‘Why did you stay away abroad for so long?’ she asked suddenly, handing him the glass back.
‘It’s a long story,’ Kit replied shortly. ‘Sleep for you now.’
‘Okay.’ Julia snuggled under the covers and watched as he moved towards the door. He stopped just in front of it and paused.
‘I do understand, you know.’
‘Understand what?’
‘Some of your pain. Night, Julia.’
‘Night, Kit.’
26
The following day saw Julia take a bath and get dressed. As she lay on her bed, exhausted from the process of putting on her jeans and a jumper, she glanced out of the window and saw that since she had been sick, spring had arrived. She could hear birds singing outside her window, and smelt a hint of the freshness that indicated nature coming back to life.
She felt it was a metaphor for her own existence, as there was no doubt that, although physically weakened, she felt stronger mentally. Just because she no longer thought of them for every second of the day – in fact, occasionally, whole minutes had gone past – did not mean she loved them or missed them any less. Just like the spring appearing, it was nature’s way of helping her heal and re-grow.
She heard Kit climb the stairs and shut the bathroom door behind him. He was sleeping on one of the narrow bunk beds meant for children, not for six-foot-plus adults. She smiled as she thought of his kindness. He was a true-life Good Samaritan, who’d helped her in her hour of need. And she realised how much she had enjoyed being looked after.
Even though Julia was in no doubt Xavier had loved her, it was she who had been the carer in the relationship. He had been far too wrapped up in his music to think of Julia’s domestic and practical needs. And, like the adorable child he was, he looked to her for constant reassurance and praise.
Julia pushed down the ember of guilt that told her she must remember her husband as she had for the past eight months: perfect.
There was a soft tap on her bedroom door. ‘Come in,’ she called.
Kit’s head, with its mop of curly hair, appeared around it. He smiled when he saw she was dressed.
‘I don’t think I need to ask if you’re feeling better, do I? Looks like I’ll be redundant at any second.’
‘And I’m sure you’ll be relieved,’ retorted Julia quickly. She indicated the window. ‘I was thinking how much I’d like to go and have a breath of fresh air. I’ve been in this house almost a week now – Oh God!’ she uttered, as a thought struck her. ‘Is it Friday today?’
‘Last time I looked it was, yes,’ Kit agreed.
‘Oh no!’ she cried, sinking back into her pillows. ‘I was meant to see my agent for lunch yesterday at Claridge’s. No one stands up Olav Stein. I’ll have to call him immediately and explain.’
‘No you won’t, he knows already,’ replied Kit calmly.
Julia looked at him, puzzled. ‘How?’ she questioned.
‘With your sister’s permission, I listened to your voicemail. This Olav chap had left you a message on Wednesday reconfirming that you were coming to meet him. So I called him back and explained you were at death’s door. He was very understanding. He sent you his best wishes and said to ring him as soon as you were back in the land of the living. Oh, and there were some other messages as well.’
‘Tell me later.’ Julia wasn’t sure she could cope with more from the outside world just yet. ‘But, thank you, Kit, I really appreciate it.’
‘I confess I felt uncomfortable listening to your private world, but under the circumstances, there was nothing else for it.’ He shrugged. ‘Now, I’m going to go and make some breakfast for both of us, then I suggest a short walk down to the harbour and back, to give you some fresh air and test your sea legs. See you downstairs in a few minutes.’
After a breakfast of porridge, laced with double cream and brown sugar, Kit and Julia took a slow walk through the harbour and headed along the spit of land beyond it. Julia remembered sombrely the last time she had walked along here and the despair she’d felt. Now, being with Kit, on a sunny, spring-like day, the world seemed a far brighter place.
‘I have to leave fairly soon, I’m afraid,’ Kit sighed. ‘Amongst other things, I have to see the estate solicitor. There’s a problem on the sale of Wharton Park. The buyer’s trying to screw an even better deal out of me than the one he’s already got.’
‘Christ, I’m sorry,’ said Julia. ‘I hope you can sort it out.’
‘I’m sure I will, one way or the other. Odd, really, isn’t it? The way life turns out. Last thing I thought I’d be doing was dealing with the sale of Wharton Park,’ he said as they turned back for home.
