the excessive fare he demanded, her heart slammed against her chest in objection to the sight that met her eyes. Proud and incongruous, hammered into the garden gate post, was a For Sale board. Was it swift service or unseemly haste? Her aunt’s funeral had only been the day before.
A sharp slap of déjà vu ensued as she leaned forward to hand over the contents of her purse to the driver and then cursed when she saw he was still there to witness her stumble when the four-inch heels of her stilettos sunk into the gravel path and she lurched forward onto her palms at the front porch. The blistered door croaked open and Rosie allowed the cottage to wrap her in its calm; to insulate her from the humiliation.
Lauren had been right. Distance did help to alleviate the immediacy of the trauma she had experienced since the wedding, which otherwise would have been insurmountable. At least now she could manage to go a full two hours without bursting into tears.
She switched on the kettle, a reflex action now, and filled her aunt’s stout brown pot with tea leaves left in the cupboard. Inevitably, just as the kettle clicked off, there was a knock at the front door.
‘Oh, hi, Susan. Come in, come in. The kettle has just boiled.’
‘Thanks, Rosie, dear. I saw the taxi outside Thornleigh as I was closing up the shop for the evening and wanted to ask you about… well, about the For Sale sign outside. Is there no possibility of you keeping the cottage on? Bernice adored Thornleigh Lodge, and I know it’s none of my business, but it would have made her happy if it could remain in the Marshall family.’
Rosie smiled at her aunt’s oldest friend, her neatly pinned hair and rosy cheeks the epitome of a country shop proprietor and the village busybody. Clearly nothing escaped the notice of Susan Moorfield. However, in Brampton and villages like it, privacy did not equate to friendship nor did it contribute to a sense of community. Her loose curls, her rounded curves and her soft serene voice with a slight West Country burr ensured her otherwise accusatory words landed on Rosie’s ears with a caress instead of a thud.
Smiling, Rosie set the teapot onto the kitchen table and dribbled milk into mismatched china tea cups, minus the saucers.
‘If it’s a question of money, Rosie dear, well, I really don’t need the very generous legacy Bernice left me. You could use the money to smarten up the paintwork, and I’m sure Ollie will be more than willing to make a start on the garden. He’ll be at the village fair on Saturday. I’ll introduce you if you like.’
‘Susan, that is a very kind offer, but no, it’s not a matter of finances at all. I admit I was shocked when I saw the For Sale board go up so swiftly. It’s just lawyers doing their job efficiently, I guess. But, sadly, I’m leaving to go back to the US tomorrow and I don’t have the time to spend commuting back and forth to the UK to enjoy Thornleigh’s charms. And I’m worried about its maintenance over the winter months, too. Look how rapidly it deteriorated over the last few months of Aunt Bernice’s life.’
‘Your aunt was devastated at the state of the garden and that she couldn’t manage to get out as much as she used to, but she was waiting for Ollie’s arrival. Always the first weekend in May, he’d arrive with his wheelbarrow and chainsaw and have it whipped into shape in no time.’
Susan’s arthritic fingers fiddled with the teacup handle. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. It’s your life and your choice. I just had to make the offer. I miss her so much. I feel a tremendous burden of guilt that I wasn’t with her when she passed away. If only I…’
‘Susan, it wasn’t your fault. She died in her sleep. Nothing more sinister than that. I’ve been doing the same as you, allowing my mind to cascade into various scenarios and that path does no one any favours.’
Tears rolled down Susan’s papery cheeks. As Rosie patted her wrinkled hand, she
A sharp slap of déjà vu ensued as she leaned forward to hand over the contents of her purse to the driver and then cursed when she saw he was still there to witness her stumble when the four-inch heels of her stilettos sunk into the gravel path and she lurched forward onto her palms at the front porch. The blistered door croaked open and Rosie allowed the cottage to wrap her in its calm; to insulate her from the humiliation.
Lauren had been right. Distance did help to alleviate the immediacy of the trauma she had experienced since the wedding, which otherwise would have been insurmountable. At least now she could manage to go a full two hours without bursting into tears.
She switched on the kettle, a reflex action now, and filled her aunt’s stout brown pot with tea leaves left in the cupboard. Inevitably, just as the kettle clicked off, there was a knock at the front door.
‘Oh, hi, Susan. Come in, come in. The kettle has just boiled.’
‘Thanks, Rosie, dear. I saw the taxi outside Thornleigh as I was closing up the shop for the evening and wanted to ask you about… well, about the For Sale sign outside. Is there no possibility of you keeping the cottage on? Bernice adored Thornleigh Lodge, and I know it’s none of my business, but it would have made her happy if it could remain in the Marshall family.’
Rosie smiled at her aunt’s oldest friend, her neatly pinned hair and rosy cheeks the epitome of a country shop proprietor and the village busybody. Clearly nothing escaped the notice of Susan Moorfield. However, in Brampton and villages like it, privacy did not equate to friendship nor did it contribute to a sense of community. Her loose curls, her rounded curves and her soft serene voice with a slight West Country burr ensured her otherwise accusatory words landed on Rosie’s ears with a caress instead of a thud.
Smiling, Rosie set the teapot onto the kitchen table and dribbled milk into mismatched china tea cups, minus the saucers.
‘If it’s a question of money, Rosie dear, well, I really don’t need the very generous legacy Bernice left me. You could use the money to smarten up the paintwork, and I’m sure Ollie will be more than willing to make a start on the garden. He’ll be at the village fair on Saturday. I’ll introduce you if you like.’
‘Susan, that is a very kind offer, but no, it’s not a matter of finances at all. I admit I was shocked when I saw the For Sale board go up so swiftly. It’s just lawyers doing their job efficiently, I guess. But, sadly, I’m leaving to go back to the US tomorrow and I don’t have the time to spend commuting back and forth to the UK to enjoy Thornleigh’s charms. And I’m worried about its maintenance over the winter months, too. Look how rapidly it deteriorated over the last few months of Aunt Bernice’s life.’
‘Your aunt was devastated at the state of the garden and that she couldn’t manage to get out as much as she used to, but she was waiting for Ollie’s arrival. Always the first weekend in May, he’d arrive with his wheelbarrow and chainsaw and have it whipped into shape in no time.’
Susan’s arthritic fingers fiddled with the teacup handle. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. It’s your life and your choice. I just had to make the offer. I miss her so much. I feel a tremendous burden of guilt that I wasn’t with her when she passed away. If only I…’
‘Susan, it wasn’t your fault. She died in her sleep. Nothing more sinister than that. I’ve been doing the same as you, allowing my mind to cascade into various scenarios and that path does no one any favours.’
Tears rolled down Susan’s papery cheeks. As Rosie patted her wrinkled hand, she
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