Honeysuckle House

by Christina Jones

  ‘Poor Leon.’ Felicity looked at him with genuine concern. ‘You really didn’t want this to happen, did you?’

  ‘I never dreamed it would.’ Leon held her hands in his. ‘This isn’t a fling, for me, Felicity. I’ve never been in love with anyone but Rosie …’

  ‘And you still are.’ Felicity studied their linked hands. ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Leon freed one hand to stroke her cheek. ‘I still love Rosie. But not like this. I’ve never felt like this in my life …’

  ‘Neither have I.’ Her voice was taut. ‘I was too busy with my career to have time for any man. And now here I am, hopelessly in love with a married man of fifty with three children …’

  They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Felicity pulled away.

  ‘Business, Mr Brodie. You’ve studied the proposals?’

  ‘Yes. I understand the implications. If Rosie agrees to sell the shares in Cookery Nook and sell the house, then Brennan and Foulkes are prepared to source additional financial backing to get the Four Seasons off the ground?’

  ‘I’ve sounded out some of my investors.’ Felicity perched on the edge of the desk, crossing slender ankles. ‘And there is certainly some interest in providing an upmarket country club in Dawley. They like the idea of a hotel, restaurant, leisure complex, and conference hall all under one roof.’

  ‘Hence the Four Seasons.’ Leon’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘Oh, if only Rosie knew what she’s throwing away!’

  In more ways than one, Felicity Phelps thought sadly, looking at the animated face of the man who was surely going to break her heart.

  James Brodie kicked his trainered feet aimlessly against the wall. Maybe this hadn’t been such a brilliant idea after all.

  Dawley on a mid-week afternoon was not the most exciting place in the world – although it certainly had more going for it than dreary old Highcliffe where there really was nothing to do. But, he shrugged his thin shoulders, what was the point of bunking off school when all his friends were still diligently in the classroom and the last of his money had been fed into the greedy mouths of the slot machines in the sea-front arcade? It hadn’t taken long to get through it. He didn’t even have his bus-fare, and twelve miles to walk home was pretty daunting, even for someone who could run for ever when playing football for the school team.

  He jumped from the car park wall and began to make his way towards the main road. He couldn’t hitch a lift – Mum and Dad would kill him if they found out! And there was enough trouble at home without him causing any more.

  As he crossed the car park, he saw a familiar car and wandered towards it. Yes, it was Dad’s! Brilliant! He’d hang around and get a lift.

  He leaned against the bonnet, much more cheerful now. He’d tell Dad that he’d been on a field trip to Dawley with his study group and he’d got separated. Dad was so funny these days, always miles away, he’d believe anything.

  ‘Jamie!’

  He jumped guiltily at the sound of his name. It wasn’t one of his teachers, was it? His luck couldn’t be that bad! He squinted against the sun.

  ‘Jamie? Do you want a lift back to Highcliffe? Or are you waiting for someone?’

  ‘Oh, hi, Mr Casey …’ Jamie grinned. This was even better. Steven Casey, even though he was friends with Mum and Dad, always seemed so much younger. Artistic, Kizzy said. Whatever it was, he knew that he wouldn’t ask any awkward questions. ‘Yeah – please.’

  He scrambled into Steven’s ancient car, piled as usual with books and boxes and odd bits of china. A jumble sale on wheels, Kizzy had once said.

  ‘Home or school?’ Steven asked as they pulled out of the car park.

  ‘Home, please.’

  They exchanged conspiratorial grins.

  ‘Tough being fourteen, isn’t it?’ Steven asked as they pulled out into the main road.

  But Jamie wasn’t listening. He’d just seen his father come out of one of the new office buildings, and he wasn’t alone. Who was the blonde lady in the suit who got into the car with him? For the first time it struck Jamie to wonder why his father wasn’t at the Nook …

  ‘Was that your father’s car you were leaning against?’ Steven drove very fast. ‘Were you waiting for him?’

  ‘Dad?’ Jamie thought quickly. ‘No. I thought it was his car – but it wasn’t … same make and colour …’

  ‘Ah …’ Steven said, and turned up the stereo to full volume.

