Rose gasped, the suppressed passion in his voice, the intense look in his dark eyes threatening to sweep her off her feet. She wasn’t equipped to deal with this, she didn’t know how to, only that for a man to look at her that way was both new, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. And yet she had to be honest with him, she owed him that much.
“The thing is, Ted, do you remember on the mountain when I told you I loved someone else? That person was Frasier. And I do love him. I have for a long time. I wish I didn’t—everything would be so much simpler if I didn’t—but that feeling won’t simply vanish. Not even for someone as totally, wonderfully amazing as you.”
For a moment Ted said nothing at all, and as he turned his gaze away from her, Rose thought that now might be the best time to run away.
“Shall I go? Say something,” she urged him.
“Can’t.” Ted shook his head. “Don’t know what to say, except that even knowing all that, I’d still give anything to kiss you again. Look, you were in love with Frasier then, on the mountain and you still kissed me. Why not now?”
“Because that was different,” Rose said, struggling to clarify exactly why. “It didn’t mean so much.”
“That’s not what it felt like,” Ted said earnestly. “It felt like it meant a lot to you. Not in the same way that it did to me, I realize that, but you said kissing me chased away the darkness, it cleansed you. So what if you love someone else? He’s not here tonight, he won’t be here tomorrow night or maybe ever at all. If one more night of kissing me can make you feel good and me happy, just for a little while, what harm can it do?”
Ted took a step closer to her, resting the fingertips of his right hand on her cheek.
“Please, Rose,” he whispered, bending his lips to hers. “Please.”
Rose meant to stop him, she meant to stop him as soon as she felt his soft warm breath on her cheek, the second his lips met hers, the moment his arm snaked its way around her waist and pulled her close to him. She meant to, but perhaps it was because she knew she could trust Ted to stop whenever she told him to, and because the feeling of love, tenderness, and kindness that enveloped her as long as she was in Ted’s arms was really so wonderful, that the moment when she wanted him to stop kissing her never came.
Chapter
Twelve
“But I really don’t want you to go home,” Rose said, as Shona packed her bags. “Please, Shona, stay a bit longer.”
“I can’t, babe,” Shona said with a regretful smile. “It’s been over a week, Mum’s fed up with the boys, and anyway, I miss them! I need to go home, get my life sorted the way you are.”
Rose wasn’t at all sure she was getting her life sorted in any sense of the word. It had been four days since she’d woken up in the annex, with the dawn light streaming in through the uncovered ground-floor window, and found herself naked and wrapped in Ted’s arms. Having left her watch upstairs, she’d been unsure of the time, but, aware that it wouldn’t be too long before Jenny was up and preparing breakfast, she knew she had to get back into her own bed pronto.
The events of the night, which really had stopped only about an hour earlier, were something that Rose was going to need a good deal of time on her own to process and to make sense of. But the short story was that Ted had swept her into a passionate momentum that seemed to have an impetus outside her control. When it came to it there had been no need for talking, or any rationalization at all, for that matter. And Rose had let herself get deliriously lost in his embrace, delighting in his pleasure just as much as her own, forgetting everything for those few hours except the wonderful discovery of what it was like to be with a man who didn’t want to hurt or humiliate you. Ted had been so gentle, so hesitant at first, and caring. He knew that Rose was very far from ready for sex, and he’d never pushed it that far, instead only layering pleasure upon pleasure until, for several wonderful hours, Rose forgot herself and her crazy life that lay just outside the door, completely.
In the cold light of day, though, she had found it hard to believe that she and the woman who’d spent the night with Ted were the same person. This small, nude, flimsy individual had no idea how on earth she had managed to be quite so passionate, and whilst mainly sober too. Quietly, she had extricated herself from under the exhausted and spent young man’s arm and, pulling on her nightshirt, raced as quickly and as quietly upstairs as she could, falling into bed with a good deal of relief, waiting and watching the clock until it was an acceptable time to get up again.
Ted must have woken up to find himself alone and sneaked out sometime before Jenny started breakfast, because when Rose did come down Jenny seemed as bright and breezy as she ever was, with no idea that her precious son had been all but seduced by her paying guest. Rose could not know for sure that Ted had said nothing to his mum, apart from the fact that Jenny had not murdered her, because she had neither seen nor heard from Ted once in the days since their tryst. And it wasn’t because she was avoiding him, apart from not going to the pub. In fact, it had started to look a lot like he was avoiding her, which threw Rose into all sorts of paroxysms of anxiety. What if she’d done it all wrong, what if she’d disappointed and appalled him, and what if what was meant to be her moment of carefree womanly blossoming had actually been a career-ending disaster, which she, as stupidly naïve as she was, had been too ignorant to notice?
And now Shona was going home.
“Yes, but . . . what if the kids came here? What if you moved here? What if we got a place, you and me, and moved here? Think how brilliant that would be!” Rose clapped her hands together like a small child confronted with a shop window full of toys, but Shona didn’t seem nearly as taken with the idea.
