‘How dare you raise your voice to me?’ he hissed. ‘You should begratefulthat I still considered taking you back after the way you’ve behaved.’
There it was again, the demand for gratitude. Juliet realised now what it was she should have been grateful for, and it didn’t lie here.
‘Good night, Toby,’ she said quietly, and turned to walk down into the station hoping, despite everything, that she was not hobbling too badly in the ill-fitting shoes and ruining her attempt at a graceful exit. At the flat, the shoes went straight in the bin – she wasn’t going to pass them on and let someone else suffer – and she headed to bed.
THIRTY
Another successful weekend had drawn to a close in the cookery school, and Léo and Sylvia were having a debrief in the sitting room at Feywood.
‘Do you think that the plum tart was too easy?’ asked Sylvia, her brow creasing. ‘It’s hard to gauge how difficult people will find things, and I want to make sure they learn something new.’
‘I think it was perfect,’ replied Léo, pouring them both more tea. ‘They learnt the best ways to pick and pit the fruit, about sugar balance and that amazing pastry you do so well. I think we should keep it on the list.’
‘Agreed. That’s it then, we’ve got a few days off now. Any plans?’
‘Well, I will keep working on the cookbook – there are some recipes I want to perfect. How about you?’
‘I’m feeling much better, so I think I’ll get some gardening done. Those poor roses are looking dreadfully bedraggled.’
They fell silent, which was unusual for them when they usually chattered easily about food and planting. Then Sylvia spoke again.
‘Léo, I hope you don’t mind, but I want to speak to you about Juliet.’
He looked up at her but said nothing. She continued.
‘If it’s not too rude, I think you’ve been a complete idiot. You’re obviously absolutely miserable without her, and I’m quite sure she feels exactly the same. You two were so happy together, you justfitso well. I know one can’t ever know properly what goes on inside other people’s relationships, and I’m not usually one for interfering, butreally, I’m finding it quite exasperating you moping about and doing nothing to put it right. There, I’ve said my piece, I’ll shut up now.’
The silence stretched between them again until Léo finally spoke.
‘You are right, I am moping, but there is nothing I can do. I will try to pick up, as you say.’
‘It’s not about picking up, Léo, it’s about sorting out. Won’t you tell me what’s happened?’
‘It’s all my fault.’
‘Well, that’s never the case, but tell me more.’
He went on to explain in full what had happened with Veronique, how guilty he felt and how he had sworn to himself never to risk bringing such sorrow on someone else again.
‘I came very close with Juliet, to making her miserable, so it was best to let her go.’
‘And by “let her go” you mean “push her into leaving”, I suppose?’ said Sylvia tartly. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell her how you feel? There’s no way she would have left if she had felt wanted here.’
‘Because it had to be her decision, I did not want ever to feel that I had stopped her doing what she wanted.’
Sylvia snorted.
‘I can’t believe you’ve lived this long with the Carlisles and still believe for a second that any one of us would ever not do exactly what we want. It’s a family trait – even Martha, in her own quiet way. But we won’t hang around if we’renotwanted,or push ourselves on people, which is why, incidentally, bloody Martha won’t get her act together around Will.’
‘But Julietmustknow I love her.’
‘Why? You practically put her on a train to London and, from what you’ve told me, made her feel rather unsure about that whole stupid Instagram picture. You must know that she needs someone who will be straight with her, after all that business with horrible Toby? She’s incredibly wary of being controlled or manipulated, so she’s gone off to London in order to take charge of her life, which is admirable in many ways, but I’m sure not what she really wants. She can’t make an informed decision, can she, if you won’t just tell her what’s what? By heaping all this guilt on yourself and taking a tonne of responsibility that isn’t even yours, you’ve actually done her a disservice. She’s a big girl, she can take this stuff on and would probably rather do so. She can sense you’re shielding her from things, and that can be infantilising, you know.’
‘Do you mean,’ said Léo slowly, ‘that she is worried I’m controlling her while I am trying incredibly hard not to do exactly that?’
‘Right,’ said Sylvia in exasperation. ‘You are a pair of ninnies. You’re both tying yourselves in knots over something that isn’t happening. Dear me, darling Léo, you are something of a drama queen. How do you say that in French?’
Léo grinned.
