Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  He crossed the flagstone walk and came to the front door, which was sheltered by a rambling spray of white roses. He rang the bell and waited. Birdsong filled the air, and a gentle breeze blew. Soon, he heard the tread of dainty feet.

  The door was opened by a petite woman with auburn hair. “Oh, hullo there,” she said in a surprisingly rich voice. “Won’t you come in?”

  Billy stepped into a foyer, onto emerald green carpet.

  “So you’ve found us here, all the way from Texas, did you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s a beautiful place you’ve got here, too.”

  “Thank you. I am Deborah Fraser, Mr. Killian, and I am pleased that we had a single available for you. You’re lucky, you know, as we’re often full.”

  “Yes, ma’am. How old is this house?”

  Deborah was pleased with the question. “Over a hundred-and-twenty-five years this farmhouse has stood. It used to be all farms here, with just a tiny hamlet down the road. Why don’t you come through to the conservatory, which is my own addition to the property, and I’ll give you some tea?”

  “That would be real nice,” Billy said obligingly.

  The conservatory was radiant with light, and a little warmer than anyplace Billy had been since leaving home. He chose a chair that was covered in a faded floral chintz, and let his gaze rest on the stately trees outside.

  “Here we are,” said Deborah, coming in with a tray. “Have you had lunch?”

  “No, ma’am, but I can’t say as I am very hungry. This here will be just right, thank you. Can’t remember the last time I drank so much tea without some ice.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Habit I suppose,” she smiled graciously as Billy dropped some sugar cubes into his cup. The china handle was too narrow. Billy pinched it and took a small sip. There was nothin’ like iced tea, and he wished he had some.

  “The pub at the opposite end of the high street, it’s called the Rapunzel, is really the best spot for your meal this evening, if you don’t have a dinner engagement,” she said. “And there’s a television in your room, and plenty of books in the library. You’ll let us know if there’s anything else, won’t you?”

  “I am sure I’ll get along just fine, ma’am.” Billy thought the woman was charming, but she seemed to delay leaving him or showing him to his room.

  “And shall I expect you for breakfast in the morning, or perhaps you’re meeting friends?”

  It was the second time she’d led the conversation around to whom he might know in the village. Billy decided to keep her in the dark.

  “I’ll be down, ma’am, you just let me know what time.”

  “Anytime between seven and nine will do,” she said, obviously disappointed with his lack of information. “And now if you’ve finished your tea, I’d be happy to show you your accommodation. The driver that dropped you in the village not only brought your case, but wouldn’t hear of leaving until he stowed your case in your room. You must have given him an excellent tip!”

  Billy smiled and wished that were true. Although the driver said nothing, Billy saw him checking him out in the mirror, and knew him to be a blues fan, sure enough.

  • • •

  “Good morning, Angel,” Billy said with a smile.

  “Oh, hi,” Serena replied, switching the phone to her other hand, and reclining slightly in her office chair. “I wasn’t sure if you’d call today. How’s it going?”

  “Well, I found a little hotel to stay at, close to their house. It’s a real small place, so I am walking everywhere. I am getting ready to go and eat something up on the main street. They call it the high street, but I don’t think that’s really the name.”

  “Billy! That’s nice, but you know what I mean. You met your son, right?”

  “Yeah.” Billy had found it easy to speak to his brother about Jackson, just a few minutes ago. But with Serena, he felt sort of defensive. Maybe he should have waited until tomorrow to call, like she seemed to expect him to do.

  “And?”

  “Well, he was a little shy, I guess. And nobody seems to think he’s leavin’. They’re kind of acting like I am visiting.”

  “Oh.”

  “How are things with you? Is the hospital quiet today?”

  Serena sighed. “Yes, I am ordering department supplies, actually. And my mother phoned to tell me that she and Daddy saw Richard at the club last night. He was with friends, some guys that he golfs with, and Mama kept reiterating that he seemed so sad and could hardly look Daddy in the eye. She thinks I ought to feel sorry for him and get back together.”

