Saving Willowbrook (14 page)

‘You're very efficient.'

‘It's my job.'

‘I've brought a bottle of wine. I hope you'll share it with me, and eat with me too?'

She felt breathless, so contented herself with a nod.

‘Same chalet as before?'

‘Yes, but come up to the house whenever you like.'

Feeling warm and happy, she watched him drive his car round the far side of the outbuildings.

He had come back. And he'd not only brought her a present – exactly the sort of present she liked best – but he'd brought something for Amy too. Maybe . . .

She put a stop to such thoughts. It wasn't safe to hope for too much. And this was a bad time to meet someone, with Miles coming down tomorrow.

Now, she'd better start cooking and stop daydreaming.

Rose happened to be looking out of her living room window when Oliver came out of the staff door at the rear of the surgery below – ran out would be a more apt description for the way he erupted from the building as if it were on fire. Surprised, she stood behind the net curtains, unashamedly spying on him.

He looked as if – no, he couldn't be. But he
was
, he was shaking! What had happened to him? She watched in shock as he put his arms round himself in a protective gesture and began breathing deeply. She could see his chest rise and fall, see how white his face was.

She'd never seen Oliver looking vulnerable before. He'd always been strong and determined, too determined sometimes. When he set his mind on something and felt it was the right thing to do, it was like trying to shovel away a mountain to get him to change his plans or ideas.

It was a long time before he moved and she continued to watch. After a while he sighed and let his arms fall, then rubbed his forehead as if it ached. He didn't go back inside the surgery, but strode off along the street, leaving his car behind.

She watched till he was out of sight then went back to her work. The flat was in chaos still, but the light was so good she couldn't resist starting a new painting.

Only she couldn't get back into the right mood because she kept seeing Oliver in her mind's eye. Was he ill or just upset? She hated to see anyone look that distressed. Even the man who'd hurt her so badly.

Eight

More guests turned up at Willowbrook that afternoon, a young couple who wanted only to hire a chalet and, if Ella was any judge, have a sexy weekend. The looks they kept exchanging positively sizzled, so she gave them a chalet that was a little apart from the others and left them to themselves, feeling rather envious of their closeness.

Next a slightly older couple with a baby turned up, wanting a chalet, a meal and to ‘chill out'. The baby was a dear little thing who beamed at the world and reminded Ella of her own daughter at that age.

She had to get a cot for them and as she lugged it from the outhouse next to the old barn, she found Cameron by her side.

‘Let me take that.'

She resisted. ‘You're paying to stay here. This is my job and I'm quite used to it.'

‘Spoilsport.' He tugged it gently out of her hands and carried it to the trolley. ‘Anything else?'

‘I need to get the bedding.'

She was pleased to have several customers so early in the season. But this put paid to her romantic meal with Cameron and for that she was sorry. It was safer, of course, not to be alone with him – but you didn't always want to be safe.

In spite of everything, she decided there was no need to look as if she'd been born wearing jeans, so after she'd given Amy her tea, she went up and changed into a pretty summer dress, studying herself in the mirror. The dress was rather old-fashioned, because she'd bought it at a charity shop, but she hoped he'd not notice that. It was a very pretty shade of dull green that went well with her hair. Today the dress felt a little loose. She'd lost a bit of weight lately. So she found a gold chain belt, bought in the same charity shop, a place where she bought clothes for Amy sometimes as well. She didn't put on make-up, because she had a good complexion and anyway, make-up would have been an unnecessary expense, so she'd stopped using it. He must take her as he found her.

She peeped into Amy's bedroom. ‘Tidy up now, darling, then you can read in bed for a while.'

Amy pulled a face but knew better than to argue about bed time. She began to put her toys away, the furry animals into a big basket, the dressing up clothes (also courtesy of the charity shop) into their box, the books on the shelves.

Ella watched, not offering to help. She'd decided years ago that she didn't have time to clear up the mess that seemed to reign in most children's bedrooms, so had made it a rule that her daughter must put everything away herself before bedtime, except for one soft toy and one book.

‘I think I'll let Teddy sleep with me again tonight.' Amy picked up her oldest toy, which had belonged to her mother as a child.

Ella looked at her in concern. The threadbare teddy always came out for comfort when something was worrying Amy. It had been out a few times lately.

‘Mr O'Neal is nice, isn't he?' Amy cuddled the teddy close, tracing one finger round and round his ears.

‘Very nice.'

‘I wish
he
was my father.'

‘Well, he isn't. However nice he is, he's a visitor and in a day or two he'll be gone.' She had to keep telling herself that, didn't dare hope for anything else.

Though he had come back.

‘I'm going to make a spell with my magic wand tomorrow so Mr O'Neal won't go away again.'

What did you say to that? Ella wondered. She was never quite sure whether Amy believed in magic or not. ‘You aren't – upset about anything?'

In answer Amy held out her arms for a hug and for a minute Ella cradled her close.

‘Mr O'Neal doesn't mind my limp, does he?' the child asked in a muffled voice.

‘Most people don't, darling.'

‘Some of them do. I can always tell. Daddy used to look away when I walked. He made me feel stupid.' She sobbed suddenly. ‘I don't want to see him. Do I really have to?'

‘Yes, I'm afraid you do.' Ella swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her own throat. What sort of man made a child feel like that? ‘We've said before that there are people who don't like to see anyone limping or with other problems. Some people don't like red hair. I used to get teased a lot about mine at school. They called me Carrots.' They'd had this conversation many times, but Amy seemed to get comfort from the iterations, so Ella would go through it as many times as necessary.

Amy reached out to touch her mother's hair. ‘It's not at all like carrots. I wish mine was the same colour as yours.'

