She too is in faded jeans, the kind with designer rips, one just at the top of her leg, right where it can show a glimpse of bare buttock. Llewellyn freezes and starts to get up, but she quickly turns away and walks out onto the terrace.
Leonie is just setting down our teapot and cups when Nora comes over with the sweetest smile. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” She throws a glance over her shoulder. “I can’t really be in there.”
I want to point out there are lots of tables she could sit at and lots of rooms in the house to go, not to mention her car outside that can take her anywhere. Someone who no longer belongs in the Kendric House community has a right to go anywhere in the country except here, except our table.
What I should say is that we have business to discuss, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
Laying a hand on my arm, she turns to me, eyes huge and red-rimmed. “Evie, I owe you an apology for how I talked to you last night. I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I’m so deeply sorry. But it’s really hard; you know breakups are a nightmare. I’m crap at dealing with hostile men.”
Hostile? Sweet and gentle Llewellyn? He was just saying no. She’s probably one of those people who view a rejection as an attack. Anyway, from what I overheard, the breakup happened a month before, thrown keys, clothes flung into suitcases and all.
Her hand tightens on my sleeve. “I know I acted like a bitch. Please don’t hold it against me. I felt like my world was turning upside down.” She blinks and tears spill on her cheeks.
Osian, face expressionless, passes her a napkin and pours her a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” she whimpers. But there’s nothing weak about the way both her hands envelop his when she takes the cup from him, as if receiving a fragile precious gift. “You’re so nice. I don’t know what I’d do if people took against me.”
Osian pours the other cup and passes it to me. But I’m already out of my chair. “It’s okay, you have it.”
He half gets up, too.
“Am I interrupting?” Nora’s tearful eyes dart from Osian to me and back to him.
Of course she’s interrupting, and all three of us know it. She’s done worse than interrupt – she’s made the terrace unbearable for me. How can I pick up our fun, exciting conversation about the garden with tragic Marilyn Monroe sitting there dabbing at her eyes?
Even if I believed her, we’re not friends; we have nothing to talk about. And I’m certainly not getting myself recruited into Team Nora.
She reaches to lay a hand on Osian’s arm; it’s her go-to move. “Sorry, I seem to cause trouble everywhere I go, making people hate me.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “Just remembered I have to do a couple of things before the men turn up.” Then to Osian: “I’ll see you later.”
He has no option now but to sit back down.
I go to the Hub and switch on one of the computers, log into my Google Drive and print out the plans for the turf. I don’tneed them; there are several copies already printed and stapled together and ready in the folder upstairs. But it’s something to do, and the Hub is a good place to hide.
I’ve never been able to deal with people like Nora, not ever. I’m too much what-you-see-is-what-you-get and never learnt the art of arranging my emotions like a flower bouquet to manipulate people. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. I show my hand when it would be better to cultivate a little mystery, and I keep my mouth shut when it would serve me better to speak out.
Did Nora really regret upsetting me? Was she acting? Or was she upset about her own issues and using the tears to gain my sympathy?
She succeeded, sort of. Because it’s taken me half an hour of staring at a computer screen to see more clearly that I’ve beenplayed. And so has Osian. The man who can’t help caring for the wounded.
He asked me earlier if I was okay. In fact, he asked me twice: first last night and again this morning. And both times, I avoided answering and changed the subject.
That’s what I mean. When my heart aches like it’s been pummelled, when things are too difficult to handle, do I ask for help? Do I say, “You rejected me and it hurts. Please help me get over you. Give me time. And please, don’t sleep with someone else just for now because that would make it too hard”?Do I say that?
No. I keep my mouth shut. Because that kind of self-preservation isNOTin my skillset. I can only run away. Protect my pride but never my heart.
I’m going to hide here until she’s driven away in her car.
Chapter Thirty-three
It’s Saturday night. My turn to give a presentation and ask for approval to hold a test run at Easter. Because whatever else I need to do, I need Evan’s approval to have customers coming to his house.
It should be easy. For someone with my TV experience, this should be a doddle. So why the butterflies in my stomach? When I walk down the curving staircase into the Grand Hall, my knees wobble and my heart jumps around my chest, unable to settle. That’s why I’m in my disappear-into-the-woodwork get up: a simple, black knee-length dress and ballerina shoes, hair out of the way in a ponytail. For tonight, my work will have to speak for me.
Even so, Gethin, the old guy in the wheelchair, can’t resist a quick flirtation. “You scrub up well, girl. I was beginning to wonder if you lived your life in dungarees.”
“You’re not supposed to call women girls anymore,” Deniro reprimands him.
