The Runaway Bridesmaid (24 page)

She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the threadbare, care-worn rooms. The cottage reflected an intense sadness at having its familiar adornments stripped from its walls and a sharp pang of grief for the loss of a good friend tightened her chest. She truly hoped, despite Charlie’s prediction of doom, Brian Dixon and his family would cherish Thornleigh Lodge and treat it with the same love and affection Bernice, and then she, had bestowed upon its welcoming spirit. She was sure Charlie was wrong about him, just trying to stir things up as usual. It was, after all, his forte.

In the last conversation she’d had with Austin he had suggested a trip to New York for Thanksgiving and she’d agreed, relishing the opportunity to show off her city and its delights to him, to reveal her true self on home turf. Perhaps she could grow to feel more passionate about him, she thought. They had arranged to meet that afternoon at two p.m. at the lodge so that Mr Dixon could conduct his final inspection of the property before instructing his solicitors to exchange on the deal before close of business.

Rosie was more than ready to return home now and October thirty-first couldn’t come soon enough. She planned to visit her father in Stonington Beach for a few days, and then to gather her courage and meet up with Freya. She hadn’t spoken to her since their conversation after the wedding. She had called a couple of times over the last few days to tell her she was on her way home but her phone had gone to voicemail. She recalled her conversation with Lauren about Freya continuing her wild party lifestyle and sighed at the stupidity of her sister and her inability to appreciate her good fortune in finding love when so many others struggled, perhaps all their lives like Bernice, to be with someone they loved and who loved them too.

And she hadn’t been home since April – a full six months! What was the matter with her? Where did her priorities lie? Hiding out in the UK, licking her wounds? When had she gotten so self-focused? Rosie realised how much she had changed over the last few weeks. But had that change been for the better? She wasn’t so sure.

Having finished with the inside of the house, she turned her attention to the outside for a final dose of the therapy it offered, but a muffled ringing sound intruded on her soothing sojourn into oblivion. As the buzzing continued, she straightened her aching limbs and wondered why she felt so sluggish. A pale shaft of sunlight glanced through the drifting clouds to highlight the serenity of garden in the soft golden glow of late autumn. Would Brian Dixon appreciate the love she had lavished on the plants and shrubs that year? Somehow she doubted it.

The phone continued its jingle as Rosie groped her way to the console table in the hall. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Clearly someone was anxious to contact her as it had taken her a while to get there – it could only be bad news. She quashed the ridiculous hope snaking through her mind that it might be Charlie.

She snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Rosie, it’s Freya.’ Rosie’s shoulders stiffened with shock at hearing her sister’s voice. It sounded so close. And why was she ringing on the landline? She didn’t even think Freya had the number. ‘Don’t hang up. Can we meet?’

‘Oh Freya, yes, yes. It was the first thing I was going to do when I got back home. Will you come out to Stonington Beach?’

‘I don’t have to do that.’

‘Well, no, no of course, but…’

‘What I mean is, I’m right here.’

‘Right here…’ Rosie’s brain decelerated. What did she mean?

‘Jacob drove me down. I’m in this gorgeous little teashop in Brampton. Susan gave me your number and has been plying me with tea until I plucked up the courage to call. If I’d left it any longer I’d have had to make the call from the bathroom. Will you meet me? Please?’

Rosie’s throat had seized up. She swallowed.

‘Yes, of course, of course. I’ll be right there.’

Rosie jogged down the garden path, her heart pounding as she saw the For Sale board proudly announcing the words ‘Sold’ in big red letters. Her sister, Freya, the most self-focused person she knew, had flown all the way to the UK to see her. More than that, she’d even driven down from London to Devon!

As she arrived at the tearoom door, its Closed sign dangling nonchalantly from a tiny brass chain, she glanced at her mother’s slender watch; two p.m. She would miss her meeting with Austin and Brian Dixon. She dragged out her iPhone but her call went straight to voicemail. Presumably he was on his way to Thornleigh Lodge.

‘Hi, Austin, it’s Rosie. My sister’s arrived in Devon and I’m on my way to meet her. I know today is the day you’re planning to exchange contracts on the lodge, so please just go ahead. Completion on thirty-first is great. I’ll ring you later to check everything went smoothly. You can show Mr Dixon around the lodge without me – the key is under the terracotta pot next to the front door. Thanks for everything, Austin.’ She jabbed off the phone and briefly wondered whether she should text Charlie to let him know she wouldn’t be at their meeting with the London publisher that afternoon. But as the arrangements had been made without consultation or her agreement, she decided she would afford him a similar lack of courtesy.

