Chapter Thirteen
Harriet stood on the threshold of the quaint, tumbledown cottage by the river, a bottle of cheapish wine in one hand, wondering if she could quietly tiptoe away. A burst of raucous laughter emerged from the house and she seriously debated whether anyone would notice if she slunk off.
It was three days since Ellie’s invitation, and Harriet had kept herself busy cleaning the house, painting the downstairs, and scouring want ads. She’d staved off loneliness with plenty of activity, but she missed the children quite desperately. She’d spoken to them every night, as well as to Richard, who sounded cheerful but definitely more tired as the week wore on. It had rained the last few days in Norfolk, and apparently William had been driving Richard’s parents a bit mad, and so he had taken them all back to his studio flat in London.
Harriet could only imagine how that had gone. When she’d asked, Richard had remained upbeat, determined, it seemed, not to moan even though Harriet half-wanted him to so she could then tell him how easy he actually had it.
Instead she found herself offering ideas. “The Natural History Museum might be fun for them,” she’d said last night, when they’d been having their nightly chat, which had somehow become kind of a thing. “If it isn’t heaving over the holidays. Or the cinema, but I know that’s expensive…”
“We went to the Princess Diana Playground in Kensington Gardens,” Richard said. “And William nearly broke the mast of the pirate ship.”
Harriet laughed at that. “Only William.”
“I’m trying to remember if I had that much energy at his age,” Richard said. “I must have done. I must have driven my parents round the bloody bend.”
“But you were in boarding school, weren’t you?” she knew he’d been sent to boarding school when he was seven.
“Ah, yes. That’s what kept me in line. I’d almost recommend it for William, if I hadn’t hated it so much.”
“He will grow out of it,” Harriet said. “That’s what everyone tells me, anyway.”
“Then we’d better keep believing it.”
They’d lapsed into silence then, but it hadn’t felt awkward. At least not too awkward. Harriet had had the sudden, desperate impulse to ask him about Meghan. Are you still friends? What did you find with a twenty-six-year-old secretary that you couldn’t have with me? She’d wanted to ask, but thankfully didn’t. She wasn’t at all prepared to hear the answer yet.
In the end, Richard had asked if she wanted to talk to the children, and she’d said hello to them all, laughing at Chloe’s usual flood of trivial information, hearing the affection beneath Mallory’s bored-out-of-my-mind routine, and managing to get a few more-than-monosyllabic answers from William. Then she’d hung up, everything in her aching for when she’d see them again.
She was driving to London to pick them up on Monday, and she was practically counting the minutes. But first she had this dinner party to get through. Another burst of laughter sounded from the kitchen. They were all clearly having an absolutely fabulous time, and Harriet didn’t really feel in the mood to join in. She was still worried about Lady Stokeley, and two more visits to the manor had not yielded any positive steps forward. On both occasions she’d found Lady Stokeley in the garden enjoying the sun, and remaining tight-lipped about whether she’d start treatment. Not that Harriet had worked up the courage to ask her point-blank. She’d more hinted at it, until Lady Stokeley had given her a particularly quelling look.
She had mentioned the possibility of helping with lifts, and Lady Stokeley had given her a shrewd look. “You seem quite determined to keep me alive, my dear, but people age. Things change. It’s a fact of life you must accustom yourself to at one point or another, more’s the pity.”
Harriet had a feeling Lady Stokeley wasn’t just talking about her own situation, and she had not been able to think of a suitable reply.
Now, resolute, she knocked on the front door. She couldn’t slip off as much as she was tempted to. It would be rude and Ellie would be so disappointed. Harriet knew she was really looking forward to introducing her to her crowd of friends.
And so Harriet braced herself for several hours of excruciating small talk as the door was thrown open by a gorgeous woman with silky, dark hair and a wide smile.
“You must be Harriet! Come in, come in.” She ushered Harriet in to a kitchen that was cozy and cluttered and filled with people. Harriet blinked, feeling absurdly shy, as a dog sniffed about her knees and a huge bear of a man took the bottle of wine off her.