  “What do you think?” Billy said, patiently.

  “I think if he’s that brokenhearted he could be on my door step with flowers, but you don’t see him even trying to patch things up. He expects me to come to him.”

  Billy was getting antsy to get off the phone. Phone calls could be hit or miss with really connecting with someone, and this one was a mile off. He wished that Serena had come with him.

  “I am sorry, Billy. Here you are, on the other side of the world, meeting your kid for the first time. I do care, you know. I hope it goes better tomorrow. You are seeing him, aren’t you?”

  He warmed to her concern. “Yes, his grandmother invited me back in the afternoon, when Jackson gets home from school. We’re going to the barn to see his pony, I think.”

  “Ah, well, that’s nice. I miss you. I know we’d be apart anyway, but it does feel like you’re farther away than normal.”

  “Yeah, darlin’, me too. It’ll be nice to bring my boy home with me next week. Real scary, but, each day will get better. Then we can bring you down to Texas for a visit, okay?”

  “Sounds wonderful to me,” Serena said wistfully. “I am so fed up with this job I could walk out right now and never feel a twinge of regret.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’ve just been so worn out with everything else that it must be extra hard to be there. But we have a lot to look forward to.”

  “Definitely,” Serena agreed. “Bye now.”

  “Bye.” Billy put the phone down and sat for a while on the bed, just thinking. Serena always put his brain in a burn. It seemed a little weird to tell her he loved her again, especially over the phone, so he hadn’t. He did love her, but they both knew he was operating in a priority sort of way with his relationships. He loved Serena, but Jackson came first, and that’s the way it had to be. He had to think of himself as a father, and get that worked out, before he could have a crazy whirlwind romance with some woman who lived in another state and had been engaged to another man not more than a month ago. It was a lot to keep track of, especially when he had had to empty himself, so to speak, into his music, and the album he just wrapped.

  Serena was so sweet, but in a way Billy felt he wasn’t reading her right. He couldn’t quite wriggle it out, this hesitation he felt. Maybe it’s because she said what she did, that first night, about their worlds not quite fittin’ together. He tried to imagine them being married, but mostly his thoughts ran to what it would be like to touch her. God, she was beautiful.

  “You done a fine job on that woman, Sir,” he whispered to the ceiling.

  • • •

  Jane spent the afternoon dusting and hoovering upstairs for Clarice, and then making a jam roly-poly for pudding. Although Jane had a lighthearted moment in the kitchen, she was still confused by Eleanor’s warm welcome to Jackson’s father. Jane avoided her.

  As the late afternoon sun was slanting through the windows, she retreated to her guest room in Brambleberry House, Lydia’s old room. It was regularly cleaned, but otherwise, as Lydia left it. It wasn’t that Eleanor was trying to enshrine her daughter by keeping the room unchanged, but rather that the furnishings were pretty, and there was no sensible reason to change them. The lilacs continued to bloom on the wallpaper, and th
e bed was a vision of femininity in a slippery, knotted — silk quilt of pale green. The scent of lemon furniture polish lingered.

  Jane tried to imagine what Lydia would say about the turn of events the past twenty-four hours. She knew her friend would deeply pity the loss of her home and florist shop, but Jane couldn’t determine what Lydia might suggest for a plan of action. In fact, it seemed she was losing Lydia’s voice. She certainly hadn’t a clue what Lydia would say about Billy showing up, but, then, the circumstance would be much changed if Lydia were alive. Would Lydia find the stranger attractive? Threatening? Or simply a miracle for Jackson?

  Worse, Jane was completely baffled by her friends that were alive and mulling around downstairs. Eleanor could usually be described as practical. There was nothing sensible about her siding with the American who wished to take away the child of their hearts.

  Jane sat down at Lydia’s French provincial desk and opened the lap drawer. She pulled out some cream paper that had a Membry family crest engraved in royal blue on the top. A box of it had arrived one holiday from Nigel, and was still in plentiful supply.

