A Bitter Feast(106)
“And Roz?”
“Roz put her keys through the letter box this morning.” Her lips pinched, Addie gestured at the account books and the piles of what looked like credit card statements spread out on her desk. “I think Joe borrowing from the business was a drop in the bucket compared to what Roz had been charging for herself on the household accounts. It seems I’ve been a bit of an idiot as well.”
“Oh, Mum, don’t be silly. You had no reason to think she was dishonest.”
“Well, the last few days have been full of surprises, haven’t they?” Addie fixed her with the sapphire-blue gaze that always made Melody feel like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. “Darling, why didn’t you tell us about your boyfriend? Surely you can’t have thought we’d disapprove.”
“No, it wasn’t that,” Melody protested. “It was just—I don’t really know what I thought. Maybe that he would never quite see me the same way, once he knew I was part of all . . . this.” She waved a hand in a gesture that took in much more than the house.
Addie shook her head and sighed. “Darling, I think your friends—Gemma and Duncan and especially Doug—have already proved you wrong on that count. You underestimate yourself. We are so proud of you, of everything you are. And you should be, too. You were so brave, that day at St. Pancras, and I don’t think we ever told you.”
If Melody had felt fragile enough before, now she thought she might come completely undone. “Mum—”
“One more thing.” Addie came round the desk and gripped her shoulders, gently, saying, “We love you. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”
And Melody let her mother hold her as she hadn’t since she was a child.
She found Doug sitting on the steps at the edge of the top lawn, under the end of the pergola. Mac lay beside him, looking down as well, his bony haunches protruding. They might have been sentinels, human and canine, watching over their charges.
Sure enough, Melody heard the high-pitched voices of the children, and Polly’s excited bark. When she reached the edge of the lawn, she could see them below, on the croquet lawn.
“They’re having a last game,” Doug said as she sat down beside him. “Very non-reg. They got tired of me trying to make them play by the rules.”
“I can’t say I blame them. You can be bloody annoying, Doug Cullen.”
He glanced at her, his mouth turning up in a rueful quirk. “So I’ve heard.”
“And who’d have thought you’d turn out to be the favorite uncle.” She nodded at the kids.
“Maybe it’s my childlike charm.”
“There is that,” she said.
He looked at her again, as if to see if she was being sarcastic, then frowned as he studied her. “Are you all right? You look a bit peaky.”
Melody started to shrug the question off, then realized that if she was going to turn over a new leaf, this was the time to start. “Not really, to be honest. I’ve just had a mum/daughter heart-to-heart. She likes you, you know.”
Doug’s eyebrows shot up above the gold rims of his glasses. “And that’s a bad thing?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “No, of course not. It’s just that—well, anyway, I came to say that I think I owe you an apology.”
He looked even more surprised, but then he fidgeted, brushing at an errant rose petal that had drifted onto his knee. “Yes, but—I probably shouldn’t have told—”
Melody cut him off. “Just don’t go there, okay? It’s done, and probably for the best.”
“Okay.” They sat in silence for a long moment, then Doug said, tentatively, “What are you going to do about Andy? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t know. See if he’ll talk to me, for starters. But—” She hesitated, crushing another rose petal between her fingers, then she swallowed and went on. “But, in the meantime, do you fancy a lift back to London? I could use the company.”
Three weeks to the day after Fergus O’Reilly had cast his long shadow across the courtyard of the Lamb, Viv once again sat on the kitchen steps after early-morning prep. But on this morning it was cold and crisp, and she huddled into a fleece jacket, the stone step chilling her bum through her kitchen trousers. When she blew out a breath, a cloud formed in the air, but she’d needed the break to collect herself for the day.
The crunch of tires on the car park gravel jolted her out of her reverie. It was an hour too early for morning coffee. She stood, ready to send overeager tourists politely on their way, but the man who came through the courtyard arch a moment later looked nothing like a tourist.
His tailored overcoat screamed city, as did the polished sheen on his shoes. The face, however, she recognized instantly, although the dark, waving hair was cut short and shot with gray.
“Colm Finlay. Whatever are you doing here?”
“Hello, Viv. How about a cup of coffee for an old friend?”
“Don’t tell me you were just passing,” she said a few minutes later, when she’d made them both espressos and sat down across from him in the small dining room.
“Never would I try on such a thing with you, Viv,” he said with a twinkle, then sobered. “I came to offer my condolences. I was truly sorry to hear about Fergus.” Before she could answer, he went on. “And I came to make you a proposition.”