All thought of Charlie and his schemes flashed from her mind as the old-fashioned bell tinkled above her head, and her eyes fell on her beloved sister. Her anxiety vanished and her mind cleared, her heart ballooning with love.

Freya’s sapphire eyes met hers as Jacob stood up from the gingham-bedecked table to guide Susan by the elbow into the adjacent shop, chatting about her suppliers, asking her to show him how the ancient bacon slicer worked.

‘Hello, Rosie.’

Those two words were all it took and the sisters were in each other’s arms, tears rolling down their cheeks, questions erupting from their lips until the crying ceased and they sat drinking in their sister’s familiar features, joy at their long-delayed reunion expanding their hearts.

‘I love you, Rosie. You were always there for me and Dad. I’m sorry I never appreciated you before. Dad sends his love, too. I’ve been staying out at Stonington Beach for the last couple of months, helping him and Dot to manage the store. They were starting to struggle to do it by themselves and I wanted to help. Everything is fine now, so you don’t need to worry.’

Good grief, was this Freya talking? In control, making an attempt to soothe her jagged nerves?

‘Who are you and what have you done with my sister Freya?’ Rosie attempted a smile as the tears brimmed along her lashes.

‘It’s my turn now, Rosie,’ she whispered.

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘Look, Rosie. I’m not completely useless, you know. You just think I am and so you treat me as though I am.’

‘I…’

‘When Mom died, you did everything for me, Rosie, and I love you for that. But not only did I lose my mom, I lost my big sister, too. Maybe when I was a child I needed you to braid my hair and get me to school on time, but when I got to be a teenager, well, what I really needed was a big sister, a friend and a confidante, not a babysitter. You’d just got into the habit of running my life for me. I needed to make my own mistakes and learn from them, no matter how hard the lesson, how far I fell. But whatever I did, you were always there to put things right and smooth over the cracks, so I didn’t have to. I want my big sister back!’

‘But…’

‘No buts this time, Rosie. Dad needs someone to help with the store and that someone is going to be me. I’m a big girl now. Let me step up and do this for him. Let me show you both I can be here for you, I can do it! Plus, Jacob is buying a house out there for us. I love him, Rosie. With all my heart and soul. It just took me a little longer to realise it. No more excessive partying for me from now on. In fact, no partying at all.’

‘Oh, Freya, you have no idea how happy I am for you.’ Relief at the news her sister had at last matured into an adult sent waves of joy through Rosie’s veins.

‘It’s time for you to start concentrating on your own happiness. Though from what I can see you are already doing that. Something, or should I say, someone has been having an effect on you. You’re glowing! Look at you; your skin is tanned, your cheeks are rosy, and it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile as a go-to expression. But it’s what’s going on inside that’s given you that halo of radiance that just can’t be manufactured. Are you in love too?’

Rosie felt warmth seep into her features. Freya saw it and leapt from her seat to envelop her sister in a fragrant embrace. ‘I knew it! Who? What’s he like? Where is he?’

‘Well, you probably wouldn’t believe me, but there are two…’

‘Oh my God! Jacob, get in here! Rosie can’t decide between two guys. Can you believe it? All these years crossing the desert of love and two are hanging around the oasis waiting for her decision! Rosie, please, this time will you trust your heart to tell your head what to do? Not the other way round?’

Jacob sent Freya a look of such adoration that Rosie had to fight back her emotions once again. But he was also astute enough to notice Rosie’s discomfort at having her indecision thrust into the open.

‘When is Thornleigh Lodge due to be sold?’ Jacob asked in an attempt to change the subject back to a more mundane level after the highly-charged emotional exchanges.

‘Oh, Rosie, are you sure you still want to sell it? Wouldn’t Aunt Bernie want you to keep it?’ Rosie saw Freya flash a look to Susan and realised they must have had a lengthy heart-to-heart before the phone call to the cottage. But her sister was right. Bernice had wanted her to keep the lodge. And now it was wearing its glamorous autumn coat, how could she bear to part with it? She glanced at her watch. It was three p.m. Would Austin and the buyer still be there?