“Thanks for this, I’m Colin.”
“And this is Emma, Colin’s sister, and Rose, his other sister, and Jane, his other sister,” Ellie said with a laugh.
“I’m surrounded,” Colin declared affably, and Harriet managed a small smile.
She felt overwhelmed by everything and everyone—the banter that was flying around, the press of people, the easy way everyone was relating to each other, as if they’d known each other for years while she was the odd one out, the cautious stranger.
It was a bit ridiculous considering how many social occasions she’d navigated over the years, with deft aplomb and sparkling self-confidence, but that had been an act of sorts, and now without the house, the friends, the life, she was back to the gawky teenager she’d once been, the only difference being that at least her hair and teeth were better.
“And this is Tom Roberts, the local vet,” Anna finished the introductions. “Do you know him? Do you have a dog?”
Harriet looked at the man standing by the Aga, a pint of beer in one hand. He had slightly longish light brown hair and glinting brown eyes. And dimples, when he smiled, which he was doing now. He wore a rugby shirt and a pair of battered jeans and there was something that was both relaxed and sexy about him. Disconcerted, she looked away.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think you have a dog?” One of Colin’s sisters, a severe-looking woman in a trouser suit, interjected with a rather sharp laugh.
“No, I don’t think I know him,” Harriet returned a little stiffly. “You,” she amended, with an apologetic look towards the man in question. “And I’m quite certain I don’t have a dog.”
Everyone laughed at that, and someone thrust a glass of red wine into Harriet’s hands, and she started to relax a tiny bit as the flow of conversation moved on and over her.
It was a cheerful, rambunctious crowd, she discovered, as Anna served up platefuls of beef bourguignon from on top of the Aga, and everyone moved into a sitting room that looked as if it had only been half-completed; one wall was covered with daubs of different colored paint and another wall was nothing but joists and insulation, a few two by fours tucked out of the way.
“Sorry, it’s a work in progress,” Colin said.
His severe-looking sister quipped, “And always will be.”
No one seemed to mind the mess, though, and soon everyone was sprawled over the two overstuffed sofas and several squashy armchairs around a lovely fireplace, digging into the mountains of beef and rice Anna had dished out. Somehow Harriet found herself next to Tom.
“So you don’t have a dog,” he stated with a wry, glinting smile as Harriet tried to balance her plate of food on her lap.
“No, three children are plenty enough for me,” she replied with an answering smile.
She saw a flicker of acknowledgement in Tom’s eyes, and she realized she’d mentioned the kids on purpose. This had the slightly surreal feeling of a set-up, and judging from Ellie’s occasional, darting looks of avid interest, Harriet could guess who the instigator was. Her friend wanted her to move on in life, in all sorts of ways.
“What ages are your children?” Tom asked dutifully, and Harriet cringed at the thought of boring him with motherhood stories. Why not just launch into potty training or something equally dire? A single man hardly wanted to hear about that, and Harriet was definitely getting the vibe that Tom was single.
“They’re all fairly young,” she returned, “but don’t worry, I won’t get out the photos, and I won’t bore you with war stories of motherhood from the trenches.”
“I wouldn’t mind, as long as they’re cute,” Tom teased back. “My best mate from uni just had a baby, and it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. I did my best to say how adorable I thought the little guy was, but I’m not sure he’s convinced.”
“He thinks his son is beautiful and that’s all that matters,” Harriet replied. “But newborns tend to look rather ugly, in my opinion. All red, mashed up faces and scrawny limbs. They look like little old men.”
Tom gave a genuine laugh at that, and Harriet felt as if she’d scored a point. Was this flirting? What was she doing here, exactly?
“And do you work?” he asked. “Outside of the home, I mean?”
Harriet smiled at that gallant caveat. “I’m looking for a job. I was in publishing before I had children but I’ve been out of the game for a while.” She hesitated, wondering if she should mention Richard, and if so what she would say.