  ‘If I drop you along Sea Road,’ he raised his voice above the blast of the stereo, ‘you can walk from there and get in about your usual time …’

  ‘Great!’ Jamie beamed at him. ‘You’re ace, Mr Casey!’

  ‘I’m a reprobate who hasn’t grown up – you ask your mother.’ Steven laughed at him. ‘And I think the least said about this, the better, don’t you?’

  ‘Sure,’ Jamie said, as he opened the door. ‘Thanks again, Mr Casey.’

  Once the car had disappeared from sight along Sea Road in a cloud of dust, Jamie slowed his pace to an amble. He was in no hurry to get home. The atmosphere there was hopeless these days.

  Dad was never there, and Mum always looked like she’d been awake half the night. William was worrying himself silly about keeping the Nook going and being as good as Dad, and Kizzy just moped about Andrew being hundreds of miles away in Scotland. None of them had any time for him.

  ‘Jamie Brodie!’

  This time the voice was female. Jamie closed his eyes. Please don’t let it be Miss Jenkins, the Deputy Head. Anyone but her …

  ‘Jamie!’ The voice was peremptory.

  Saved again, Jamie thought with relief as he saw Norma Beatty waving to him over the top of her hedge.

  ‘Could you give us a hand, dear?’.

  ‘’Course I can …’ Jamie’s smile was genuinely warm. He liked Mr and Mrs Beatty. They were like substitute grandparents. He’d never known his own. He trotted through the gate into the garden.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Your mum came to admire the garden and as usual got carried away! She could do with a pair of strong arms to help her carry the cuttings home. And,’ Norma’s eyes twinkled, ‘I’m sure if you pop into the kitchen you’ll find a packet of crisps and some cola in the larder …’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Beatty!’ Jamie dashed off in search of refreshment. Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

  Norma Beatty returned to the bottom of the garden and re-joined Rosie on the weathered bench beneath a gnarled apple tree.

  ‘Just collared your Jamie.’ She sighed contentedly. ‘Must have been on his way home from school. He’s having something to eat and then he’ll help you carry everything home.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rosie smiled at the older woman. ‘It’s at times like this that I wish I could drive.’

  ‘Nonsense – you carry on with your walking and cycling and you’ll keep your teenage figure until you’re ninety!’ Norma’s laugh gurgled up through the branches of the tree. ‘You don’t look old enough to have three children, my dear.’

  ‘I feel like Methuselah at the moment,’ Rosie admitted. ‘My whole life seems to have turned upside down. Are you sure Leon hasn’t approached Paul?’

  ‘You know I couldn’t discuss bank business – even if I knew. But I’m sure of one thing. If he has told Paul his plans to sell Cookery Nook and Honeysuckle House, Paul would have advised very strongly against it.’

  ‘So, he’s gone elsewhere for the answer he wants.’ Rosie sighed. ‘He’ll never change. They used to be one of his most attractive qualities – his impossible dreams. But now …’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘Now, they just seem foolish …’

  ‘Men often go through this sort of thing at his age,’ Norma said sagely. ‘It’s a last-ditch grab at their fading youth.’ She squeezed her friend’s tightly clenched hands.

  ‘Let it ride its course. Common sense will prevail in the end …’

  Maybe, Rosie thought, but this idea of Leon’s wasn’t
just a whim. This was a full-blown business plan, and with strong encouragement from Brennan and Foulkes he was going to see it through – with or without her.

  And, of course, there was something else … Intuitively, she knew there was something else …

  Jamie, fully replete, wandered into the garden to seek out his mother.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ She smiled at him. ‘Good day?’

  ‘Bits of it …’ he answered honestly.

  ‘Good.’ Her eyes were distracted, and he breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Steven Casey was in the Nook last night,’ Norma Beatty said as she stood up. ‘Did William tell you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rosie nodded. ‘With a new lady, I understand.’

  ‘Very glamorous.’ Norma laughed. ‘Not a local. I don’t suppose he’ll ever settle down. Now there’s a prime example of a man clinging to his youth if ever I saw one!’

  Jamie swallowed the words that had bubbled on to his tongue. He’d just about said that Steven Casey had given him a lift home from Dawley!

  He half-listened to his mother’s and Mrs Beatty’s disjointed conversation as they gathered the plants together. Boring talk, most of it, to do with Steven Casey and his girlfriends. Then, something else.

