“You could stay,” Juliet said, and Lucy blinked at her, startled.
“What . . .”
“I mean, if you wanted to. Only if you wanted to. You’d be welcome here, of course—”
Of course?A few months or even weeks ago there would have been noof courseabout it. “That’s very kind of you . . . ,” she began, and Juliet rushed in, stumbling a bit over the words.
“I’d understand if you wanted to get your own digs. But if you’re happy in Hartley-by-the-Sea, if you’ve made a life for yourself . . .”
It was all too tempting. Juliet was right; she was happy here. She had a life. And if she stayed here, maybe Alex would change his mind about starting a relationship. Not like that was her main reason, of course.
“The trouble is,” she said to Juliet, “I don’t have a job after Christmas.”
“You could find one,” Juliet answered. “Make one, even. Start a business offering arts and crafts parties for children. Exhibit your paintings locally. the beach café would put them up.”
The beach café. A far cry from an upscale Boston art gallery, and yet she didn’t really mind.
“If you wanted to stay, you could make it happen. It’s just a question of whether you want to.”
“Do you want me to?” Lucy asked. “Really? I wouldn’t cramp your style, horning in on your territory?”
“Oh, Lucy.” Juliet bit her lip, and then shook her head. “No, I’d love if you stayed. But don’t stay just for me.”
Yet Juliet was perhaps the best and most important reason to stay.
Chapter twenty-four
Juliet
There was a man in her garden. Juliet braced her elbows against the sink as she leaned forward and peered out the kitchen window. Since the clocks had turned back last week, the sun set at four o’clock and the days felt wintry. And the man in her garden, she could see as she squinted, looked like he was wearing only a pair of trousers.
He stumbled past her rosebushes, and Juliet wondered if he was a drunk who had made his way down from the pub. Then the moonlight caught his white hair and she realized with a lurch who it was. William Lanford. Peter’s father was wandering half-dressed in her garden with no shirt or coat after dark.
Juliet grabbed her coat and shoved her feet into her hiking boots before opening the back door and stepping outside. “William?” she called. “Mr. Lanford?”
He swung around to stare suspiciously at her. “Who the devil are you?”
“Juliet Bagshaw. You’re in my garden.”
“No, I’m not. I’m going to the pub.” She saw a heartbreaking mixture of belligerence and fear in his rheumy eyes. “A man deserves a drink at the end of a long day.”
“Yes, he does.” Juliet could see from the porch light that William Lanford was shaking from the cold; worse, his feet were bare and bloody from walking all the way from Bega Farm. She’d seen Peter leave an hour ago in his Land Rover, and had no idea how to reach him. She didn’t have his mobile number. “It’s a filthy night to be out, though,” she said to William, trying to keep her voice mild. “Even for a drink at the pub.” He simply snorted at this. “Why don’t you come in here for a drink?” Juliet suggested.
“Do you have any whiskey?” William demanded.
“No,” Juliet admitted, “but I’ve got some nice sherry.”
“Sherry!” William quivered with indignation. “That’s a lass’s drink.”
Juliet almost smiled at that. She should have known better than to suggest sherry. A shudder ran through his body and Juliet knew she had to get William Lanford inside quickly, and preferably back to Bega Farm.
“How about I drive you back to your place?” she suggested. “I know Peter has a good whiskey back at Bega Farm. Glenfiddich.” William didn’t answer, but she could see the dawning confusion in his eyes, an awareness that things were not as he thought they were.
“I don’t know. . . .”
“It’s so cold out,” Juliet continued, hoping she sounded persuasive. “And I think it’s starting to rain.” A few raindrops had spattered in her face as they’d spoken and William’s whole body was now shaking from the cold.
“It’s not far,” William insisted. “And I’ve come a long way already.”
