by Allen, Anne
mind? How does anyone told they have a terminal illness deal with such news? As if she knew she was being
observed, her mother turned her head.
‘It is beautiful, is it not? I understand why you like coming here, although I would have thought the business
would keep you fully occupied. It certainly did with your father. He was rarely home, as I’m sure you remember.’
Her face twitched as if at a painful memory.
Charlotte played with her glass, unsure how to answer. ‘Daddy loved the publishing world and was jolly good
at what he did. He enjoyed all the socialising, too. There were always parties going on at one publishing house or
another. I…I thought I loved it as much, but came to realise I wanted more from life. It’s why I’ve handed over
most of the running to Tony while I write and, and do other things. Find what I truly want, I suppose.’
Her mother’s eyebrows lifted and she stared at Charlotte with the scathing look which used to drain her
confidence when a child. And even as a young woman.
‘In my day we did not have the luxury of looking for what we “truly wanted”. Unless we had a particular
career in mind, and I did not, then a woman sought a good marriage. In that I was fortunate, although I was not
blessed with–’
‘The son you wanted, Mother?’ Charlotte’s voice was sharp.
‘I was going to say long marriage, losing your father when I did. He was only in his sixties, after all. And
although I admit I wanted a son, I was not unhappy to have a daughter,’ her mother said, coolly.
Before Charlotte could reply a waiter arrived with their starters, giving both of them time to assess the
direction of the conversation. The last thing Charlotte wanted was a fight, aware how inappropriate it was at
such a time. And what would be the point? Her mother was hardly likely to admit to being an uncaring parent
and metamorphose into the kind of mother she had always longed for. Deciding discretion was the better part of
valour, she changed the subject.
‘Have you definitely decided to leave La Folie on Saturday? I understand there’s a room available and the rest
would do you good, Mother.’
Annette pursed her lips. ‘I have already said I wish to return home and there’s no point in asking me to
change my mind. Not only am I anxious about the garden but I have various…commitments which I cannot
ignore. There will be plenty of time for me to rest once I’ve satisfied myself all is as it should be.’
Charlotte was mystified as to the commitments, but thought it best not to pursue it. ‘In which case, would you
like me to come back with you so I can be of use in some way?’
‘Oh, there’s no need for you to do that, Charlotte, I can manage.’ She paused for a split second, adding, ‘Thank
you for your offer. It was kind of you.’ Annette’s face was touched by the glimmer of a smile and Charlotte
nodded in acknowledgement. And guilty relief. ‘Oh, and by the way, this seafood cocktail is one of the best I have
ever tasted. Malcolm was absolutely right about this restaurant.’ The smile still hovered.
‘Good, I’m pleased. Would you like another drink? Perhaps some wine?’
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The focus returned to the meal and Charlotte did her best to be a considerate hostess, keen to make sure her
mother had no complaints. The conversation was a little stilted, with Charlotte talking about her friends in
Guernsey and Annette about the WI. By tacit, unspoken agreement, the subject of Annette’s illness was never
mentioned. As they returned to the car, her face slightly flushed, Annette said how much she had enjoyed both
the shopping and the lunch. Charlotte smiled, saying it had been a pleasure and drove her back to La Folie
thinking it had turned out better than expected. But she still felt guilty about letting her mother return home
alone.
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chapter twenty-six
That evening Charlotte allowed herself to daydream while soaking in the bath. It wasn’t something she
encouraged, being by nature more of a realist, but thoughts of love and romance persisted in taking over her
mind. Luxuriating in the heady perfume of the aromatic oils she had swished into the water, she knew she
wanted more from life than what her mother referred to as a “good marriage”. The phrase spoke volumes,
confirming as it did Annette had married for security rather than love. She experienced a pang of sadness for her
parents, wishing they could have had a happy, loving relationship instead. Acknowledging her own foray into
marriage had not been entirely successful, she had at least thought herself in love with Richard and he with her.
Looking back, Charlotte conceded it was nothing like the intense emotion she now felt towards Andy.
The thought of perhaps spending the rest of her life with him was intoxicating but…there was always a “but”,
wasn’t there? If she was a character in a romance novel, all obstacles would magically dissolve away and she and
her lover would live happily ever after. But she wasn’t: she was a flesh and blood woman who was falling in love
with a flesh and blood man – with issues. Although he seemed to be saying he loved her and wanted to be with
her, she sensed his reticence about the difference in their backgrounds. And if he were to meet her mother, his
fears would be confirmed. But she wasn’t her mother and not as hung up on class and money. The problem was
as she saw it, Andy, in spite of his own successful career, viewed himself as the son of a poor fisherman, albeit
one deprived of his inheritance. And, deep down, she knew she was not completely sure herself. Holding her
breath, she submerged her head, hoping to clear her mind. It didn’t work.
Andy arrived at seven, looking particularly suave, she thought, in a pale grey suit and open-neck cream shirt.
