The Chilton Crosse Collection #1, page 48
“Is he really,” Abbey said softly, making eye contact for the first time, “going to marry Mildred?”
“I think so,” Holly acknowledged.
Rosalee stood and left the room. Abbey waited a moment then got up slowly, venturing over to the doggy bed where Rascal slept in the corner. She sat on the floor and scooped him up in her arms, stroking his fur as he let out a squeaky yawn. Holly saw her sister’s lip pooch out. What should she do now? Leave Abbey alone? Offer a reassuring hug?
What would her mother have done?
Going on instinct, Holly tiptoed over to join Abbey on the floor. She touched Rascal’s ear, and he tried to play-bite her finger. Abbey giggled through tears.
“Hey,” Holly whispered, moving to touch Abbey’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. It really is. This doesn’t change how much Daddy loves you. He wants you to be happy. And we want him to be happy too, don’t we?”
Abbey nodded then buried her nose in Rascal’s fur, dampening it with more tears. Holly remained, stroking her sister’s hair, frustrated that words and gestures weren’t enough. And equally frustrated that her father wasn’t here to see this, the consequences of his secret.
At midnight, hearing her father shut the front door, Holly clicked her laptop shut. She’d expected him to be late, probably hoping the girls would all be in bed when he arrived so he wouldn’t have to face them. But not this late.
She could hear him in the study, creaking steps on the wood floor.
The longer she’d waited for him, the more she’d stewed. The burden he’d placed on her, telling the girls alone, had been unreasonable. And she wanted him to know it.
She headed down the shadowy hallway, the grandfather clock gonging the hour behind her, sonorous and mellow.
As she entered the study, he looked up, startled.
“Hi, love. I didn’t realize you were still up.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” She sat across from him.
“How was your day?”
“Not good. I told the girls.”
“Did you?” He shut down his mobile. “How did it go?”
“Not well.”
He sat back and exhaled. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
“No, you really shouldn’t have. It was a struggle.”
“How did they take it? What did they say?”
“Well, let’s see. Bridget walked out the front door in a huff, Rosalee ran upstairs in a huff, and Abbey sat in the corner and cried.”
“Oh.” He gazed down at the desk, his eyes hollow, contemplative.
Holly’s anger dissolved a little. “Look, Dad, you have to remember we knew nothing of your… relationship with Mildred, until now. It’s all so new. Most of the anger we feel is due to the shock. We’ve had no time to adjust. And we can’t help but feel a little betrayed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I mean, how would you like it if I came home one day and announced to you I was getting married, and you never even knew I was seeing anyone?” She paused and shook her head. “No, that scenario won’t work. This situation is different, because there’s a mother figure involved. Mildred will become a stepmother to all of us. Honestly, I don’t know what that means for me. Where I’ll fit in now…” She drifted off, hating the direction this was going, not wanting to speak her fears aloud. Not yet.
“You’ll always be welcome here. You know that. As long as you like.”
“Yes, but in what capacity? I’ve practically run this household for years, and now what? This changes everything. For everyone. Don’t you understand that?”
“I do now.” He raised himself up and turned, talking to the wall. “Okay. Then it’s off.”
“What’s off?”
He swiveled to look at Holly. “The engagement. Nothing’s been promised yet. I haven’t asked Mildred to marry me. It won’t even have to be undone. She’ll never know.”
“Dad, that’s not what I meant. You don’t have to go to extremes.” She leaned forward as he took his seat again. “I just want you to understand how we feel in all this. You have to be sensitive. Look at things from our perspective.”
“How do I fix it?”
The helplessness in his eyes surprised Holly. He genuinely didn’t know what to do. His dumping of all this into her lap, making her tell the girls—it wasn’t a macho, insensitive gesture. It was pure ignorance. He truly had no idea how to talk to his girls, to relate to them or comfort them. Sure, he knew exactly how to provide for them—put a roof over their heads, food on the table. But when it came to complicated emotions and difficult discussions, he was ill-equipped.
“Honestly, Dad, we’re not a problem to be fixed. It’s not as simple as that. You can’t act like we’re your employees, or some business colleagues. We’re your daughters.”
“I know that. Of course I do. So, what do you propose? What should I do?”
“Talk to them. Tell the girls what you told me last night. Let them hear it from you. You owe them that.”
He puffed out a sigh. “I do, don’t I?”
“Yes. Because if you leave this all to me, as you did today, you’re going to shut your daughters out. And they’ll come to resent you for it.”
“I never considered that.” He paused, got a faraway look, then slapped his open hand against the desk. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Will you be there, too?”
“Of course I will.”
“I don’t know if I can change their minds. About Mildred, the engagement.”
“It’s not about changing their minds. It’s about letting them in. Showing them you care what they think.”
He nodded, satisfied with his decision.
Holly uncrossed her legs and got up from the chair.
“Thanks, love.” His eyes shifted to his phone. “You always know what to do.”