“Ellie told me a little bit about your situation,” Tom said in a low voice. “I’m sorry.”
Harriet stared at him in shock. So maybe she didn’t need to mention Richard after all. He already knew.
“What did she say?” she asked as a cold, prickly feeling spread over her body.
She knew plenty of mums at the school gate were talking about her, of course she did. She tried not to think too much about what they were saying, but the gossip was surely flying.
But Ellie… Harriet hated the thought that some stranger was hearing her sob story secondhand, wincing in sympathy or even pity…
“Sorry, should I not have said?” Tom said, looking apologetic. Clearly she was not hiding her feelings very well.
“No, I’d like to know what people are saying about me.” Her voice came out stiffly, and Tom looked even sorrier. This was so not going well.
“All she said was that you’d had a hard time of it lately,” he said, clearly trying to backtrack as best as he could. “Not much more than that, honestly. You lost your house and you’re living in Willoughby Close. That’s all, I promise.”
Harriet wasn’t convinced that was all, but she could hardly interrogate him now.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I was trying to commiserate and failing badly.” Tom grimaced. “All this was a precursor to my own story, which is that I got divorced last year.”
So it sounded as if he did know something of Richard, then. She hated the thought, and yet why should she? It was the reality. She’d filed the separation documents herself. She needed to start telling people the truth, or at least not kicking up a fuss when they knew it. This was a village. People talked.
“I’m sorry,” Harriet said. “That must have been tough.”
“Look…” Tom laid a hand on her arm and they both gazed down at it.
He had strong, muscular fingers and a square palm—attractive hands, but they weren’t elegant. They weren’t Richard’s, with his long, lean fingers.
Tom removed his hand. “I realize I shouldn’t have said anything. This has all become rather awkward and that’s the last thing I wanted. I was just trying to… I don’t know, commiserate, I suppose. Like you said, life can be tough.”
Harriet gave a stiff little nod. “Ellie meant well,” Tom continued. “And so did I.”
“I know.” She took a quick, steadying breath.
She needed to stop having fits about people knowing things. So Ellie had mentioned a few details. It didn’t have to be the end of the world.
“Sorry, it just took me by surprise. I’ve been keeping quiet about things and I must admit I hate the thought of anyone talking about me.”
“We weren’t talking about you,” Tom assured her. “Not in that way. Not gossiping.”
“All right.” It was time to let it go. Harriet took a slug of wine and then gave Tom what she hoped passed for a smile. “So tell me your story. Have you lived in Wychwood-on-Lea a long time?”
“No, just over a year.”
“Since the divorce,” Harriet surmised, and he smiled wryly.
“Got it in one. I moved here from Cheltenham afterward and set up my own practice off the high street. I met Colin when he was renovating the surgery.”
“And Ellie?”
“I only met her tonight,” Tom admitted. “Before you came. We got to chatting, and…” He shrugged the rest away.
So Ellie was blurting out her story to strangers? Harriet fought a desire to be furious with her friend with the sure knowledge that Ellie had only been acting in her best interests. Misguidedly, but still.
“And how do you find Wychwood-on-Lea?” she asked, knowing she sounded too formal but unable to keep from it now. The conversation was struggling to regain its footing. Soon it would be floundering.
“Good. A bit lonely sometimes, but I’ve met a few friendly people. Colin’s a great bloke.” He cocked his head, smiling almost shyly, and Harriet looked away.
Tom was attractive, funny, and seemingly interested, but his obvious intent soured her stomach. She wasn’t ready to date. She wasn’t even ready to flirt.
He must have guessed that because he changed the topic to a recent film that Harriet hadn’t even heard of, although she asked a few dutiful questions about it.
As soon as she could do so politely she excused herself, taking her plate and glass out to the kitchen where Colin’s black lab, Tilly, was sniffing around for scraps. Harriet rinsed her plate in the sink and then, because she didn’t want to go back into the sitting room, she started tidying up the kitchen.