He barely gave her time to say hello before cupping her face in his hands and giving her a lingering, ardent kiss.
Releasing her, he smiled and said, ‘I’ve been looking forward to that all day. How about you?’
‘Me too,’ she murmured in his ear, and dropped a light kiss on his cheek. The scent of lime cologne lingered in
the air. He took her hand, leading her to the car and opened the passenger door with a bow. Laughing, she slid
into the seat and he walked round to the other side, and slipped in.
‘I’ve booked a table at a seafood restaurant, Le Nautique, overlooking the harbour. As you love fish,’ he said,
touching her hand.
‘Lovely. I always feel as if I’m being particularly good when I eat fish and won’t put on weight.’ She patted her
stomach, laughing.
‘You have a gorgeous figure, please don’t diet. Can’t abide stick thin women.’
‘There’s no fear of it happening to me! Love my food too much.’
Their eyes locked for a moment before Andy turned his head and started the ignition. Charlotte’s stomach,
only slightly rounded, was full of butterflies. It promised to be a fun evening.
Two hours later Charlotte sank contentedly back into the car, having enjoyed great food and good company.
Andy had been attentive and flirtatious and she began to hope they could resolve their mutual reservations
about a long-term relationship. They were en route to his cottage for coffee and, hopefully, a sleepover.
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During the evening Andy had told her about Jim’s reaction to the news about Harold and how he h
ad refused
to say why he would not contest the inheritance. As he spoke Andy raked his hands through his hair in
frustration. She had grabbed his hands to calm him down, saying his father must have a good reason and he had
to be patient. Charlotte agreed it was odd, but there was nothing to be done by getting angry. Thankfully, he had
let the subject drop and she went on to describe the outing with her mother. By this time both of them were
moaning about their respective parents being stubborn and hard to understand, and the irony of it made them
burst out laughing.
Back at the cottage Andy put the kettle on and measured out the coffee while Charlotte set out mugs and
milk.
‘Fancy a nightcap with the coffee?’ Andy asked, holding up a bottle of single malt.
‘Please.’ Charlotte carried a tray into the sitting room and placed it on the table in front of the sofa before
closing the curtains and switching on lamps. With the ceiling lights off the room was cosy; soft pools of light
illuminating the pictures on the walls. She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs on the sofa, whisky in hand.
Andy brought in the coffee, picked up his glass and joined her.
‘Warm enough?’ he asked, pulling her close.
‘Mm, yes thanks. Thank goodness for central heating!’ She sipped her drink, enjoying the peaty taste of the
whisky in her mouth. Andy tipped back his glass, sighed contentedly and, taking her glass, put both of them on
the tray. He leant close again, tracing the outline of her mouth with his finger before kissing her gently on the
lips.
‘Would you like to stay tonight?’ he asked, between kisses.
‘Yes, love to. I…I’d like to talk about something,’ she replied, when he sat back.
‘Sure, go ahead. I’ll pour the coffee.’ He filled their mugs and leaned back on the sofa, his eyes on her face.
Charlotte flicked her hair back as she gathered her thoughts. ‘It’s about my mother and, and everything. Us.
Guernsey. London. What to do.’ She stopped and took a sip of her coffee.
‘I see. Or rather, I don’t see, not yet anyway. But I get the drift. Why don’t you tell me more?’ He smiled
reassuringly.
Emboldened, she continued, ‘As I told you, Mother’s returning home on Saturday and I feel guilty about
letting her go alone. Not that there’s much I can do her staff can’t, but still…So, I thought perhaps I could go to
London, catch up with the business, do some writing which I absolutely must do soon, and then invite Mother to
stay for a night or two. I can keep an eye on her, make sure she’s not getting worse. All things which I can’t do if I
stay here,’ she said, pushing the words out quickly.
Andy’s forehead creased into fine lines. He picked up his mug. ‘Are you saying you want to go back to London
or think you should? And where do I come into it?’
She sighed. ‘That’s the question I can’t answer. It’s your call, Andy. I feel I should go back, though not
necessarily immediately, but part of me wants to stay here because – because of you. But we both need to be
clear what we feel for each other –’
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The kiss took her by surprise. His lips held hers so firmly she threw her arms around him and gave into the
pleasure coursing through her body.
‘Have I answered your question? I want there to be a future for us, but I understand it’s not going to be easy.
There’s your mother, your home, your business – it’s a big deal,’ he said, grasping her hands.
Charlotte smiled her relief. If they could find a compromise it could work.
‘Neither of us can make any promises yet, we haven’t known each other very long, have we? Could we agree
to see as much of each other as possible and see…how it goes? No expectations, no commitments. Just getting to
know each other better.’