Wrestling with the sheets, kicking them off, Holly stared at the red glow of the digital clock. She’d been attempting to force sleep for the past hour. And it wasn’t working.
Giving up, she stood and flicked on the lamp then found some jeans lying over the back of a nearby chair and slipped them on. Next, she threw on a bulky green sweater, one her father had bought for her on a business trip to Ireland last year.
She found her phone and typed in a text, the buttons clicking loudly in the dead silence of the room: Awake? Need company?
She walked to the window. Tipping back the curtain, she saw a cloudless night, with a ripe moon shining right over the Manor, far across the fields. Beautiful. Maybe there really could be beauty after a storm.
The phone vibrated in her hand. Fletcher had texted back: At pub. Waiting 4 U.
She snuck out of her room like a naughty teenager running away from home.
Five minutes later, she entered the pub and waved at Joe, who stood behind the bar cleaning a glass. He waved back and pointed toward the fireplace.
Fletcher stood when he saw her, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Hey.” His voice was raspy, sleep-coated, the circles under his eyes defined.
“I woke you up,” she said with a pout then sat. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” He sat, too. “I fell asleep at the desk doing rewrites. I needed a wake-up call.” He yawned and stretched his legs out from under the table. A crease in his cheek told her he’d fallen asleep on top of his rewrites.
“Holly, what can I get you?” Joe appeared at her side, rubbing his fingertips on the towel slung over his shoulder.
“I think I’ll have a coffee. Decaf, please.”
“Same for me,” Fletcher said.
“Coming right up.”
“So, what’s with the text?” Fletcher asked Holly through another yawn.
“Will you stop doing that?” Holly said, covering her mouth as she suppressed her own.
“Sorry.” He gave a half-grin, revealing one dimple.
Joe returned with the piping mugs and disappeared again.
“It’s that ‘thing,’ isn’t it?” Fletcher took a sip and waited, watching her face. “That you couldn’t talk about last night?”
“Yes, the thing,” she whispered. “Nightmare, more like.”
“Tell me.”
The late hour and the fire’s warmth relaxed her, weakened her defenses. She hadn’t come here for this, but she decided to cave. “Okay, here it is. Basically, my dad is getting hitched.”
“What? To who?”
“See?” She pointed at him. “That’s the face I made when he told me.”
“And you had no idea?”
“None.”
“I need details.”
“It’s Mildred.”
“Mildred-Mildred?”
“That’s the one.” She was almost having fun with this.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Apparently, my dad has fancied her for the last few months. They got closer when her brother died. He’s bought a ring and everything. He hasn’t asked her yet, but I’m sure it’ll be soon. And that the answer will be ‘yes.’”
“I see.”
“What do you see?” she asked.
“Well, it makes an odd sort of sense. I mean, similar experiences—her brother, your mom—seem to bring two people together. And, he’s probably been lonely for a while.”
Holly drank her coffee and thought about it from Fletcher’s point of view. “If I step outside the situation, look at everything without me in it, sure, it makes sense. But it affects me,” she said, the quiver returning to her voice. “And my sisters.”
“I know it does.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.
“I feel six years old, Fletcher. Why is this so hard, so weird?” She let the tears brim over. “Why can’t I be mature, levelheaded about this?”
“Because it’s not about Mildred. Or even your dad.”
She looked into his brown eyes, knowing the words before he even said them.
“It’s about your mom.”
He said it in a way that cut through everything, the layers and confusion. And he was spot on.
He kept his hand there, rubbing his thumb along hers while she strained to fight more tears. But it wasn’t working—his kindness only made the tears splash into her lap. She wiped her hot cheeks with the napkin Joe had left behind.
Fletcher continued, “When she passed away, she left a hole. One that you became used to, probably. You were forced to become used to it. And now, with Mildred, it seems like that hole is about to be filled up. And you’re not ready.”
“But that’s the thing. I should be ready. It’s been six years, for heaven’s sake. Dad needs companionship. I can’t fault him for that.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re human, remember?”
“It’s not easy to forget. I feel very, very human these days…”
“How are the girls handling it?” He let go of her hand and leaned back.
“Not well. Poor Abbey’s hit the hardest. She’s so young. She doesn’t understand.”
“You’re one of the warmest, closest-knit families I’ve ever seen. Nothing is going to fracture that. And I’d even bet that Mildred will end up becoming a special addition to it.”
“You think?”
“I do. Your dad couldn’t have picked a kinder woman. I barely know her, but her reputation around here is stellar. I think he has good taste in women.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” Holly said, thinking about her mum. She took another sip of hot coffee and let it warm her whole body. “Thank you. For saying exactly what I needed to hear.”
Instead of getting up to leave, she wanted to stay a bit longer. And since Fletcher seemed in no hurry to go back to his room, she changed the subject, wanting to make this conversation less about her. Fletcher was probably tired of hearing all her family drama.