‘Sometimes red hair gets darker as you get older. We shan't know about yours for a few years yet. But I shall love you whatever happens to your hair.'

‘And you won't mind if I have to use a wheelchair when I get bigger?'

‘As long as you drive it carefully and don't run me down.'

That brought the usual soft gurgle of laughter. After she'd hugged her mother, Amy pulled away, quickly rubbing a hand across her eyes. Picking up the book, she positioned the teddy carefully and snuggled down. ‘This is my mostest favourite story of all. I'm going to read it to Teddy. He always forgets the ending.'

‘He'll enjoy that. Goodnight, darling.'

Thoughtful now, Ella went slowly down the stairs to finish cooking the evening meal for the guests. She tried never to react with pity to her daughter's questions, but to speak about the problems Amy faced in matter-of-fact tones and treat her as you would any child. But sometimes you couldn't help wondering what it'd be like to have a child who could run freely, wondering why any child should be born with such a burden. Life could be so unfair.

Worry about things you can change!
she told herself firmly. It was one of her mantras and usually helped.

The thought of her daughter's vivid face and loving nature cheered her up, as it always did. Amy was a delight and Ella was lucky to have a child like that.

Rose couldn't help noticing the various staff members at the practice finishing for the day and calling cheerful farewells as they got into their vehicles. Everyone wanted to get home early on Fridays. By seven o'clock the small car park contained only one car besides her own – Oliver's.

She'd sworn to ignore him but couldn't get the memory of his anguish out of her mind, kept seeing him standing just below her window, looking alone and upset.

Her painting had gone well today. She tidied up carefully, put a stew on to simmer and then started on the unpacking she ought to have done earlier.

It was a while before the sound registered. Someone was knocking at the back door. She went to peer out of the window and saw Oliver looking up at her. He gestured to the door, asking her to open it. After a quick wave to show she'd understood, she ran down the back stairs and opened the door for him, surprised at how tired he was looking.

‘Are you all right?' she asked, forgetting for a moment that she didn't want to speak to him.

He shrugged. ‘I went for a walk, probably overdid it a bit. I've not been well, so haven't been doing a lot of exercise lately.'

She knew him too well. It was more than tiredness; he was deeply upset about something. She hesitated, not wanting to be drawn in, but unable to leave anyone hurting like this without making an effort to help. ‘Would you like a glass of wine? I was just about to celebrate moving in.'

He stared at her. ‘I thought you wanted to ignore my existence.'

She shrugged. ‘I can't. You'll be in and out of this building every day. Besides, life's too short to hold grudges. I'm used to the idea that you're back now. So what if you vanished without a word. I got on with my life.'

He grabbed hold of her arm and swung her round. ‘Wait a minute. What do you mean, “vanished without a word”? Since I had to go up to London suddenly and had only minutes to catch a train, I wrote you a letter and arranged for someone to leave it at your cottage.'

She stared. ‘I never received any letter.'

He took hold of both her arms, so that she was facing him. ‘Rose, I swear that I did write to you. After all we'd been to one another, I wouldn't just vanish. How could you even think that of me? In the letter I asked you to meet me at a London hotel, on neutral territory, to see if we could work something out. You know I didn't want us to break up.'

‘Neither did I.'

‘You didn't turn up at the hotel. I was sure the letter would have been delivered, so I took it for a refusal to compromise. That's why I didn't come back.'

She studied his face. Oliver wasn't lying. She'd swear to that.

‘You believe me?'

She nodded. ‘Who did you give it to?'

‘Your cousin.'

She stared at him. ‘Ella wouldn't forget something like that.'

‘You can be sure I'll be asking her what happened to it.'

So would she. ‘Come up and share a wine, then.' She felt shaky inside, didn't know what to do next, only knew she had to get to the bottom of this.

What could have happened to Oliver's letter?

What would have happened to her life if they'd found a way to compromise?

She took a deep breath. Best not go down that path. Water under the bridge.

Ella turned to see Cameron standing in the kitchen doorway. ‘Hi. Shall I show you to your table?'

‘I'd much rather stay here and lend a hand.'

‘I've just about finished. It's only casseroled steak, which is my main standby and freezes well. I made a big batch today, so that I could freeze some. I don't claim to be a gourmet cook.'

‘It smells wonderful.' He went to sit on a kitchen stool. ‘I'll stay and chat, then.'

‘I'll be moving to and fro, serving.'

He caught hold of her hand, forcing her to stop and look at him. ‘Are you nervous about being alone with me? Surely not?'

She was going to deny it, out of sheer pride, but couldn't lie to him. ‘I am a bit nervous.'

‘So am I.'

‘
You
are?'

‘Yes. I don't want anything to go wrong between us. I want to – well, give us a chance. I know it's early days, but I really like you as well as finding you attractive. I love your hair. It's a glorious colour.' He raised one hand to touch it, and even that slight gesture sent warmth through her.

She really liked him too, but didn't dare go as far as to admit that.

While she was still trying to work out what to say to him, the guests with the baby turned up for their evening meal and the moment was lost. She forced a bright smile and showed them to their places, suggesting they park the buggy in which the baby was sleeping in a place where she could switch off the wall light. She then went to fetch their starters. It was only tomato and red pepper soup with cheese croutons, a soup that also froze well and was another of her standbys, but guests seemed to like it.

‘You're at the other corner table,' she told Cameron as she came back into the kitchen. ‘I'll serve your soup now as well and—'

‘No. I'll eat here with you later and we'll take it in turns to keep an eye on your other guests. I can serve them for you. It's no fun eating on my own.'

He spoke firmly, as if he didn't intend to take no for an answer, so she didn't argue. She'd been looking forward to sharing a meal with him. ‘Oh – well, all right. Amy and I usually eat at this table. I'll set it in a minute.'