So much for offering Phoebe her own room “at my place.” By the time her internship rolls around, who knows where I’ll be. Somewhere else too temporary.
My paltry efforts in this garden are pathetic. What a waste of time. And I can’t even begin to think about Dirk, about my stupid hopes I could throw a ball with his grandchildren here as I cleared out more undergrowth. I liked Theo and Lexie. They were growing to trust me. Guess I’ll just disappear on them.
When I raise my head there are panda eyes on my forearms. Mascara. I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand. Now I can be a raccoon. I frown and laugh at myself.
I’m just fumbling in my handbag for a tissue when a window opens, high above me. It’s Amaryllis.
“Tea?”
She’s a lifeline. Tea. I need herbal tea. I’d forgotten my Celtic neighbor Amaryllis asked me to drop in after the latest open house.Amaryllis always lowers my blood pressure, in a good way. She’s from another world and that’s exactly where I need to escape.
She opens her door wider and ushers me in as subtle incense wafts – lavender and ginger. There’s soft music playing, something medieval, choral, deeply peaceful. Her green glass beaded curtain tinkles and clicks as she pushes it aside.
In the corner, her large tabby cat on a big pink velvet cushion nestles between high towers of books. He lifts his large head to size me up with green eyes, then yawns – his pink mouth wide behind sharp teeth. He rests its head back on the cushion and resettles himself with a flick of his tail.
“Thank you,” I say.
Amaryllis shrugs and smiles.
“Tea?”
“I’d love some. Thank you.”
“Peppermint? Dandelion? Liquorice?”
“You choose, Amaryllis. Something calming, please. Very, very calming or I will explode.”
She opens a cupboard and rustles around. The teacup she gives me is pink and ornate and delicate, with a gold rim, something from the 1940s. Steam rises as she makes the tea.
We sit either side of her round table, her simple bentwood chair slightly rocky.
“My grandmother’s,” she says. “I’ve kept most of her things.”
“I adore shabby chic, as you know,” I say, then wonder if I’d offended her. “Not that your place is at all shabby.”
She waves a hand and smiles at me, resting both hands around her mug.
“How are you?”
“Oh.” I consider pretending. “Devastated. The place is sold. My offers weren’t high enough. The agent just announced it’s off the market, so at least I won’t have to endure any more open houses.”
“Forgive me, but why should the sale make any difference to you, Lucy?”
“I just wanted to settle somewhere. Settle here actually. Right here, at Brighton Court. I love it here.”
She nods and blows across the top of her tea.
“So who bought the place?”
“No idea. Does it matter?”
She shrugs. Behind her thick glasses, her eyes are deep blue pools.
Steam rises from my cup in a great, fragrant cloud as she tops up my tea. I really don’t want to lose this friend. Who knows where I’ll be living in a few weeks. Panic grips me and I close my eyes, let tears seep out. When I’ve dabbed at them with a tissue and blown my nose, I notice her 1930s light fitting on three chains.
The cat yawns and stretches in a great furry arch and jumps down and twists himself around the legs of the table and chairs, and then Amaryllis’s ankles and then my own. I reach down and pat the soft fur between his ears and he lifts his chin and lets me scratch beneath it. The purrs are solid rumbles. I’d forgotten the soothing presence of a cat. If I’d been able to buy the apartment, I’d have invited Merlin to visit me up there, perhaps even found a rescue cat and invited it to move in with me.
Merlin looks up at me, then jumps up and sits on my lap. He stares at me until I stroke his ears and scratch him under the chin again. I’m rewarded with a louder purr.