Ellie came and found her a few minutes later. “What are you doing, hiding in here?” she exclaimed. “I thought you were enjoying yourself out there.”
Then Ellie had been viewing her exchange with Tom with a pair of extremely rose-tinted glasses. “I was, a bit.” Harriet took a deep breath, her gaze focused firmly on the soapy plates in the basin before her. “Ellie, how much did you tell Tom Roberts about me?”
“What?” Ellie sounded surprised, and then guarded. “Is that what… hardly anything, Harriet, honestly.” Harriet didn’t answer and then Ellie said in a rush, “Oh no, have I messed everything up? I’m sorry. I just told him you’d had a hard time of it lately, that’s all, I promise. He seemed so nice and he is cute and single…”
Harriet turned around, her arms folded as she leaned against the sink. “Did you tell him about Richard?”
“Only that you guys were separated.” Ellie looked truly miserable now. “I’m so sorry, Harriet. I shouldn’t have said anything. The last thing I want to be doing is blurting out someone else’s story. I just got excited by the prospect of a single guy and I want you to be happy…” Ellie trailed off, biting her lip, and Harriet’s anger left her in a rush.
Ellie looked so repentant and Harriet knew she hadn’t meant to gossip. And she was separated from Richard. It was a fact.
“I know you meant well,” she said. “And I also know I’m overreacting. Actually I’m amazed Tom didn’t already know my whole story. Sophie has a schnauzer.”
“Sophie?”
“My former so-called best friend. If she could, she’d have taken an ad out in the parish magazine telling everyone about what happened.”
“Some best friend.”
“Exactly.” Harriet sighed. “I know I have to get over this. Wychwood-on-Lea is a small place. Everyone knows everything, Tom Roberts included, eventually anyway, and that has nothing to do with you.”
“Why,” Ellie asked slowly, “do you mind people knowing so much?”
It was a good question, and one Harriet decided she needed to answer honestly. “Because it feels like I’ve failed,” she said after a moment. “As if everything I built my identity on has been taken away. Everything people liked me for, all the things that made me me in this village, is gone… which makes either me shallow or everyone I know shallow.” Maybe both. Probably.
“I like you, and it has nothing to do with your house or who you were before you came to Willoughby Close,” Ellie said robustly.
“Yes,” Harriet answered, “but that’s exactly it. Who I was. Because I’m not that person anymore, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.” Richard might think it was a good thing. New and improved, Harriet 2.0. Would he take her back if she told him she’d changed? Did she want him to take her back on those terms?
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Shakespeare might have had something, there.
Ellie grinned wryly. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s a good thing.”
“Maybe,” Harriet allowed. She was certainly glad of some of the strides she made, but on the other hand… She still felt lonely, and more than a little lost. And she still missed Richard. If she could turn time back, would she? Maybe not in a heartbeat, but yes. She still wanted things—everything—to be different than it was.
“I’m going to go,” she said as she pushed off from the sink. “I’ll thank Anna and Colin, but then I’m heading home.”
“Oh, please stay, for dessert and coffee at least,” Ellie begged, looking unhappy again. “I really am sorry…”
Harriet shook her head. “I’m fine, Ellie, honestly, but I just need to be by myself right now.” Even if she’d been by herself all week. “Thank you, though. You’re a good friend.”
She made her slightly awkward goodbyes, with Tom giving her an apologetic and unhappy smile from the sofa, and then she headed out into the night. The lane Colin’s cottage was on was pitch-dark, and Harriet used the torch on her phone to navigate the rutted track. She felt calm and quiet, as if a storm that had been raging inside her had finally broken. It felt like the eerie aftermath of something big, all gray early morning light, a still, windless dawn of the soul.
What was going to happen next, she had no idea. But she wanted to rest in this moment, just as she’d savored the sunshine the other day. To enjoy it for what it was before she moved on… to wherever she was going.