Summer House by Marcia Willett

going to be OK, thank God, but I’d love to see you if you can make it. Dunster? Great. Eleven-ish in the Castle? See you then.’
    Now she watched the entrance to the bar and talked to Rosie, who was drowsy and relaxed, having been pushed up to the Conygar Tower in the brisk cold air and then bumped over the cobbles on a stroll around the town. Imogen smiled at Greyam behind the bar and wondered why her meetings with Nick always gave her a slightly guilty feeling. They’d known each other for nearly all their lives and there was no reason why they shouldn’t have coffee or a drink together – yet there was a little edgy sensation going way back to that mad moment that they’d had ten years ago. For instance, she hadn’t told Jules that she’d be seeing Nick this morning
– and she’d been oddly reluctant to explain to Jules exactly what Nick had been up to, merely saying that he’d got behind with his mortgage payments and that Alice was playing up about money. Not that Jules was all that interested; the new job was very demanding and he’d never had a lot of time for Nick.
    Imogen shifted uneasily as three women came into the bar and settled themselves at the table in the corner. She wondered if Venetia ever came into the Castle for coffee with her chums and turned instinctively away from them towards Rosie.
    â€˜Hi,’ said Nick from behind her. ‘Hi, Rosie,’ and he held out a little toy, a soft, velvety rabbit.
    Rosie reached eagerly for it, making sounds of delight that made Imogen smile.
    â€˜Oh, darling,’ she said to her child, ‘isn’t that nice? Say, “Thank you, Nick,” or should we call you “Uncle Nick”?’ she asked, glancing up at him and feeling embarrassed suddenly, now that he was here, trying to emphasize the family note.
    â€˜I’m not sure that I’m uncle material,’ he was saying, sitting on the other sofa, which was at right angles, shielding her from the rest of the tables. ‘Am I, Rosie? Do you like him?’ And he set the rabbit dancing, making Rosie chuckle.
    Imogen poured him some coffee. ‘So everything’s OK?’ she asked, keeping her voice low. ‘Gosh, what a relief. Honestly, I’m just so thankful for you. And Milo didn’t do the heavy father act?’
    Nick shrugged. ‘A bit. But he was entitled to, wasn’t he? Actually, he was brilliant.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘He’s saved my life.’
    â€˜Dear old Milo. So what will you do now?’
    â€˜I’m on my way home. I need to get everything sorted and,
anyway, it would have been a bit tricky to stay. You know what it’s like, everyone a bit embarrassed? I’ll come down again soon and try to be a bit more normal.’
    â€˜And what did Alice say?’
    Nick drew back a little; his face was unexpectedly suffused with colour and she watched him curiously.
    â€˜I haven’t told her yet,’ he admitted reluctantly.
    Once again, Imogen was seized with various sensations: that peculiar mix of triumph and shock; of pleasure at knowing more than Alice did; of being firmly on Nick’s side.
    â€˜But why not?’ she asked, pretending indignation on Alice’s behalf. ‘Honestly, Nick, she must be worried sick.’
    He looked uncomfortable, even grumpy. ‘I’m just not looking forward to the conversation. She won’t be pleased like you were. Not for me, anyway. She’ll be thankful that we’re off the hook, that’s all. She won’t give a damn about Dad and I’ll get another earful, that’s why.’
    â€˜Oh, Nick.’ She touched his knee lightly, then took her hand away quickly as he reached for it, and picked up the coffee pot. Rosie nodded sleepily, head askew, the rabbit still clutched to her chest. Imogen looked at her, her heart melting with love. Guilt twisted her gut. ‘But you’ll