‘You must have known you’d inherit it one day, surely?’
‘Yes, but it was something far in the future and a responsibility I preferred to forget. Especially given that it’s only mine by default, as the true Wharton Park branch of the Crawfords didn’t manage to sprog for a generation.’
‘I really get the feeling you can’t wait to get shot of it.’
‘No, that’s wrong. I –’ Kit’s mobile rang in his pocket. ‘Excuse me, Julia. Hello? Oh, hi, Annie. Everything okay?’
Julia walked discreetly ahead as Kit talked. He caught up with her at the door of the cottage. ‘Sorry about that. Looks like I’ve got to make a move,’ he said, as she opened the door and they stepped inside. ‘Now, are you sure you’re going to be okay here alone?’
‘Of course I will. I’ve been here for seven months by myself and no harm’s come to me so far. I’ll be fine, really.’
‘Can I get you some lunch?’ he asked.
‘I think I might just be able to stagger to the kitchen and get a sandwich. You get off, really,’ she urged.
‘Okay. You’ve got my numbers, both mobile and landline, and Alicia said she’ll drop in later and check you’re okay.’
‘Oh, good.’ Julia rolled her eyes and sank on to the sofa.
‘Alicia is only trying to help. She loves you.’
‘I know.’ Julia felt suitably admonished. ‘She just makes me feel useless. She’s so terribly organized.’
‘That’s her way of surviving life. We all have one, you know, even you.’ Kit smiled down at her and kissed her on top of her head. ‘Keep in touch, won’t you? Let me know how you’re getting on.’
‘I will,’ she said, feeling suddenly vulnerable and close to tears. She stood up again and then, unsure of what to do, shrugged and said: ‘Thank you. For everything.’
‘Don’t mention it. See you around then,’ he said as opened the front door.
Julia nodded. ‘Yes. See you around.’
She watched as the door shut behind him.
After he’d left, Julia went upstairs for a nap, but struggled to settle. She tried reading a book that had been sitting on her bedside table for ages, but she couldn’t concentrate on the story. Eventually, she must have drifted off, for when she woke it was almost six o’clock.
She was hungry and, with no Kit to make her supper, she wandered downstairs to prepare it herself. The spring day had disappeared like a memory and the evening had turned chilly. She lit the fire, using what she was sure were Kit’s exact techniques but, as usual, it refused to ignite with the same verve.
After a supper of cheese on toast, the evening hours stretched out before her. Julia resolved she would buy a television – anything to dull the heavy silence that had fallen across the cottage since Kit had left.
Later, she took herself upstairs to bed. As she heard the clock from the church strike midnight, Julia admitted to herself that she missed him.
The next morning, Julia sat on the bench in front of her cottage, enjoying the warm spring-like air, and pondered her future. The fact that she believed she even had one was a revelation to her. What it actually held in store, she didn’t know.
The only certainty in her mind was that she no longer wanted to stay here at the cottage. Since Kit had left, the hours had dragged interminably. She knew
she had too much time to think. And, although it galled her to admit it, she was probably emotionally vulnerable. She was sure the reason she missed Kit was simply because he had shown her kindness in her hour of need.
If nothing else, the feelings engendered by his departure had given her the prod she needed to make some decisions at last. Frustrated by her own lack of inspiration, she slammed her palm down on the wooden bench, making two nearby ducks ruffle their feathers and turn tail in disgust.
‘Enough,’ she muttered to herself. She would make arrangements to go back to France as soon as possible. There might be difficult memories, but at least it was home. And far away from here.
Her mobile rang and she picked it up, glad of the distraction.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hi, Julia, it’s Kit.’
‘Hi,’ she returned, feeling her cheeks flush involuntarily.
‘I was just calling to find out how my patient is.’
‘Better, definitely better, thank you.’
‘Good. Then do you think you might be able to stagger over to Wharton Park for supper with me tonight?’
‘I think I might, yes,’ Julia smiled.
‘About eightish?’
‘Okay. Do you need me to bring anything?’
‘Just you will do fine.’