Frowning, she rested the back of her hand against Rose’s forehead, its skin cool against Rose’s brow as she looked into her eyes. “Are you sickening for something? Look, babe, I’m not moving up here. For one thing, I don’t do sheep, with their devil eyes and funny walks, and for another I am not going to move the boys from their home and their school, and leave my mum and the place I grew up for a load of yokels. I love you, and I’ll miss you. And I’m so proud of you for coming this far, in both senses, including literally coming this far to here!” Shona grinned at her. “I came up here to hold your hand, and you barely needed me at all. And now I’ve got to make a start at working out what I want to do next.”
“It’s just . . . well, what about Ryan?” Rose asked reluctantly, afraid of the answer.
“What about him?” Shona asked her, dropping her gaze as she stepped away from Rose and returned to her packing.
“Are you going back for him?” Rose said.
Shona said nothing, busily folding a bra as she attempted to ignore Rose.
“Sho? I heard you talking to him on the phone!”
Rose was referring to the hushed conversation she had strained to overhear as it drifted in, along with Shona’s cigarette smoke, through an open window. Shona’s voice had been soft and gentle, full of tenderness and affection, something that even Rose, who knew only too well how easy it was to find yourself trapped in an impossible relationship, found hard to understand. How Shona could bear to talk at all, let alone with such care and kindness, to the man who always let her down was beyond her.
“Are you going back for him?”
“No!” Shona said, adding quietly, “I don’t know yet.”
“Shona, you can’t. You can’t let him back in your life, you have to see that, don’t you?” Rose asked her desperately. “I mean, what if I announced that actually, now I’d had a chance to think about it, Richard wasn’t all that bad and was maybe just a bit misunderstood and that after all I would go back to him, what would you say? You’d kill me!”
“It’s different,” Shona protested. “Completely different. Ryan isn’t a psycho. He’s just an arsehole. And he does love me. He really does.”
“So you are going back to him, then,” Rose said, knowing this was an argument that she was unlikely to win,
hoping desperately that things would work out the way her friend wanted them to.
“I’m not going back to him straightaway.” Shona shrugged defensively. “But perhaps in time, if things work out. If he can show me he’s really changed. I’m not an idiot—I’m not going to just run into his arms like nothing’s ever happened—but I love him, babe, and really that’s all there is to it at the end of the day, isn’t it?”
“Then there’s nothing I can say, is there? Except that I hope you are right about this, Shona, I really hope that you and Ryan can make a go of it. If anyone deserves another chance in life, it’s you.”
Shona’s smile was tinged with sadness. “Thank you, darling.”
“But please, please, stay one more night?” Rose begged her.
“No! Look, I’m not going until later. I promised Jenny I’d help put the finishing touches on the annex so she can decide what to do with it next, and then I’m going to drive through the night. Be back in time to hug and kiss my little men. I’ve missed them, for all the fun I’ve had up here with you. It’s you, you know, that’s made me see what I have to do next. I know now I have to do whatever it takes to try and be happy.”
“I’ll miss you,” Rose said, finding tears suddenly standing in her eyes. “I don’t know why, but this feels so final.”
“Don’t be so stupid, it’s not like it’s forever, and besides,” Shona said, reaching out to ruffle Rose’s hair, “don’t you see? This is where your life is now, and it’s written all over your face how much freer you feel here, how important getting to know your dad is to you. Even mooning after that idiot you think you’re in love with.”
“I do love it here,” Rose said, reaching out and hugging her friend as she sat on the floor. “But your going means that my staying feels less like a temporary thing and more like, well, a decision.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Shona asked her. “Starting again, that’s what all this is about. Although how you are going to choose between Frasier and Ted I don’t know.”
“There is no choice!” Rose insisted. “There is no Frasier or Ted.”
That Rose hadn’t seen or heard from Ted since their hours in the annex she supposed was probably for the best. He’d said a lot of things to her that night, things she hadn’t said back. Some distance between them now was a good thing, some time for her to feel less bad about how she’d let him kiss her when she knew that it meant very different things to both of them.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Shona said. “Frasier’s been down here twice this week already, and he’s taking you and Maddie to Edinburgh tomorrow. That’s an awful lot of effort for a man who lives in another country, with another woman.”
“It’s just Frasier being nice. You said it yourself, he’s one of those people who can’t help being good to everyone they meet. He knows I’m going through a tricky time and he’s decided to try and help me through it, probably to keep Dad on an even keel more than anything. He’s a friend,” Rose said, feeling a warmth spreading inside her every time she said his name. “And that is really much more than I could have expected, when I came here armed only with a postcard and a crazed look in my eye.”
It was true that Frasier had arrived at the B & B on Monday evening just before tea and offered to take Rose and Maddie into Keswick for fish and chips.
After showering herself of all traces that her night with Ted might have left on her, her skin aching with tiredness and an excess of touching, Rose had gone to collect Maddie early that morning to find both grandfather and granddaughter already at work in companionable silence in the barn, so at ease in each other’s company that she felt a little guilty for interrupting them. Maddie had looked up from her work as she heard the barn door creak open and beamed at Rose.
“Oh, hello, Mum. Come and look at this.”
John had been in good spirits too, although he looked a little tired, and perhaps paler than Rose thought was good. She wondered if he really did live on a diet of moldy cheese and bread.
