She left an hour later; the night was still wet, windy, and cold, and the wind had started to howl so Lucy had to clamp both hands down on her hat to keep it from flying away. She came into Tarn House shivering and shaking raindrops from her coat. Milly and Molly nudged their noses against her hip and she stroked their sleek heads fondly.Home,she thought again.This is home.
She unwound her scarf and hung her hat up on the hook and came into the kitchen, only to skid to a sudden stop. For a moment her brain could not process what she was seeing: two women in the kitchen, the silence so taut with tension it felt as if the air could break in half. Juliet was leaning against the Aga rail, her arms folded, her mouth a hard, compressed line. And standing beside the table, one hand on the back of a chair, was Fiona.
Chapter thirty
Juliet
When Juliet had opened the door to see her mother standing there, she’d had the same impulse as when Lucy had stood there, all those months ago. She’d wanted to slam the door in her face, and this time she almost did. She started to close it, and Fiona caught it with her hand.
“I know you have every right to shut me out,” she’d said quietly. “But please don’t.”
“Lucy isn’t here.” Juliet kept her hand on the door, and so did Fiona.
“It’s not Lucy I came to speak to.”
Shock made Juliet speechless for a moment, and she felt a pressure building in her chest, a pressure she was afraid to release. It might blow up the whole house. It would certainly destroy her. “You could have just called,” she finally managed, her hand still on the door.
“I wanted to talk to you in person.”
“You never did before.”
“I know.”
Somehow this honest admission made Juliet relent, if warily. She dropped her hand from the door and stepped aside to let Fiona in.
Her mother was in her house. It was so strange, so surreal, that she could not process how she felt about it. Too many things.
Fiona put down the single bag she’d been carrying and shed her coat, a thing of beige silk that was totally impractical for a Cumbrian, or even a Boston, winter. Juliet waited, arms folded, refusing to help her mother. Her welcome extended only so far.
“Are you all right to travel? With the surgery?” she asked after a moment, then cursed herself for sounding as if she was concerned.
Fiona turned around with a small smile. “No, but I came anyway. I’m not good at obeying orders. Can I sit down, though? It’s been a long trip.”
Juliet nodded and headed for the kitchen. She retreated to the Aga and leaned against it, her arms still folded. Fiona put one hand on the back of a chair and stood there, looking strangely disorientated, and Juliet wondered if she should offer her a cup of tea. She said nothing.
And then Lucy came in, humming under her breath—a sure sign that things had gone well with Alex—and stopped suddenly as she caught sight of them. Juliet still didn’t speak, and Lucy turned to Fiona.
“Mum.”
“Hello, Lucy.”
“What—what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to Juliet.”
Lucy’s expression cleared then, and she beamed a smile of such happiness and gratitude at Fiona that Juliet realized at once what had happened. Lucy had asked Fiona to come talk to her.Of course.The only reason Fiona was here was becauseof Lucy. Bile rose in Juliet’s throat, the taste of bitterness. She blinked rapidly, hating how disappointed she felt,again.
“Maybe you could give us some privacy, Lucy,” Fiona suggested, and Juliet unfolded her arms and pushed away from the Aga.
“That won’t be necessary. You’re only here because of Lucy. You certainly wouldn’t be speaking to me for my sake, and I don’t think there’s anything I want to hear from you anyway.”
“Juliet—,” Lucy began, and Juliet turned on her almost savagely.
“You asked her here, didn’t you? You told her to speak with me. She wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
“Lucy suggested it, yes,” Fiona said calmly. “But I made the trip. I want to be here, Juliet, because I know—I know I’ve treated you unfairly and I want to explain why.”
Juliet froze, her mouth open for a retort she knew she wasn’t going to make. Because she needed to hear what Fiona had to say, even if she didn’t want to. Even if she was scared, desperately scared, to hear it.