  ‘… so, no more fretting about Brennan and Foulkes,’ Mrs Beatty was saying. ‘I’m sure it’ll all blow over …’

  ‘Oh!’ Jamie looked up at his mother. ‘I saw …’

  ‘What, darling?’

  ‘Nothing … nothing …’ Jamie mumbled, blushing, suddenly becoming very engrossed in a clump of clover.

  Brennan and Foulkes was the name over the office block that Dad had come out of with that blonde woman …

  A War of Words

  Did her whole family communicate via notes on the pin board these days? Rosie stared in exasperation at Kizzy’s ‘Won’t be in for dinner. Gone to Andrew’s mum’s. GOT to talk to you and Dad TONIGHT! You’d disappeared this morning. Loads of love, K.’

  William’s, ‘Gone to the Nook. Some crisis. Tell Dad’, was short and to the point. Meanwhile, Jamie had shut himself in his room with two school friends and some unfathomable computer game.

  What was happening to her family? There didn’t seem to be a minute for them all to be together to talk. And they had to talk. Desperately.

  She heard Leon’s car scrunch into the gravelled drive, and quickly hurried to the mirror. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, her face shiny from her exertions in the garden, planting her collection of cuttings. But her hair still had no trace of grey, and her figure was trim. She hadn’t let herself go.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ she called, hearing Leon’s key in the lock. ‘Is the crisis sorted out now?’

  ‘Crisis? What crisis?’ Leon appeared in the doorway.

  Rosie looked up quickly. ‘William left a note.’ She indicated the pin board. ‘I thought you’d gone down to sort it out.’

  ‘No …’ He didn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’ve been out. On business. I haven’t been into the Nook yet. I’ll ring him.’

  ‘Ring him? Leon, you’ll go down there and help him!’ Her voice was more strident than she had intended. ‘He can’t carry it all on his own! He’s a wonderful chef, but he’s no restaurateur! You’re not being fair!’

  ‘And you know all about fairness, I suppose? You think that it’s fair to block my plans without even considering them?’

  ‘That’s not what we’re talking about!’

  Rosie swallowed. She had to diffuse this before it developed into yet another row. She went on more quietly. ‘We’re talking about our son and what you’re expecting him to do.’

  ‘All I’m expecting him to do is what I had to do at his age. Don’t mollycoddle him so much, Rosie. I’ll go down to the Nook later.’

  He looked at his wife and suddenly felt like crying. ‘You’ve got dirt on your nose …’

  ‘I’ve been gardening …’

  They looked at each other for a long time without speaking. They were like strangers, each carefully considering their words so as not to antagonise the other, when at one time they would have laughed and shouted, argued and loved, without a second thought.

  ‘The letter,’ Rosie turned back towards the sink, ‘from Brennan and Foulkes. Is that where you’ve been?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is that where you went last night when the Nook was a waitress short and William had to get Steven to help with the pot washing?’

  There was a silence that roared in her ears.

  ‘I left before the row in the kitchen. I got a waitress from the agency – I didn’t know she was going to be hopeless. And yes, that’s where I went …’

  ‘I won’t sell my shares in the Nook, Leon, and I will not agree to sell Honeysuckle House. We’re too old for hare-brained ventures now.’

  ‘You may be too old, Rosie, but I’m not.’ His tone tore at her heart. ‘The Old Granary will be perfect for the Four Seasons – just come and have a look …’

  ‘No.’ She turned from the sink. ‘I’ve supported you in every decision you’ve made in the past, maybe stamped on some of the crazier ones, and always been prepared to produce business plans, work out finance, chat to whoever was necessary …’ Her eyes misted. ‘You used to say that you were the doer and I was the thinker – and that was the combination that got us the Nook. What’s happened to us?’

  ‘Nothing.’ There was a note of irritation in his voice. ‘At least, not to me. I just think that being fifty isn’t a signal for pipe, slippers, and early retirement, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m forty-seven, and I don’t think like that either. But the children –’

  ‘The children will make their own way, like we did. William will leave the Nook and probably run some cosy little eaterie in London. Kizzy will become a teacher and live miles away from us. And Jamie –’ He gave a snort. ‘Jamie will probably be scoring the winning goal in the Cup Final in five years’ time and forget that he’s even got parents!’

