‘So you are actually “Lord Vaughan”?’ I said with a grin.
‘Technically yes, but of course, I don’t use it. This lot in here would never let me forget it.’ He gave a half-smile as he indicated the crowd at the bar. ‘Anyway, to cut a long story short, Marguerite’s suggested that we swap houses. Given that she intends to be here as little as possible, and the fact that High Weald is Rory’s home and will be his in the future, she thinks it’s for the best. She’ll take Home Farm, and what with the sale of the Kensington bookshop, if we sell what’s left of the farmland, it’ll give us each quite a bit to pay for the restoration of both properties. And I’ve had enough of “tractoring”, as Rory calls it, I can tell you. Orlando and I have also agreed that all his stock becomes his alone if that’s what we decide to do. What do you think?’
‘Well, Rory loves High Weald, so it’s probably the best thing for him if he could stay there.’
‘And one hell of an undertaking for me to set about restoring it. Or, I could sell it and find somewhere more affordable.’
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘I mean, you can, but I don’t think you should. You – your family – belong there.’
‘The question is, Star . . . do you?’
‘You know how much I love the house . . .’
‘That’s not what I meant. Look, call me impatient, but these past three weeks have been torture. Having you at High Weald – so near, but yet so far – has driven me nuts. So I’ve brought you here tonight to ask you what your thoughts are on the subject. I mean, the subject of us. I have to accept it if you don’t want to be with me. But if you don’t, I think it would be best if you found yourself somewhere in Tenterden to live. This isn’t a threat,’ he said hastily, ‘although I suppose it is an ultimatum.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Star, please understand that every day you’re there at the house with us, I’m getting in deeper. And for Rory’s sake, I really can’t afford to lose it again.’
‘I understand.’
‘So?’ He looked at me across the table.
Come on, Star, be brave, say YES . . .
‘I don’t know,’ I heard myself say yet again.
‘Right. Well then.’ He stared into space. ‘That just about says it all.’
It says absolutely nothing, apart from that I’m terrified to let my feelings out and trust you . . . and myself.
‘Sorry,’ I added pathetically.
‘It’s okay.’ I watched him drain his pint. ‘Well, as there’s nothing more to say, I’ll take you home.’
I followed him back out of the pub, the food we were going to order now forgotten. It had only been twenty minutes since we’d entered, and I got into the Land Rover feeling utterly miserable. Driving back along the road in silence, he turned into the drive, slamming the car to a halt in front of the house.
‘Thanks for the drink.’ I opened the door and was about to get out when I felt his hand grasp mine.
‘Star, what is it you’re scared of? Please don’t go . . . For God’s sake, speak to me! Tell me what you’re feeling!’
Half in and half out, metaphorically and physically, I opened my mouth, but no words came out of it. They remained locked inside me, just as they always had done.
Eventually, he gave a long, deep sigh. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take this. I thought you might like it.’ He pressed an envelope into my hand. ‘If you change your mind . . . If not . . . thanks for everything. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’
I slammed the door and walked towards the front entrance, determined not to look behind me as he reversed and pulled out of the drive. I opened the front door quietly, hearing laughter emanate from the kitchen. Walking straight up the stairs, too embarrassed to alert anyone to my presence, I walked down the corridor to double-check that someone had thought to put Rory to bed. I kissed him gently on the cheek and he stirred, opening his eyes.
‘You’re back. Have a nice time with Mouse?’
‘Yes thank you.’
‘Star?’
‘Yes?’
‘Will you get married?’ Rory mimed smooching and grinned at me. ‘Please.’
‘Rory, we both love you—’
‘Star?’
‘Yes?’
‘Mag got cross when the telephone broke and said Mouse was my dad and he should pay. Is he?’
‘I . . . You’ll have to ask him, Rory. Now, sleep tight,’ I said as I kissed him again.
‘Wish he was my dad,’ he whispered sleepily. ‘And you could be my mum.’
I left him, marvelling at how truly forgiving young children were. And also, at how simple everything seemed to them. I walked to my own bedroom and huddled under the blankets, not bothering to take off my clothes because it was simply too cold. Then I tore open the envelope Mouse had given me.
Dear Star,
I’d like to take you away for a couple of days next weekend. I have somewhere in mind. I think we need to spend some time alone together without everything going on here. No strings attached. Let me know. O x
P.S. Sorry for writing, it’s just in case I don’t pluck up the courage to ask you in person at the pub.
I woke with a start the next morning, my mind replaying what had happened the night before. Perhaps, I thought, as I pulled on a second jumper to protect me from the cold, I should just march across the road and tell him, ‘Yes’.
Do it, Star, just do it . . .
I dressed, hurried downstairs and walked into a deserted kitchen full of dirty plates and pans, not to mention wine glasses and numerous empty bottles. I was just heading for the back door, knowing I had to say the words before my courage failed me, when I saw a note propped up in the middle of the table.
Star! Your sister called here last night. Can you ring her? She said it’s urgent!!! P.S. Hope you had a good time.
M x
‘Shit!’
All thoughts of a possible future with Mouse were wiped away as I went to the telephone, picked up the receiver and, with a shaking hand, dialled the apartment number. It rang and rang. Trying CeCe’s mobile, it went straight to voicemail. Putting the receiver down, I told myself that she had probably turned off her mobile and hadn’t heard the landline, although CeCe could usually hear a pin drop from a mile away. I tried both again and again, but there was no answer.
Running upstairs, I searched for my mobile, willing it to find a signal for me, just this once, so I could hear any message she’d left for me. But, of course, it didn’t. Throwing my stuff into my holdall, I raced back downstairs then called a taxi to come and collect me immediately.
It was only on the train that I was able to access my messages as they dinged through in a huge wave, to the point where other passengers threw me irritated glances.
‘Star, it’s CeCe. Please can you call me?’
‘Star, are you there?’
‘They said you’ve gone out. Need to talk to you . . . Call me.’
‘In a bad way . . .’
‘PLEASE! CALL!’