She was liking Duncan more and more. “It wasn’t like that exactly; it was more like I was compelled by a higher force.” She laughed at herself. “Simone would have a field day if she heard me talking about ‘higher forces.’?”
“I think it’s easier for a man to be flippant about whether he wants kids or not because we don’t have to go through any physical life-changing or life-threatening events to get there. If I had to actually grow the child myself, I’m not sure I would. I definitely wouldn’t want to give birth.” He shuddered.
“That’s refreshingly honest.”
“You heard me say I’ve got four older sisters, right? They have been meticulous in detailing their experiences of pregnancy and childbirth—no hemorrhoid, tear, or stitch was too much information,” he said, smiling.
“I think that’s just put me off!” She grimaced. “My dad was a wandering spirit; I think maybe I’m destined to be like him.”
“But he did both, wandered and had children.”
“Not so as you’d know it.” She didn’t like the taste of bitter on her lips. Augustus didn’t deserve that from her.
“You didn’t get on with him?” Duncan tipped his head to the side.
“On the contrary. I adored him. I wanted more of him, and he wasn’t around as much as I’d have liked. But that’s my bad, he was just being his authentic self. What about your dad? Are you close with him?” she asked.
“Ah, no, he left a long time ago. We don’t have much contact. My mum brought us up single-handed. She’s pretty amazing.”
“I can imagine.” She swallowed the urge to say something cheesy like She must be to have raised someone like you and said instead, “We didn’t have much contact with our dad really either, although somehow it felt like more because we had one whole month every summer with him. And when you’re a kid a month feels like a year.”
“Didn’t you miss your mum when you were here?”
Star thought about it. Had she ever missed her mum? “Not really. It was what we’d always done from when we were toddlers. Simone and Maggie might have missed their mums, but I was parented by a lot of people, really. We tended to move between communities, where everyone pitched in in terms of caregiving.”
“Like communes?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s very cool.”
“It’s a more considered way of living. I think to outsiders it maybe looks irresponsible because there isn’t the same impetus to own things or climb a career ladder, but it all depends on how you define responsibility. You could say that to live by borrowing only what you need from the world and returning it just as you found it is the most responsible thing you can do.” She was used to automatically defending her lifestyle. People tended to get snarky if you lived in a way that challenged their own choices. Though she saw from Duncan’s expression that she needn’t have worried about that with him.
“You’re not like anyone I’ve met before, Star North.”
He was looking at her quizzically and she couldn’t quite tell if it was a good thing or not. The warmth that spread through her felt very good . . . but that could just be the effects of the cider.
The bell at the bar tolled for last orders.
“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” she said, rolling her knitting up and putting it into her rucksack. “This must be a perk of living in a pub—you can simply stumble up to bed after last orders. Although, you’ll have to stumble over to the Stag and Hound for your bed.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
“That’s just silly, I’m only up the road. I’ll be fine.”
“I’d like to, just the same.”
His gentlemanly manners would be the death of her good intentions.
The rain had washed away the ice and the cobbled road glistened with the reflected red and green bulbs on the tall Christmas trees and the twinkling lights up and down the high street. The cold was shocking after the cozy warmth of the pub, and even now ice crystals were re-forming a slippery sheen on the street. She would be glad to curl up in her warm bed with her knitting and an audiobook . . . What had this village done to her? She smiled to herself. Whatever it was, she kind of liked it.
Duncan waited for her to unlatch the gate, and despite herself she couldn’t stop the fluttery anticipation in her stomach; the will he or won’t he feeling was a cross between excitement and nerves and needing a wee.
“Well, I’ll see you in the morning.” Duncan smiled. “Eight thirty, okay?”
“You know you don’t have to work the weekend. I’m sure Sotheby’s doesn’t expect you to work six days a week.”
He pulled a face like he was chewing a toffee. He looked embarrassed, which was the last thing Star wanted to make him feel.
“You are right, I am entitled to weekends off. But at the risk of sounding even more nerdy than I am, I’m having the time of my life in your dad’s shop. I’ve never seen a collection like it. I can’t wait to start work every morning.”
The rain had become glitter in his hair, and his eyes sparkled in the fairy lights strung along the wall. His full lips looked like they would feel soft on hers. Bloody hell, he’s lovely! Stop looking at his mouth. Say something.
“Well in that case, far be it from me to force a day of rest upon you. I’m looking forward to you.” Shit! “To working with you. To the ledger. I’m looking forward to the continued deciphering of the ledger, with you.”
“Me too, with you.” He smiled.
Again, the sensation of wanting to kiss him swept over her, but she squashed it down and said, “Good night, then, see you in the morning.”
He nodded. “Till then,” he replied before turning and striding back toward the pub.
Star let out her longing in a low whistle and hurried into the house.
22
By late afternoon on Saturday the strongbox lay completely empty. The contents had been methodically examined by the sisters and classified according to their usefulness to the task at hand.
A clothbound scrapbook held a trove of winter solstice information, including the traditional drink served at the occasion—wassail—and lists of the kinds of foods to be served at the banquet, along with the route that the old processions had taken. It was an enormous task to master in very little time, but at last they were beginning to pull together, and their squabbles per day had dwindled to single figures.
Duncan was working at his desk. The loupe around his neck was almost a permanent feature, and was held so often to his eye it might have been a monocle. Already it was hard to imagine the place without him methodically perusing the aisles, his long fingers appraising its treasures.
A banging on the door so loud it made the windows rattle shattered their quiet contemplation.
“Oh god, it’s not Stu again, is it?” Simone groaned. “I’m going to call the police if it is.” She was a little ashamed that she was rather hoping it was Stu, just so she had an excuse to shout at someone.
“If it is, I’ll call them myself,” said Star. The words were tough, but Simone could see she was on edge, biting the skin at the side of her nail.