Andy nodded. ‘I’d go along with that. Our lifestyles are so different so we have to make adjustments. I can’t
offer you what you’ve been used to and, frankly, it probably wouldn’t appeal to me. Grand houses, busy social
whirl…’
‘I don’t give a fig about my old lifestyle. I admit I’ve been spoilt by having people look after me but I can learn
how to cook and clean and…’ for a moment the thought of having to clean a house herself caused her to panic,
but surely she could have a cleaner? She could easily afford it. Clearing her throat she went on, ‘do all the usual
household things. To keep an eye on the business I would need to visit London regularly, but it’s not an issue.
The real problem is my mother and being there for her while she…she’s still around.’ Her voice shook as she said
the painful words.
He stroked her face, wiping away a stray tear. ‘Please don’t cry. According to the doctor nothing bad’s going
to happen for months and if your mother does persist with Gillian’s treatment she could pull through and go into
remission.’ He held her tight for a moment and Charlotte relaxed into his arms. Perhaps something could be
worked out with regard to her mother. The woman who had made it clear she did not need Charlotte’s help. Or
at least not yet.
She was woken the next morning by a smiling Andy bearing a mug of steaming coffee.
‘Come on, sleepyhead. You’ll have to get a move on if you want a lift,’ he murmured in her ear then dropped a
kiss on her nose. Showered and dressed he presented a complete contrast to the man she remembered making
love to her the previous night. Summoning a sleepy smile, she pushed the hair out of her eyes and sat up.
‘Thanks. You’re looking remarkably cheerful this morning. Any particular reason?’ she asked, already
knowing the answer.
He sat on the bed and handed over the mug. ‘You know why!’ he said aiming a mock punch at her arm. ‘I’m
happy because you’ve agreed to spend a little longer here before rushing back to London. Here meaning in my
home – and my bed.’
Now fully awake, Charlotte’s lips curled up at the memory of their discussion last night. Andy had been
persuasive in his argument about there being no need for her to leave immediately and by staying here, in his
house, for a couple of weeks, they could become better acquainted, as he put it. Remembering their passionate
lovemaking brought a warmth to her cheeks. They were fast becoming extremely well acquainted!
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‘And I’m happy too. Will I get coffee in bed every morning once I move in?’ she asked, tilting her head.
‘Huh! We’ll see. But as it’s the one skill you’ve managed to learn, perhaps it should be you bringing me coffee.
The next step will be teaching you how to cook so I can enjoy a cooked breakfast in bed,’ he said, grinning.
Charlotte giggled. ‘You might have to wait a while for that pleasure. Perhaps I should sign up for cookery
classes and receive professional tuition.’ She managed to duck in time to avoid the pillow Andy threw at her and
swung her legs out of bed to head for the shower, still laughing. Andy grabbed a quick kiss before returning
downstairs.
After a rushed breakfast of juice and toast, they set off in the car for St Peter Port. Andy dropped her at
Louisa’s before continuing to his office in Clifton, off College Street. Charlotte walked into the kitchen to find her
friend munching on a bowl of muesli.
‘Morning. Another good night?’ Louisa asked, with a mischievous sm
ile.
‘Good morning. Yes, it was and I’ve something to tell you…’
By the time Charlotte had explained her plans Louisa was flinging her arms around her, smiling broadly.
‘I’m so pleased. I’d love to see you make a go of it with Andy, particularly if it means you’ll live in Guernsey.’
She stood back and looked enquiringly at Charlotte. ‘You do plan to move here, don’t you?’
‘If it works out, I suppose so. For the moment I’ve said I’ll stay a couple of weeks or so, see how we get on. But
like you, I’m keeping my London house whatever happens. It’s a good idea to have a backup plan, I think.’ She
helped herself to coffee and sat down at the table. ‘We’re not making a fuss about it and I won’t tell Mother yet.
Andy isn’t saying anything to his parents either. Especially not until this business of Harold and the inheritance
is sorted. In case he learns I’ve been talking to people, particularly Maud.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll only tell Paul. Are you leaving today?’
They continued to chat until Louisa departed for work, with Charlotte promising not to leave until she
returned at teatime. Once on her own she rang the car hire company Andy had suggested and arranged for a car
to be brought round later, to be hired by the week. Andy’s cottage was a bit out in the sticks and she would
definitely need transport. At the moment Charlotte was not sure how she would fill her days, except for making
a proper start on her novel, well overdue. The novels bought in Frome had been engrossing and provided
valuable pointers for her own book. Now was an ideal opportunity while she had no other commitments. No
excuses, she told herself, going upstairs to change.
That evening Charlotte pulled into Andy’s drive and parked next to his car. Excitement and nervousness warred
within her, creating a feeling of light-headedness as she manoeuvred her case from the boot. A deep breath and
she wheeled the case to the front door. Before she could ring the bell, Andy flung the door open and pulled her
into his arms.
What seemed like hours later, but was only seconds, Charlotte released herself and smiled. ‘That was some
