“Yes, you do.”
Mattie scuffed the ground with the toe of her boot. “I’m mortified at how I behaved last night. I’ve never crossed the line like that before.” She took a business card from her wallet and wrote on the back of it. “This is the name and email address of the managing editor at the TV station. He’s my boss. If you want to take the matter further, he’s the person to contact.”
Nell stared at the card dangling from Mattie’s fingertips.
“Please take it. I need to make amends. At least let me prove I can take responsibility for my own shortcomings.”
Nell took it from her and read the details. “I have to admit to being curious as to why you crossed the line.”
“Because I was angry that you wouldn’t give me a chance, that you wouldn’t trust me.” Mattie seemed to focus on a point somewhere over Nell’s shoulder. “I’m an idiot who deserves to face a disciplinary hearing or be fired for such poor judgement.”
“That’s an honest answer, if nothing else.” Nell had no doubt that the apology was sincere. Gone was Mattie’s poised, in-front-of-TV-cameras expression. In its place was an awkward, shame-faced woman who looked utterly crushed. This was an easy decision to make. She handed the card back to Mattie. “I don’t want to take matters any further. You owned your mistake. No huge harm was done.”
Mattie puffed out her cheeks. “I don’t deserve to be let off, but thank you. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow morning and on my way back to London.”
Nell pushed down a stab of disappointment at that news. “You’ll need a holiday to recover from the holiday,” she said lightly.
“This trip wasn’t what I was expecting, that’s for sure,” Mattie said. “In so many ways.”
What was that supposed to mean? Ah, Rosie, of course. “I’m sure your date tonight will help.”
Mattie frowned. “What date?”
“With Rosie.”
“Oh good god, no.” Mattie shook her head vehemently. “She’s way too young for me.”
Oh.“Have you had lunch yet?” Nell asked before allowing herself a chance to overthink it.
“No.”
“Join me at the cafe. Call it an olive branch, a truce, whatever. No work talk on the menu at all.”
Not in a million years could she have imagined making that offer when she and Mattie had stubbornly refused to chat in the car this morning. But Mattie had turned Rosie down, and with that revelation, a secret hope flared. Could they salvage their fledgling connection? Suddenly, it felt imperative that she try.
Chapter 11
Mattie snagged the last free spot in the shade of the gazebo. The table was small and square, with barely room for their sandwiches, a pot of tea, and two mugs. “How’s your food?”
“Good,” Nell said, clearly relishing the first bite of her egg and cress sandwich. “I’m starving now, unlike this morning.”
Mattie’s barely fledgling spirits drooped. “Was my behaviour to blame for your hangover?”
“You didn’t force me to drink. How I deal with emotional upset is my issue, not yours.” Nell ate another mouthful. “What did you make of Agatha Christie’s house?”
Could Mattie truthfully recall one single fact about anything she’d seen? No. Her grogginess had refused to lift after a disturbed night, during which her mind mocked her by replaying her humiliating behaviour. “It’s pretty,” she said vaguely.
Nell poured a cup of Earl Grey from the pot. “My family laughs at me for drinking tea when it’s sweltering outside.”
“The jury’s still out on whether hot drinks cool you down.” Mattie realised Nell knew she was still feeling awkward and was trying to put her at ease. She was some woman. How many people would be as gracious? Not many, certainly not in Mattie’s professional world. Was it an inherent part of Nell or had it beenpassed on to her, just as Mattie’s dad had always insisted on honourable behaviour? It’d been his voice she’d channelled in the dark hours of sleeplessness last night. She sipped a mouthful of tea and willed herself to relax. “Have you read any of Agatha Christie’s books?”
“No, but I’ve seen a film adaptation of one of them.Murder on the Orient Express. I see the reality and consequences of crime on a daily basis, so I tend to veer away from that kind of fiction.”
“That hadn’t occurred to me. Simon loves reading murder mysteries. It makes it easy to buy birthday and Christmas presents for him.”
“How much can he actually hear?”
“Very little. He feels vibration so that helps him when he’s driving and so on. He used to love going on the steam railway here, because he could feel the sound of it through his feet.” The memory lifted Mattie’s mood, and she smiled. “He doesn’t let it hold him back. He’s a teacher at a specialist secondary school for deaf kids these days.”