  She began a letter.

  Dear Mum,

  Hope this letter finds you well. You’ll probably try to phone me tomorrow evening, and find the line has gone dead. It’s just as well, because I can’t talk about it very much just yet.

  We’ve had an awful tragedy. Somehow a fire started in the Row and all of the shops were consumed. I am staying with Eleanor, and can’t quite get my head ’round the fact that it’s all gone. My business, and my home, the old building gobbled up in a matter of minutes.

  I think that it will take time, but I am counting on insurance helping out quite a bit. Eleanor said that I could stay as long as I’d like, and I shall probably take her up on it. I want to leave off spending any of my savings, because I’ll need every bit of it to get going again.

  Jackson’s father has shown up from America. I think he’s keen on Jackson returning to the States with him. I certainly don’t care for him being about! You were right, in that Jackson does share some of his characteristics. They have the same eyes. At any rate, his timing in being here is abominable, and the sooner he gets off, the better.

  Hope that you and Hugh are keeping well and that the freeze has finally left off. Spring in the Highlands always seems a tricky business.

  Don’t worry about me. I am quite all right, and still plan to come and see you next month. And I don’t even have to worry about closing the shop!

  All my love, Jane.

  Jane sealed the letter and trotted down the stairs to go and post the letter. On her way out, Clarice called from the kitchen.

  “Oh, Jane, I thought you’d gone out, dear, so quiet you were upstairs. Charlotte Lloyd phoned for you.”

  “Is she here, in Hartsbury?”

  “Yes, she said she’s just finished with the police, and was going to have a look at the shop.”

  “I’ll see if I can meet her there.”

  Jane dashed out of the house, and posted her letter on the way down the street. She looked around at the houses. It might as well have been five minutes ago that she came here, instead of fifteen years. She’d lived here in the village with her parents, before their divorce.

  She turned the corner, briskly walking towards town. Suddenly it was all too familiar. The charred remains of the shop row were bleak reminders of her once very comfortable life here in the village. It was still unfathomable that it was gone.

  Charlotte Lloyd stood in front of what used to be Panache, apparently talking to herself animatedly. As Jane drew closer, she realized that Charlotte was speaking through a cell phone and headset. She refused to acknowledge Jane, even with a glance, until she rang off.

  Jane was thinking about how much she missed dressing the shop’s window. She’d meant to refresh the scene today. She and Charlotte were going to do pastels, with Jane’s tulips, hyacinths, and jonquils sharing spring color with Charlotte’s short-sleeved angora jerseys.

  Abruptly, Charlotte turned on her heel. She seemed to have aged ten years since Jane saw her last. Her lips pursed together, allowing no breath to escape, and forcing Jane to stare at her in abject silence. She’d never seen Charlotte when everything wasn’t under control, and with others dutifully carrying out her bidding. But Charlotte wasn’t masterful today, she was just a distraught older woman feeling very much out of her depth.

  “Jane, I shan’t deceive you. I’ve some very bad news.”

  “Let me guess. The shops have burnt down.” Jane was as surprised at her surly attitude as Charlotte. It just slipped out, with the strain of the moment. “I am sorry, Charlotte. It’s been a rough twenty-four hours.”

  “I am afraid it’s all my fault. I might as well just be out with it. During the renovations, well, I cut some corners, Jane. Had some work done that wasn’t up to par, I suppose. The down lighters, you know, over the display window, they were so lovely and bright.”

  “Yes, I know you adored them, but, what does that matter, Charlotte?”

  “The protective surrounds. They’d have gotten too warm, and, that’s how it all began.”

  “That’s how the fire started — from your fancy lights.”

  “Yes, Jane. My fancy lights. Every time I try to do something that is above average, bringing a little excitement into retailing, or into my relationships, or anything, it all goes combustible. That’s how it was with my last marriage. If I tried to create something special, he just, well, extinguished my hopes.”