Julia felt her cheeks redden further. ‘See you then.’
‘Look forward to it. Bye, Julia.’
‘Bye.’
Julia put her mobile down on the bench and stared into space, horrified by how happy she suddenly felt. Surely, surely it was impossible for her to be, well, interested in a man? Only months after her husband had died?
Of course it was.
Julia stood up, as if the physical motion would clear the thoughts from her mind, wipe away the tingling feeling that had surged up her spine when she’d heard his voice, stem the sudden excitement at the thought of seeing him again tomorrow …
It didn’t. She sauntered inside, feeling guilty and confused but also, in spite of herself, experiencing something she vaguely recognised as expectation.
After lunch, she drove to Holt and bought a silk shirt, jeans, two soft cashmere jumpers and a pair of boots. She’d wear the shirt and jeans tomorrow night, she thought, as she walked down the High Street to stow her bags in the car, then chided herself for even thinking about it. It was hardly a date … was it? Besides, the one pair of jeans and summer top she had been wearing when Alicia brought her from France to England, and a couple of things she’d borrowed from her since, did not constitute a wardrobe bulging with clothes.
Just as she was turning into the car park, she heard someone calling her name. She turned round and saw Alicia waving at her.
‘Hi, Julia!’ Alicia caught up with her and smiled. ‘You’ve saved me a wasted journey. I was just on my way to see you.’ She eyed the carrier bags. ‘Been shopping?’
‘Yes,’ Julia admitted.
‘You’re feeling better then?’
‘Yes, thanks, lots.’
‘Good,’ Alicia nodded. ‘Good,’ she repeated. ‘Actually, Julia, if you’re up to it, I was wondering whether you’d like to come to supper tonight? We have some friends joining us. It might be nice for you to meet some people locally,’ she encouraged.
‘I can’t, but thanks for the invite.’
Alicia looked at her sister suspiciously. ‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Can’t.’ Julia was reluctant to say more.
‘Why?’ Alicia probed.
Julia sighed in frustration. ‘Because I’ve already accepted another invitation, that’s why.’
‘Really?’ The surprise showed on Alicia’s face. As far as she was aware, Julia knew no one and had not been out of the cottage socially since she had arrived. ‘Where to?’
‘Honestly, Alicia!’ Julia snapped, her irritation getting the better of her. ‘Kit’s invited me to Wharton Park for supper, okay?’
‘Okay, okay. Sorry. I –’ she grinned and indicated the bag. ‘Planning on wearing something new?’
‘Probably.’ Julia mentally begged her cheeks not to colour. ‘Look, Alicia, I really have to go and buy a television before the shop shuts at five. I’ll call you.’
‘Promise?’ Alicia asked Julia’s back as she walked away hastily towards the car park.
‘Yes. Bye.’
‘Have a good time tonight,’ she called, as Julia disappeared from view. Alicia allowed herself a smile at her sister’s disclosure, then set off to the dry-cleaners’ to pick up Max’s shirts.
27
Julia pulled her car to a stop in front of the crumbling stone steps that led up to the main entrance of Wharton Park. The house was in darkness, with the magnificent oak front door ominously closed. She realised she hadn’t asked Kit which entrance she should use. It didn’t seem this was the one. Stepping out of the car, clutching her bottle of wine, Julia locked it and walked round the corner of the house towards the more familiar servants’ entrance.
As she walked, she noticed adrenalin was pumping round her system; why she felt nervous, she couldn’t fathom. This was simply a relaxed supper with a friend, after all. A man she knew almost nothing about, who might well be married with kids. Kit had never said and she hadn’t asked.
Julia stood in front of the servants’ door, glad to see that at least there seemed to be a light on beyond it. She took a deep breath and knocked.
A few seconds later, Kit appeared and unlocked the door.
‘Hi, Julia,’ he kissed her on both cheeks, ‘come in.’
‘Thanks.’ Julia duly followed him through the boot room and into the kitchen. ‘I brought you some wine.’ She indicated the bottle as she set it down on the same pine table she had once sat at as a child.