‘You are absolutely right, Freya. Aunt Bernice would want the lodge to stay in the family. I need to go. Will you wait for me here? There’s something I have to do.’

‘Sure.’ A slow smile appeared on Freya’s pink frosted lips as she laced her fingers through Jacob’s and they exchanged a wink.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rosie rushed from the tearoom into the street outside. Halloween was approaching and whilst Devon did not embrace the festival to the extreme that New Yorkers did, the event’s imminence was apparent in the gardens she passed on her dash back to Thornleigh Lodge. She loved the fruit-laden fall: the mellow veils of mist, the russet orange and amber-tinged leaves floating down like confetti to produce Mother Nature’s autumnal carpet, the ballooning pumpkins and the anticipated spice of pumpkin pie. In the distance she caught a glimpse of the familiar Welcome to Brampton Village sign, and she was surprised to experience a warm feeling of homecoming, of belonging.

She pushed open the cottage’s picket gate. Her ears pricked up when she caught a snippet of voices floating on the wisp of a breeze. She knew it would be Austin. Relief surged through her as she sent up a fervent ‘thank you’ that she had arrived in the nick of time as Brian Dixon undertook his final inspection of the property.

With her breath creating vaporous spirals in the cold air, Rosie experienced a frisson of excited anticipation of seeing Austin again. She imagined his surprise when he saw her approach whilst he talked business beneath the skeletal canopy of the cherry tree, knowing he expected her to be gossiping over a pot of tea with her wayward sister.

She decided she would offer to buy him dinner as compensation for the lost sale, a token of her appreciation of his patience and the hard work he’d put in, and as a celebratory finale to the completion of their business relationship and, maybe, the start of a more personal one.

The men’s voices were audible now as she walked towards the summerhouse, freshly glazed with peppermint and cream paint, behind which their conversation was taking place.

‘... rip it all up?’

‘Silly cow, and she didn’t realise a thing? So much for the future of corporate America if
all
their executives are as naïve as Rosie Hamilton,’ a broad Devonshire accent pronounced.

Rosie froze in her path.

‘She probably will never know, anyway.’ Austin’s dulcet English tones assured Brian Dixon. ‘She’ll be ensconced in her life in the “city that never sleeps”. Her sister has paid her visit, probably to persuade her to go back home with her. Marvellous timing, if you ask me. I’ll cover our tracks, don’t worry. She trusts me. All the paperwork is in order, ready to exchange with your solicitor on your say-so when I get back to the office.’

‘Fantastic job, Austin, my friend. Go right ahead. I’ve just had the nod from my planning officer friend at Devon County Council that my planning application will be sympathetically considered, subject to one or two minor amendments to the drawings, for the erection of six retirement apartments. You’ve done a great job holding her off for so long and thwarting all the interest from other purchasers. And she never realised a thing, you say? Gorgeous little chocolate-box cottage like this? Like bees to nectar are potential buyers round here!’

‘Not a thing, Brian. But then, I do have my ways and means.’

‘Bet you have, mate. I heard through the cricket grapevine you were wining and dining our auburn-haired Miss Hamilton. So your job wasn’t
that
difficult for you, was it?’

‘Look, Brian, all I’m interested in is my twenty per cent.’

Rosie’s heart flayed her chest in objection to what her ears were hearing. An involuntary shudder radiated from her locks to her Louboutins and goosebumps prickled on her forearms. Her knees crumbled under the shock. She leant against the side of the summerhouse to steady her collapse, bent double, clutching at her stomach to prevent the involuntary dry retching.

Why did life have to throw so many missiles in her path? Rip up her aunt’s beloved garden? Knock down the cottage? Her breathing became laboured and her mind struggled to catalogue the facts revealed by the conversation. As she steadied her stance, her senses were devoured by an anger so intense that pins and needles shot to her extremities.

The traitor!

Austin had been aware of Brian Dixon’s intentions for the cottage from the outset. In fact, he had played an instrumental part in brokering the whole deal, discouraging other buyers who might have offered a more realistic price, or who might have wished to use the cottage as a family home or retirement cottage. But what hurt the most, at that precise moment, was that he’d encouraged their friendship for the sole purpose of ensuring a smooth transmission of the property from Bernice’s naïve executrix to Brian Dixon for his twenty per cent cut!