Half an hour later, he walked her outside after insisting on paying the tab, and reached out for a hug. Not a fast, noncommittal goodbye hug but one that swallowed her up, made her disappear into him. The proper sort of hug she craved. Solid, reassuring. She leaned her cheek against his chest and wished she could stay right here for another hour or so.
“Mmm. I’m sleepy.”
“Good,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her head. “That’s what you need. Rest.”
After a couple of minutes, he backed away.
“Are you going to sleep? Or work on the script?” she asked, looking up at him in the stunning moonlight. It had gotten so bright that it spilled all around them, creating patches of shadow.
“I’m actually kinda wired. I’ll probably work. Want me to walk you back?” he offered.
“Naw, I’ll be fine. Thanks again for listening to me ramble,” she said. “I’m glad you answered my text.”
“I’m glad you sent it.”
She hoped he could see her smile widen in the moonlight before she began her reluctant walk up the hill toward Foxglove.
Chapter Nineteen
What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.
~Jane Austen
“The church. Or maybe the roses?” Frank looked sideways at Holly for her opinion.
They stood in the art gallery’s storage room, deciding which painting should replace the landscape sold to a tourist earlier this morning.
“The roses, I think. They’re cheerful. Summer-y.”
“Agreed.” He picked up the frame at its edge and carried it off to the main room.
Holly was glad to be at work today—it gave her a break from everything at home. Her father had called a family meeting for tonight, finally, and Holly assumed the tension in the house would only worsen. Since she’d broken the news to the girls about Mildred nearly a week ago, things had been eerily quiet. Everyone moved about the house with solemn reserve, not even making an effort to argue or complain. Her father must’ve told Mildred the girls knew, because she’d left a voicemail on Holly’s phone canceling this week’s Tuesday workday at the house. Apparently Gertrude needed her.
Frank had reappeared in the doorway, and Holly found the nerve to ask him what she’d been dying to ask for the past couple of weeks. “Okay, I’m about to be terribly rude and pry. But I have to know. How are things going with you and Lily?”
Actually, Holly already knew. Lily had been emailing her, saying she and Frank were talking online more and more often, and had even taken up texting. Still, Holly wanted to hear it from his end of things.
“Well,” Frank said, a winsome smile appearing. “We’re… chatting. Quite a lot.” He inched a bit closer, as though there were a great crowd of people behind him who were trying to press in and listen. “We get on very well. She’s amazing. Did you know she plays the cello? Is part of the Cotswold symphony? She has a concert in two weeks.”
“No, I didn’t know. Impressive!”
“Yes. And, she’s agreed to go on a butterfly hunt—that’s what she calls them—next week with me. Says she’s fascinated when I talk about insects.”
Officially confirmed. A perfect match.
Feeling bolder, Holly said, “You really fancy her, don’t you?”
“I admit it. I do.” He looked suddenly years younger.
Holly found it fascinating, how love did that to people—transformed them into giddy teenagers again. Even her father, talking about his courtship with Mildred. It lit up his entire face, softened the edges—even seemed to take away some wrinkles, she could swear.
Pushing her father’s situation from her mind, she focused again on Frank, who was busy chattering on about a conversation he and Lily had this morning, via email.
On the way home an hour later, Holly stopped at the market for two packages of bacon and two dozen eggs for a fry-up. Abbey had requested a “breakfast night” for dinner this evening, a Bubble and Squeak—something their mother had started years ago when she’d been too tired to go to the market. Only having breakfast foods and leftover meat, she’d decided to make it into a dinner. Holly thought it the perfect comfort food for the evening that lay ahead.
As Holly placed her items on the counter, Mrs. Pickering gathered them up and tapped the keys on the register. One could never check out at her market without either being peppered with personal questions or receiving the latest bit of village gossip. Whether one liked it or not.
Today, Mrs. Pickering offered the latter.
“Did you hear,” she started, “about the fancy dress ball on Friday?”
“No, I didn’t. A ball?”
“You know, the filming. Emma.”
“Oh, I see. Is there a special scene coming up?” Holly wondered why Fletcher, her inside scoop, hadn’t mentioned anything.
“Yes.” Mrs. Pickering paused, holding the bacon. “The entire village is getting involved. The word is that they need fifty extras to fill in the gaps at the ball—standing around in the background and such.”
“Sounds fun.”
“With costumes and hairdos, as well! It should be a cracking good time,” she said, beaming. “Bring the community together.”
Holly wanted to tell Mrs. Pickering how very dull filmmaking actually was, but changed her mind. Mrs. Pickering could discover it for herself.
“Grab that big plate, will you?”
Unable to abandon the Bubble and Squeak, hot on the cooker, Holly pointed to the plate.
Abbey obeyed, and they worked as a team—Abbey holding the plate steady while Holly slipped the egg/bacon/potato/onion pancake onto the plate in one fell swoop. Next, they added some color by placing grilled tomato halves all around the edges.