  ‘You know very well that that’s nonsense!’

  ‘I seem to talk nothing but nonsense these days, don’t I? Rosie, please … Tomorrow, come with me to view the Old Granary.’

  ‘No, Leon. No.’

  She clenched her hands tightly as he turned on his heel and marched across the hall, slamming the front door on his way out.

  Leon glanced at his car in the drive and decided to walk. He didn’t trust himself to drive at the moment. Always careful behind the wheel, he knew that his current anger might well lead him to throw caution to the winds.

  He shivered inside his jacket as the wind whipped up from the sea in the gathering dusk. He hadn’t wanted that argument. He’d planned to walk in and take Rosie in his arms and try to persuade her with gentle words, the way he’d used to. But she hadn’t allowed him to.

  Felicity’s beautiful face danced inside his head and the pain was almost intolerable. How on earth had he got into this mess?

  He turned into the High Street, striding briskly towards the Nook. The Nook – once his pride and joy – now felt like a millstone round his neck.

  Kizzy, cycling back from Andrew’s parents, watched her father disappear into the Nook, and sighed heavily. She really needed to talk to them together. Now it would have to be just Mum and that was going to be more difficult. She had always been able to twist her father round her little finger. Never mind, at least Andrew’s parents had thought it was a wonderful idea. And she was eighteen. She was an adult. She could do what she wanted. Of course, it would be better to have Mum and Dad’s blessing, but if they refused, she’d go ahead anyway …

  ‘Married?’ Rosie’s eyebrows rocketed into her hairline. ‘How lovely, Kizzy! When did he propose?’

  ‘In the letter this morning …’ Kizzy grinned. This was going better than she had ever dreamed. ‘I came down to tell you, but you’d already gone out. Andrew’s parents think it’s great. He’s fully qualified now, and his father will make him a partne
r in the market garden and –’

  ‘We’ll have an engagement party at the Nook.’ Rosie felt as though a weight had been lifted from her heart. ‘Like we did for your eighteenth birthday.’ This would surely take Leon’s mind off buying the Old Granary and moving to Dawley. His only daughter becoming engaged to Andrew Pearson. ‘And William can make the cake …’

  ‘Mum,’ Kizzy held up her hands. ‘We don’t want an engagement party.’

  ‘Oh, but you must! Are you going to wait until after your A-levels? That will give us nearly three months to get things organised …’

  ‘No, Mum. We’re not getting engaged.’

  ‘But … You’ve just said …’

  ‘I said Andrew had proposed. We’re getting married, Mum, not engaged. We’re getting married as soon as my exams are over … at the end of June.’ Rosie felt as though someone had just punched all the breath from her body. Her head reeled.

  ‘Kizzy, you can’t! What about university? What about teaching? What about –’

  ‘Oh, I can go to college any time once I’ve got my A-levels. I’ll apply to somewhere nearer. I might not even want to. All I want to do is marry Andrew and –’

  ‘Be divorced before you’re twenty-one!’ Rosie stared in disbelief at her daughter. ‘Kizzy, you can’t do this. Get engaged by all means. Go to college so you and Andrew will both be qualified. Then think about getting married! But not this –’

  ‘Mum,’ Kizzy leaned forward. ‘I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. This is my life. Andrew’s parents have been married for thirty years and they’re still soppy about each other – and look at you and Dad. It’ll soon be your Silver Wedding and you’re still happy. That’s what we want …’

  ‘But university is –’

  ‘You didn’t go to college. Neither did Dad. And look how well you’ve done. No, Mum, we’ve made up our minds. I’ve even been to see the vicar. The church is booked for June twenty-fifth Rosie reached out and took her daughter’s hands, tears in her eyes.

  ‘Kizzy, listen to me. Don’t do this. We really like Andrew, but you’re far too young at the moment. Have you spoken to Dad? I’m sure he’ll –’

  ‘He’ll understand.’ Kizzy smiled beguilingly. ‘Look, Mum, we can live in the bungalow in the market garden – we won’t even have to worry about a mortgage. It’ll all work out brilliantly!’