‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked politely. Now she’d recovered from his dramatic arrival, she recognised that they hadn’t had the best of starts. It might be wise to get to know each other a little. ‘I have some red wine open, or there’s tea, coffee …’ She’d baked gingerbread cookies too, and the smell of sweet spice permeated the air.
‘No, thanks. I left early this morning to drive here and I’ve got a headache. I need to sleep.’
She stiffened at his curt tone. ‘Right. I’ll just show you round the house, then let you turn in.’
‘Now? Can’t it wait until morning?’
They might as well get it over and done with, then tomorrow she could keep out of his way. She was seriously regretting her decision to have a lodger. ‘It won’t take long. It’s not a big place. This is the lounge.’
He followed her in, ducking his head under the doorframe. The fire was still smouldering, and the quilt she was working on was neatly folded over the armchair. Charlie was running in excited circles around them, much to the Frenchman’s annoyance. He sneezed twice, then a third time.
‘Bless you,’ she said over her shoulder, and ducked through the doorway. ‘Through here is the kitchen, and in—’
She heard a loud thump. Then, ‘Aie!’
She swung round. He was clutching his forehead. ‘What happened?’
‘Banged my head,’ he said, through gritted teeth, and pointed to the doorframe.
‘Oh! Ah – yes, I forgot to say. I’ll get you some ice.’ She rooted around in the freezer, but found only frozen peas. They would do. ‘Here,’ she said.
‘It’s fine.’ He waved them away irritably and sneezed again.
‘I’m afraid all the doorways are low. I think people used to be smaller in the days when this cottage was built.’
He sneezed again and glowered at her. She continued into the hall. ‘And through here is my sewing room.’
Another sneeze.
She picked up a box of tissues and offered it to him. He took one and blew his nose. ‘Have you got a cold?’
‘No. I told you – I’m allergic to the dog.’
‘Oh.’ Her smile slipped. ‘Charlie, come here,’ she murmured, feeling a nip of guilt. Had she really forgotten to mention the dog in her emails? Charlie nuzzled her hand and she rubbed his ears. ‘Well, I’ve got the day off work tomorrow so I expect I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast. I can show you where the tea and coffee are then.’
‘It’s all right. I’ll manage.’
‘I’ll show you your room, then.’ She told Charlie to sit and he waited obediently in the hall.
Upstairs there were two bedrooms and the bathroom. Her cottage could only be described as snug, but she wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. As she led him up the stairs he sneezed three times in a row, then cursed under his breath. She pushed open the door to his room and gestured for him to go in first. He cast an assessing gaze over it, but didn’t say anything. Judging by his expression, it wasn’t what he’d been expecting. She bit back a sigh of exasperation. There was really no pleasing this guy.
‘Is everything okay?’ She looked at the room, trying to see it through the eyes of a stranger. The candles she’d lit earlier gave it a warm glow, and a gorgeous grey quilt, with orange and red appliquéd triangles, lay on the bed, a pile of fluffy towels at the foot. In the morning, he’d open the curtains to a beautiful view of the woods at the back of the house. Carys had adored this room. It wasn’t big, but it was homely.
His shoulders lifted in a typically Gallic shrug. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, without enthusiasm, and put down his bags heavily.
She gritted her teeth. What had he expected? She’d sent him photos and dimensions.
He sneezed again. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Goodnight, then.’
Alone in the kitchen she made sure Charlie was settled for the night, and rearranged the flowers in the vase, moving an orange gerbera that had been hidden at the back to the front. She could hear footsteps above as Alex moved around his room. Disappointment made her shoulders slump. Well, that was a fantastic start, wasn’t it? Maybe taking on a lodger hadn’t been her best idea. Maybe the whole challenge had been naïve. The hopes and optimism she’d had for her brave new start suddenly dissipated. This was reality: a rude, surly stranger with a horrifically loud motorbike. She shuddered. She didn’t like the way he’d walked around her home with narrowed eyes. And Charlie. I hope he isn’t allowed in my room. The cheek of him. This was her – and Charlie’s – home. He was just a guest. Sharing with him would be very different from sharing with Carys.