‘Thanks,’ said Kit, staring at her. ‘Blimey, you look better. And that colour you’re wearing really suits you,’ he said admiringly, indicating her new shirt. ‘Seems Doctor Crawford’s care has worked wonders. White or red?’ he asked, hovering by the pantry door.
‘Either,’ said Julia, wishing her tongue could untie itself and she could relax. She gazed at Kit as he walked to the fridge, his long legs clad in jeans, his torso in a freshly ironed pink shirt.
‘We’ll start with white then.’ He took a bottle from the fridge door and came back into the kitchen to open it. ‘I’m afraid it’s a voyage of discovery in terms of what this will taste like. The cellar’s full of French wine, some of it dating back years. Some have aged better than others, as you can imagine. This will be nectar or vinegar.’ He pulled out the cork and sniffed it. ‘Neither, actually, but definitely drinkable.’
‘Perhaps you should get an expert in to take a look. There might be some valuable bottles down there. Xavier, my … husband, once bought a bottle for two thousand euros at an auction.’
‘And did it taste like two thousand euros when you drank it?’ asked Kit, handing her a glass.
‘It tasted nice but not exceptional. I always said he must have been drunk when he bought it.’ Julia grinned.
‘Emperor’s New Clothes and all that, in my opinion,’ said Kit, taking a tentative sip of his wine. ‘Bit like caviar and truffles; call me a philistine but I don’t understand the appeal of a few fish eggs or a simple mushroom. But, then, I eat to live, not vice versa. Or perhaps I’m simply jealous of the money it takes to indulge these whims. In the hierarchy of my needs, they currently feature somewhere down in Australia. Anyway, cheers, Julia. Welcome back to Wharton Park.’
‘Thank you for inviting me,’ Julia replied stiffly, taking a gulp of wine and hoping it would loosen her up. ‘How did the meeting with the solicitor go?’
‘Actually, that’s why I asked you here tonight. I need another opinion on the situation. And who better than someone who’s always loved this old place?’ He moved towards the ancient black range. ‘Whilst I concoct the pasta sauce, I shall pour out my troubles to you.’
‘Fire away,’ said Julia, ‘it’ll make a change listening to someon
e else’s woes.’
‘The sale of Wharton Park has fallen through.’
‘Oh, Kit! No! Why?’
‘Just another story of our times,’ he answered evenly. ‘We were meant to exchange yesterday, but when it got to the table, the buyer’s solicitor announced he wanted the price reduced by a million, to take into account the drop in house prices since this deal was first negotiated. Apparently, Mr Hedge-Fund has taken a bit of a lashing on the old markets and can’t afford to pay any more.’
‘Do you believe him?’ ventured Julia, wondering why she hadn’t noticed before what beautiful eyes Kit had.
‘Who knows? At present, I can’t decide whether he’s an evil, conniving bastard, or an evil, conniving bastard,’ Kit muttered, poking the boiling pasta with a fork. ‘The point is, he realises that in a market like this I’m going to struggle to find another buyer. He holds the nap hand.’
‘I see. What an evil, conniving bastard,’ Julia sympathized, trying to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘Can you afford to sell it for less?’
‘Not with the debt the estate is currently in, plus the death duties on the small amount that’s left over. But, to cap it all, Mr Hedge-Fund has also demanded I throw in the Quadrangle. He’s decided he doesn’t want neighbours at such close-quarters and, to be frank,’ admitted Kit, ‘that has really pissed me off.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Julia. ‘Especially as he’s waited till the last minute to do it.’
‘Well,’ Kit raised his eyebrows, ‘that’s how the rich get richer, isn’t it? The fact I’d negotiated the Quad out of the deal and decided to make my home there, somehow managed to make the idea of selling the estate more palatable. And … I admit it,’ Kit held up his hands, ‘this place is getting to me. Which has surprised me, given that I never formed an attachment to it when I was here as a child. But yes, it’s true. The longer I’m here, the more difficult it gets to contemplate selling Wharton Park.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’
Kit poured the pasta into a strainer and served it with the sauce into two bowls. ‘Well now, that’s the million-dollar question. Right, dinner is served.’ He refilled their wine glasses and sat down at the table opposite her.
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