  “Lovely pun, that. Too bad Rolland wasn’t still around to extinguish our property.”

  Charlotte ignored the insult. Jane’s mind was in a tumult of thoughts. She studied her landlady, attempting to size up what Charlotte really thought about all of this. If it really penetrated her heart.

  Charlotte was somewhat pitiable, with her many marriages behind her, the current state of her red hair, carelessly snapped to her head with a tortoise shell clip. But Jane didn’t care. The arrogant woman burned down the row, by quite literally trying to outshine everyone else. How stupid. How unnecessary. How ridiculous.

  “There’s more.”

  “Charlotte, I really don’t care to hear any more about your personal failings. Really, I just can’t.”

  Jane glanced around. The few villagers that were on the street kept to the other side, opposite the horrific site and the two women in front of it.

  Facing the building, Charlotte rattled on, quite determined to confess her sins and be done with it. “I was quite short on cash, but I knew if I could get the ladies coming in, that I’d make the money back, possibly in a fortnight, with the new range from France. So, I did all that I could, to make Panache as enticing as possible. And it was working, Jane. You know that. Your business was picking up, because of what I did.” Charlotte had spun around and spit out the last sentence, as though she were daring Jane to deny how skillfully Charlotte had caused them to prosper.

  “Business was good, I’ll grant you that. But last month’s receipts hardly matter now.”

  “But don’t you see, Jane? Why I had to do it? We needed a strong, steady flow of cash. I had to prioritize. I’ve been on my own, with bills to pay. It’s been dreadful, Jane.”

  Again, Charlotte was manipulating her, first by insisting she’d increased Jane’s income, and now by soliciting empathy regarding her past, weaving her story so that Jane would feel sorry for her. Jane was growing tired of Charlotte’s theatrics. Jane stared at her blankly, wanting to move towards home, but was somehow unable to uproot her feet. Through a fog she heard Charlotte say, “I never expected to actually need the insurance.”

  “What?”

  “Jane, one never believes anything will ever really happen. I mean, really, darling. People are caught unaware everyday. I am just like everyone else. I try to take prec
autions, try to consider everything, but I am just one woman, managing quite a lot on her own.”

  “I don’t understand, Charlotte.”

  “I used the money for the clothes. The insurance premiums.”

  “Charlotte, you couldn’t have done … why, I am sure that’s illegal. And, I, well that leaves me without anything … .”

  “Jane, I’ve suffered a terrible, terrible loss here, too. You needn’t only think of yourself!”

  That was the last straw.

  Jane found her feet, and pulled up from the engulfing quicksand of Charlotte’s self-absorption and cruel news. She walked away, leaving that nasty, criminal woman standing there by the rubbish that was once their livelihood, and their homes. She walked, then broke into a run, ignoring the concern on the blurry faces of people watching her pass. Damn their eyes! I just want to be away, away, away.

  Upon quitting the village, Jane picked up a run. Her cloak of propriety fell away. As she entered a patch of woods, she let out a scream, did Jane, this woman who never raised her voice.

  She kept on running. The woods fell away, the road grew narrower as she got deeper into the country. Feeling the heaviness in her thighs, Jane finally succumbed to her rapid breath, putting her hands on her knees, and bent over, sobbing. Her lungs sucked and burned, sobs blurted out. Her nose ran, and she dragged her woolen sleeve across it. She stood up, heaving breath, and ground her palms into her eyes, as new hot tears traced warm tracks down her wrists.

  Pressing hard on her eyeballs, she wished she’d never have to look again. She didn’t have the nerve, she must keep her eyes closed. Her head pound and she wanted to run again, but her legs felt so very heavy. Sweat dewed her skin, and she felt slightly sick. She sunk to the ground to rest and regain her composure.

  “Darlin’, what’s wrong?”

  Jane smeared her palms from her damp eyes to her hair, and her watery gaze focused on the stranger. It was the rock and roll star, standing on the narrow road in front of her.

  “Bugger off, you awful man!”