You don’t have to like him, Liberty. Just tolerate him. Say yes to everything.
Even unfriendly lodgers. And it’s only for a month.
Not long at all.
Chapter Three
Alex closed his bedroom door and clutched his shoulder. The pain was always worse late in the evening, but tonight, after a day on the road, it bit into him. He knew it would have been more sensible to travel by plane and car, but coming without his bike had been out of the question. Of course, it wasn’t the one he’d raced but his tourer; far better suited to the long journey he’d made. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted. Still, he’d arrived now. And what a welcome he’d had, he thought, picturing Liberty’s angry red hair and brown eyes, which had glinted in the porch light. A barbed comment about the time and a smack on the wrist because he hadn’t messaged her. She was only his landlady, not a friend. He didn’t owe her an explanation. He just wanted a bed to sleep in.
She was Luc’s friend, he conceded, with a shadow of guilt. But he was too tired and sore to think about that now. As he rolled his shoulder to ease the pain, he looked around the room. The bed was supposedly a double, but it was small, and the décor – well, it wasn’t his taste at all. On the bedside table candles were flickering. Scented candles, judging by the sickly smell. He blew them out. There’d been candles burning all around the lounge, too. Fire hazards, although she clearly wasn’t worried because she’d left them while she was out with the dog. Next to the pile of towels was a hot-water bottle with a red-and-white-striped knitted cover. He picked it up. Why had she thought that could possibly be of use to him? Sighing, he shoved it into the bedside-table drawer and rubbed his head. It was still throbbing and he could feel a bump. He needed to sleep. He opened a case and unpacked only his toothbrush. The rest could wait until tomorrow. Eyeing the big chest of drawers and the embroidered red felt heart that hung from one of the handles, his nose wrinkled. Why on earth had Luc recommended he stay here? He hadn’t expected the cottage to be in the middle of nowhere with death traps for doorframes – and he certainly hadn’t expected a dog. How could she have forgotten to mention something so important? He sighed and went to brush his teeth.
A little later he pulled back the quilt and got into bed. In the darkness, he listened to the unfamiliar sounds: creaks of wood, the faint hammering of pipes. It had been good to see Luc, to visit his home and see how happy and settled he was with his little family. He and Natasha were excited about their new baby, too.
Alex stared at the shadows around him. In contrast, his own future stretched ahead of him, bleak and overwhelming.
What would he do now? Without racing, he had nothing. His life was empty. Meaningless.
He felt sleep begin to drag him down, and he didn’t put up a fight. His body was too tired and ached too much, and his head welcomed a reprieve from the dark thoughts he’d hoped to leave behind but had followed him.
Tuesday, 2 December
The long drive must have tired him out because Alex slept later than he’d planned the next morning. He blinked and looked around him, then remembered where he was – and why. He sank back against the pillow, emotions roiling in him like poison.
He should be on the other side of the world, not in this backwater. He should be training, preparing for the next race. Speed was what he lived for. He missed it, craved it. Despair sucked him down. He wasn’t just c
ut up about his career, he was angry, too. Angry with the doctors, with his body – and with himself for not having been able to prevent this.
He sat up and held his head in his hands, trying to push the dark thoughts out of his mind. He had to remember why he’d come and stay focused on the search for his sister. Reading his father’s letters had set alight in him such a burning sense of rage, of injustice at what the man had done and how he’d behaved. Alex had thought it wasn’t possible to cause more hurt than his father had already caused, but those letters had proved him wrong. To ignore his responsibilities, to turn his back on someone who’d reached out for help, who’d clearly been desperate: it made Alex’s stomach twist. His father’s selfishness had truly known no bounds.
Well, he intended to put right his father’s wrongs. He might not be able to change the last thirty years, but he could step in and help now – financially, emotionally. Think how incredible it would be to find his sister and get to know her. They’d have a lifetime of catching up to do. Would she look like him and his brothers? Would she have children of her own? The hope of finding her raised his spirits, like a lamp glowing in grey mist.
