Too late Juliet heard the bitterness in those words, the way they fell into the silence like stones. She turned away to needlessly untangle the dogs’ leads.
To her shock she felt Peter’s hand on her shoulder, a heavy weight that had her whole body tensing even as she registered its warmth and solidity.
“Bound to be hard at first. You’re like me, used to being alone.”
God, she was far too used to being alone. She was tired of it, desperately so, yet she didn’t want puppyish Lucy being the person that ended her isolation.
Juliet stared down at the leads looped through her fingers; the wind blew her hair into her eyes and Peter still had his hand on her shoulder. She had the opposing desires to both shrug it off and keep it there.
“You’re not really alone, Peter,” she said when she trusted her voice to sound normal. “You live with your father.” William Lanford had run the farm before Peter, and although he was elderly now, his health clearly starting to fail, Juliet still saw him out sometimes, with Jake trotting by his side.
After an endless moment Peter removed his hand. “That’s different too,” he said, and Juliet chose not to ask what he meant.
“I should get back. It’s late, and Lucy . . .” Somehow she wasn’t able to finish that sentence.Lucy thinks I hate her? Feels sorry for me? Will still be there, even I half wish she wasn’t?
Peter tipped his flat cap at her, a gesture that seemed rather ridiculously gentlemanly, almost from a different age. Juliet nodded back and then wordlessly she turned around and headed back to Tarn House.
The house was quiet and dark when she let herself in, and she saw their meal had been cleared away, the dishwasher turned on, the wine bottle corked, the glasses drying upside down in the drainer. When she opened the fridge, she saw that Lucy had left her half-finished plate of pasta on a shelf, neatly covered in plastic wrap, and somehow this small gesture caused a lump to form in her throat, so it hurt to swallow.
She settled the dogs in their beds even though it wasn’t much past eight o’clock, locked up, and went upstairs, pausing for a moment in the hallway. She could see light spilling out from under Lucy’s door, but she couldn’t hear anything except the relentless wind.
Juliet hesitated, staring at that door, and then pressing her lips together in a firm line, she turned and went to her bedroom.
Chapter seven
Lucy
After Juliet had left the kitchen, Lucy had sat at the table for a good fifteen minutes, staring into space, her mind spinning without snagging on any coherent thought. Then she’d gotten up, tidied the remains of their meal, and tiptoed upstairs to her room, even though she’d known there was no one else in the house. She’d heard Juliet calling to the dogs and then the slam of the door.
Alone in her bedroom, she decided to tidy up there too. It wasn’t until she’d folded all her clothes away, had thrown out the crumpled receipts and gum from her trip, and was sitting on the edge of her bed that she realized what she’d done. She’d just tried to erase all signs of her presence in Juliet’s house. Because Juliet didn’t want her here.
It hadn’t been her imagination; her half sister actually did resent her.She may have wanted you, but she never wanted me.
Was that true? It shamed her that she’d never really thought about her mother’s relationship, or lack of it, with Juliet. And it made her feel like laughing or tearing her hair out or both,because Juliet might think Fiona had wanted her, but Lucy had never felt all that wanted. Her whole childhood had felt like an apology for messing up her mother’s life.
And Juliet probably felt the same. Perhaps they had something in common, even if herhalfsister didn’t think they did.
But she could hardly go explaining that to Juliet now. She didn’t even want to face her, and the anger and contempt she’d seen so plainly on her face when Lucy had thought they’d been enjoying a pleasant dinner together.
With a sigh she reached for her laptop. She didn’t care anymore that her life here in Hartley-by-the-Sea wasn’t as promising as she’d hoped it would be. She needed to talk to a friend.
It took three attempts on Skype to reach Chloe, who was, Lucy realized belatedly, at work at two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon.
“Luce.” The Internet connection was so slow that while Lucy could hear Chloe’s voice, her friend’s face was frozen in a smiling rictus, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. “What’s up? You know I’m at work, right?”
“Sorry, I forgot the time difference.”
“It’s okay. I’m taking a late lunch. I’ve been thinking about you. How’s village life? As charming as you hoped?”
Briefly Lucy remembered talking with determined airiness about the appeal of English villages. She’d been picturing something vaguely Shakespearean in the Cotswolds, all thatched roofs and clotted cream.
“‘Charming’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” she said. Even though Chloe’s image was still frozen on the computer screen, Lucy heard a tiny sigh, and then Chloe shifting her chair.
“You need to give yourself some time to settle in, Luce. How’s the job?”
Lucy thought of Alex yelling at her about the stupid card stock. “Not great. But that’s not really it. . . .” She trailed off, realizing that she didn’t actually want to tell Chloe about Juliet, or what she’d said. It felt disloyal, as if it wasn’t her secret to share. “It’s just a bit more awkward than I expected.”
“Well, it’s bound to be, isn’t it? You and Juliet barely know each other.” Chloe spoke bracingly, the way she always did, but it irritated Lucy now. She didn’t want a pep talk. She wanted sympathy. She wanted to do the one thing she’d tried to keep herself from, which was to luxuriate in self-pity. To stop looking for the bright side and wallow in the darkness instead.