“Did she keep you up?” Rose asked him, but he shook his head.
“No, she was asleep by midnight. Age kept me up. It’s a funny thing that the longer you live, and the more tired you become, the less your body is inclined to grant you sleep.”
“If you like I could go and pick some things up for you,” Rose offered. He looked worn thin, and she suspected that it was her daughter’s fault.
“No, thank you. I have a person for that.”
And so, politely rebuffed, and none the wiser as to who this mysterious person might be, Rose had spent the morning in the barn, watching Maddie work, feeling the warmth of the sun beating through the skylight on to the back of her neck, surreptitiously watching John laying the groundwork for the piece that he’d said he was not ready for her to see yet, and feeling all in all really rather peaceful despite last night’s tempest. And then later Frasier had come and taken them out for fish and chips, saying that he was just passing and thought why not spend the evening with the two loveliest ladies in the village, although Rose couldn’t think of a reason why he would be just passing, unless . . . well, unless he had gone out of his way just to see her.
They’d had a lovely laid-back evening, like none that Rose could ever remember having with Richard, not even in the early days. Maddie had quizzed Frasier endlessly on what he knew about art, gave him a test in color theory, which he failed deliberately in order to let her explain it to him, and he had patiently spent a great deal of time checking her fish for bones, when she remembered that she was afraid of choking on one. It was rare to find a single man prepared to be so patient with any child, let alone one as relentless as Maddie, and the more Rose watched him go out of his way to engage Maddie, the more she hopelessly adored him. The real Frasier was every bit as lovely as the imaginary one that she had loved for so long, which was a comfort in a way, knowing that she hadn’t wasted all those years of pining for someone who turned out to be terrible in real life.
“You are good with her,” Rose had said quietly when Maddie went to refresh her glass of colored pens. “It’s kind of you. A lot of people find her difficult to get along with.”
“She’s not difficult at all.” Frasier shook his head. “A little eccentric, perhaps, and unusual, but not difficult. Besides, she is decidedly, preciously talented at drawing, which is fascinating. I like her a lot. She reminds me that I would have liked to have had children once.”
“Well, there’s still time, you’re not over the hill yet!” Rose exclaimed, although the idea of Cecily full-bellied with Frasier’s child was quite a painful one.
“Cecily is not keen on children,” Frasier admitted, perhaps with a touch of sadness. “She prefers it to be just the two of us.”
“Funny,” Rose couldn’t stop herself from saying, “that’s exactly what Richard said to me. So she’s the one, is she, Cecily? The one you will settle with forever?”
The question, so loaded with longing and double meanings, slipped out before Rose could control her tongue. Frasier turned to look at her, inclining his head slightly to one side, clearly trying to discern exactly what she meant.
“I haven’t really thought about not being with Cecily,” he said. “We’ve been together nearly two years now, and she’s really quite wonderful.”
“Right,” Rose said, forcing her mouth into a brittle smile. “Not that it’s any of my business. I think some of Jenny’s natural curiosity must have rubbed off on me. Look, anyway, thank you so much for coming to take us out when you still have that long journey all the way back again.”
“Oh, no,” Frasier said. “Not tonight. Tonight I’m staying over with John, mostly against his will. His third painting will be ready for shipping tomorrow, so I thought I’d oversee the loading and then he might let me talk to him about his next commission. I’ll be free in the afternoon—if you like we could go for a walk? I could show you some of my favorite views.”
“A walk? Thank you, that would be lovely,” R
ose said, surprised and confused once more. Just when she finally thought she knew where she stood, Frasier changed the rules all over again. “You really are being very nice to me.”
“It’s not exactly hard,” Frasier said, smiling perhaps a little coyly, “to be nice to you. I’m rather glad to have the chance at last. And I was thinking on Friday I might come down early, pick you and Maddie up, and take you to see my gallery for the day. You can see some of your dad’s work, and I thought Maddie would like to see other art—we could even brave the National Gallery, if she’s keen.”
“Really?” Rose looked at him. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t you be discovering artists or doing something with Cecily?”
“Oh, Cecily is far too busy to bother with me on a weekday.” Frasier grinned affectionately. “As long as I’m present and correct from six p.m. Friday onwards we get along just fine, and, well, look . . . you’ve been through some tough times recently. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I also know that you could do with a friend or two at the moment. The way you are handling this, handling John . . . it’s admirable. I don’t pretend to know how things were with your husband, but I do know that when I saw you on that day seven years ago, you looked so unutterably sad and lost and so . . . trapped. And if I’m honest I’ve never stopped thinking about you since that moment, wondering how you were and where you were. I hoped that I’d simply caught you on a bad day, and that you were truly happy. It pains me to know that for a good deal of the time you were not.”
“I wasn’t that day.” Rose remembered, pain flashing across her face. “When I met you, it wasn’t long after I realized just how awful my marriage was, and yet I had no idea how to escape from it. That time I spent with you, it gave me . . .” she paused, intent on not loading what she said next with too much meaning, “. . . a glimmer of what life could be like.”
The Runaway Wife Page 24