He got up, showered and dressed. He desperately needed coffee, and then he’d get on with his search. As he made his way towards the kitchen he looked around. It was a curious place, this little cottage in the woods, and it certainly didn’t look like the home of a young woman who lived alone. With its tiny rooms and low doorways he felt like Gulliver in Lilliput, and it was how he’d imagined a typically English cottage to be: stuffed with knick-knacks, candles and – he bent down to peer at a doorstop in the shape of a hare – quirky objects. In the lounge he spotted an antler ceiling lamp, and there were quilts everywhere: strewn over sofas, armchairs, folded in a basket; they’d even been used as wall-hangings. Pine cones were strung with ribbon from every hook and door handle. His bedroom window, when he’d opened the curtains, had given onto nothing but trees, and he wondered why anyone would want to live in such an isolated place.
He heard a low rattling coming from the front room, and it was only when he saw Liberty sitting behind a sewing machine that he realised what it was. He’d intended to slip past unseen, but she spotted him.
‘Good morning.’ She followed him into the kitchen. ‘Did you sleep well?’ She smiled, but her expression was wary.
He was wary, too. He didn’t want to argue again. He hated hotels. He hated the attention he got when he was recognised, as he invariably was, and he didn’t want questions to be asked about why he was in England. ‘Yes, thanks.’ He opened a couple of cupboard doors. ‘Where’s the coffee?’
‘It’s here. Would you like toast? I’ve also got cereal in this cupboard, and fruit here. Help yourself, and if there’s anything else you need, I keep a shopping list by the fridge – just write it on there.’
She seemed friendlier today, and more helpful. He wondered what had changed. Last night she’d been on the attack from the moment he’d arrived. ‘Just coffee is fine.’
She had a machine, thank goodness. At least there’d be decent coffee. He flicked it on and placed a cup underneath.
‘I’ll join you,’ she said, opening the fridge and reaching for a bottle of milk.
Oh, great. Just what he needed. After last night he’d planned to stay out of her way and hoped she’d do the same. He wasn’t interested in getting to know her. He always kept himself to himself, and friends like Luc were rare in his life. The only people he trusted were his mum and brothers.
The kitchen fell quiet. Outside in the woods, birds chattered. When the coffee came through he seized the cup and blew on it. The dog trotted into the kitchen and came straight to him. Before Alex could pull away, it was licking his hand as if he were a long-lost friend, not a perfect stranger. He snatched his hand away. Too late: a red rash sprang up and he sneezed.
‘Charlie, come here,’ said Liberty. She held on to his collar to keep him away. ‘Sorry. He really likes you.’
‘Dogs always do,’ he said wearily. ‘If there’s a group of people in a room you can bet they’ll always come to me, even though others want to stroke them and I show no interest. I think they see me as a challenge.’
‘I’ll send him out into the garden,’ she said, and ushered the dog through the back door.
Through the kitchen window he saw the dog scamper around, then stop and bark at a tall tree. Alex felt a nip of guilt. The forest looked damp, the bare branches of the trees glistening in the wintry December light. ‘Will he be all right outside? It’s not too cold?’
‘It’s fine. He loves it out there and the garden’s fenced off. As long as you don’t mind him barking at every squirrel in the vicinity.’
‘It might irritate your neighbours.’
She laughed. ‘My nearest neighbours are Jake and Evie and they live a mile away on the other side of the woods and up the hill.’
Her long hair was a vibrant red and swung around her shoulders as she moved. She was dressed casually in a velvet tunic and leggings, nothing special, yet there was something graceful about her.
‘So why are you here?’ she asked. ‘Natasha said you’re trying to find someone. A relative?’
‘That’s right,’ he said, deliberately keeping it vague. His reason for coming here was deeply personal. The last thing he needed was for news of it to get out into the public domain. ‘There’s some personal stuff I have to see to concerning my father. He passed away last year.’
