An uncomfortable bed is the sign of a guilty conscience.
Did she have a guilty conscience? Surely her intentions had been good and pure.
No matter how good her intentions had been, the sofa didn’t seem to agree; she rolled onto her side. The truth was that she liked Gabriel’s company and had enjoyed their lazy afternoon looking at old books and gorgeous illustrations and walking around the shops in the village. And he had enjoyed it too. She hadn’t forced him.
She’d done nothing wrong.
And neither had he.
The sofa had always been very comfortable, so the fact that it suddenly felt hard and lumpy and every cushion in the wrong place must be her own imagination.
Gabriel had only been friendly. She was less innocent. Because…Pierre had to hold herself very still as the vague thought solidified in her mind.
Her life here was full of friends and good company. But for the first time in so long, she was enjoying someone’s company in that way that made the day sparkle. Her memory had saved everything he had said and done. Already she couldn’t stop imagining conversations with him, things she wanted to tell him, because his interest in what she said kindled her own spark.
Pierre kicked the covers off her; sleep wasn’t going to come, and the music had started to irritate her. She grabbed a warm fleece from her wardrobe and pulled on slipper socks.
Perhaps a cup of tea would help. There was a small cabinet next to her desk with a kettle and a selection of her favourite teas.
Berry tea? Peppermint? Orange blossom?
Then her fingers found the handmade sachets that Millie had given her, made with her own selection of wild herbs. Sage and honey. Yes.
While the kettle boiled, she switched on her PC and opened her business account. Thirty-five sales in the last two days. What was going on, had she finally broken through the competitive and over-subscribed bespoke card business? Or did she have some good karma stored up?
Her gaze dropped to her hands on the keyboard. Unexpected good luck always made her worry in case it wasn’t deserved or in case she didn’t live up to what was expected of her. Taken for granted, karma might turn away from her.
A red flag notification appeared on the menu bar alerting her that she was running low on pictures for her cards. She really needed to source more photographs. Unbidden, the image brushed against her mind, Gabriel lying on the ground, his camera catching something no one else had seen.
Stop that right now!
No, she couldn’t ask Gabriel to help. And he had other priorities. She should not take advantage of him.
Absolutely not.
The kettle clicked.
Pierre poured boiling water over the sachet. Then, steaming tea in hand, she settled into her chair behind the desk and stared at the screen.
She opened a new card template and started typing even before her thoughts had fully formed.
Running out of people to do you favours? Ask yourself for help, you are always more capable than you think and let’s face it, you are never going to think that you’re taking advantage of you.
Another template.
Sleep is the bridge from mistakes to a better plan.
She thought for a moment, blowing on her sage tea to cool it before sipping. Then she put the cup down and started typing.
Insomnia is the best wake up call.
And without stopping she went on to another template.
Night thoughts are what comes between good intentions and a good plan of action.
Tomorrow, first thing, she would take Gabriel to the church and show him every ancient coat of arms and every Du Montfort relic. She would dedicate the entire day to satisfying Nicole’s appetite for aristocratic background photos.
Tomorrow morning, right after breakfast.
