her up, to remind her how different her life had been just a few short months ago. Coming back was looking increasingly like it had been the right decision. She was living life on her own terms. For the first time in months she realised she was … not happy exactly, more like content.
The coffee morning was already in full swing