‘That must be difficult for you,’ she said, her tone unexpectedly gentle. ‘It took me a long while after Mum died before I stopped being hit by the grief at unexpected moments.’ Her eyes were the deep rich brown of chestnuts and they filled with sympathy.
‘We weren’t close.’ He drank down his coffee.
There was a surprised silence. ‘No?’
He shook his head.
‘Right. So – er – do you need any help with your search? I’ve lived here all my life. I know the place well.’
She really was trying suspiciously hard to be friendly, and instantly his barriers went up. This happened all the time on and off the track: people of all ages taking a keen interest in him, always with a self-centred motive. ‘I can manage. I have a list of places I need to visit.’
Hurt flickered in her eyes, and he remembered he’d seen it last night, too. She was a curious combination of haughty and vulnerable, but the vulnerability reminded him that, whatever her intention, she was Luc and Natasha’s friend. He tried to backtrack on his curt answer. ‘Actually, do you know where is the nearest local records office?’
She brightened. ‘Yes, it’s in town. Would you like me to take you there?’
‘I’m sure I can find it.’
‘The traffic’s bad round there,’ she warned. ‘It can be difficult to park.’
‘My bike gets through where cars can’t.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ Her tone was cool. ‘Well, suit yourself.’
Liberty knew Alex was going out, but still the noise of the engine starting was so loud and fierce it made her jump. She looked up from behind the sewing machine and peered through the window as he fastened his helmet and gunned the engine yet again. Birds scattered from the treetops, terrified. Was it really necessary to rev it repeatedly – and so loudly? Finally, he rocketed off at speed, and calm was restored.
She shook her head. Why would anyone choose to use such a dangerous mode of transport? Worse still, why would anyone choose to risk their life racing professionally? It was one thing to enjoy the rush of wind on your face as you pedalled a pushbike downhill, but quite another to race around on a machine at such high-octane speeds that one small error could cause carnage.
Like the idiot who’d been speeding and hit Carys head-on.
She pushed away the thought and reminded herself that this morning she’d vowed to make a fresh start with her lodger. She’d woken up regretting the way things had unravelled last night. Yes, he’d been late and had got off to a bad start with
his noisy bike and bad attitude, but what if he left and booked himself into a hotel?
The idea had made a shiver of panic touch her spine. She was counting on his rent to help cover her winter bills. This old cottage was expensive to heat and she couldn’t imagine there’d be many people looking for a room around here before Christmas. So she’d resolved that from now on she’d try harder to be hospitable and friendly.
Well, maybe just hospitable – because he wasn’t making an effort, was he? This morning his body language had screamed, ‘Keep away’, and their conversation had been clipped, awkward. And why had he looked so suspicious when she’d offered to take him into town?
Shaking her head, she went into the kitchen, flicked on the kettle and topped up the vase of flowers with water. They reminded her: it was day two of her challenge. What was she going to say yes to today? Perhaps she could cook something out of the ordinary – a curry, maybe. She wasn’t keen on spicy food, but Alex might like it. And perhaps he’d appreciate the gesture as the olive branch she wanted it to be. Her spirits lifted. Also, she had the whole day free to sew, and once she’d finished stitching the binding onto this Maple Leaf quilt, an idea for a new design was buzzing in her head, begging to be started. She’d received a delivery this morning of gorgeous new orange, black and white geometric fabrics, which would look great in a chevron design.
But an hour later her plans were interrupted. She had just begun cutting triangles of orange material when she got an alert from the dating app: it was an invitation for lunch today from a chef who had a rare day off.
Liberty pushed it away. She wouldn’t have time to get ready at such short notice. And it was her first blind date. She didn’t want—
Every opportunity, every invitation, I’ll accept.
She had to say yes. Simple as that.
Taking a deep breath, she looked again at the invitation and answered, ‘Yes,’ before she could change her mind. On the bright side, short notice meant she wouldn’t have time to get nervous.
A Winter's Dream Page 5
