He opened the passenger door for her, then closed it gently once she was safely inside. He was like that; the perfect gentleman. It was also his discreet way of making sure she didn’t slam the door shut as she was prone to do. She never meant to do it, but then there were plenty of things she never meant to do, and she still did them. Like nearly setting her friends’ house on fire the other evening. Or not remembering that Rick didn’t drink tea or have milk in his coffee. It was unfortunate that he took it as a personal slight, but as she told him, she was hopeless with trivial details like that.
He had laughed when she’d admitted to having a sieve for a brain, that she could never remember a date, never mind a telephone number. Numbers just happened to be his ‘thing’, he’d said, and after she’d owned up to having got her finances into a bit of a pickle (a euphemism for being overdrawn), he had offered to go through her credit card and bank statements with her. He had been an enormous help, finding standing orders and direct debits she had forgotten to cancel, some of them from ages ago. She had been so grateful to him, but had also felt a bit silly for not spotting these things herself.
She had a modest trust of money Dad had left her in his will, Martha too, but until she was thirty-five, she could only access the interest, which had been their father’s way of ensuring she didn’t immediately fritter away the money. Presumably he’d hoped by the time she was thirty-five she would have become the responsible adult he wanted her to be. A responsible adult like Rick, she thought with a smile.
Rick worked in financial services and was an IT Operations Manager. She didn’t have a clue what that really meant, but he seemed to enjoy it. He wore a suit Monday to Friday and seemed to earn a terrific amount of money. Dad would have approved of him. She sensed that Mum and Martha were quietly relieved that finally she had found somebody sensible to date, somebody steady with some security and with a proper future. Somebody who would be able to take care of her.
That’s what Dad had once said. ‘Martha will always be able to take care of herself, but Willow needs someone to look out for her.’
She had overheard him saying this to Mum and Mum had said, ‘I think you’ll find it’s the other way around, all Willow needs is somebody for her to look after.’
When they arrived at the restaurant, Rick had plucked an expensive-looking carrier bag out of the boot of his car and given it to her. To her astonishment there was a beautiful black dress inside the bag and a pair of sexy high-heeled shoes for her to change into. ‘I said it was a special evening,’ he said when she’d returned from the ladies now wearing the dress and shoes. ‘And you look every bit as special as I knew you’d look in that dress.’
‘I’ve never worn anything quite like this before,’ she said, glowing in his admiration. ‘I feel so different. Not like me at all.’
‘You look perfect,’ he said. ‘And very sexy. I’m wondering now whether to abandon dinner and just take you straight back to my place and undress you.’
She giggled. ‘And what a waste that would be,’ she said, ‘after all the trouble you’ve gone to. And anyway, I’m starving.’
It was much later and after she’d told Rick about the generous donor she’d nailed down towards the end of her shift, and which meant she hadn’t just met her week’s target, but far exceeded it, that he told her what his surprise was. He’d made her wait right until their dessert was served, despite her pleas for him to tell her.
As his hand crept across the table to take hers, for a crazy moment she thought he was about to spring a ring on her and propose.
‘I want you to move in with me,’ he said, his hand then reaching up to her hair and tucking it behind her ear. ‘I think we both know that’s the stage our relationship has reached now, don’t we?’
Chapter Seven
Along with a small task force from the village, Naomi was helping to give St Saviour’s a spring clean. They had secretly agreed to wait until Veronica Carlyle, their vicar, had gone away for a three-day Christian Leadership conference before they undertook the job. It was a case of while the cat was away the mice would play. With Veronica around their progress would be seriously hampered by her worrying about Health and Safety issues; she was a real nit-picker for doing things by the book.
St Saviour’s didn’t attract the number of tourists that nearby Holy Trinity in Bosham did, which had the honour of being the oldest known place of worship in West Sussex, but records showed that St Saviour’s was probably built in the late eleventh century. With fourteenth-century windows and some nicely carved Elizabethan pews, it was a simple country church and Naomi was inordinately fond of it. It was where Willow had been christened, and where Martha and Tom had married, and of course Colin’s funeral had been conducted here, before his body was taken away to be cremated. It had been a full house for him, every one of the Elizabethan pews filled, which would have pleased him immensely. He did always like to be the centre of attention. Doug from the sailing club had given the eulogy and said that Colin,being Colin, had gone out on a high. ‘For anyone who had known him,’ Doug had said, ‘making such a dramatic exit from life was wholly in keeping with the man he’d been, enjoying himself right to the end. We’ll all miss him.’
In the time since, Naomi had often wondered how Colin would have lived his life had she died first. Certainly, coping with anything of a domestic nature would have thrown him. A long-held complaint of Naomi’s had been his apparent inability to locate the dishwasher or vacuum cleaner. Not for them a modern marriage of a husband pitching in with the cooking or washing; those duties had been assigned to Naomi from the start, admittedly with the help of a cleaner once a week when she’d opened her shop.
She was glad Martha and Tom had a different approach to balancing their relationship; they had worked out a more equal way of sharing the roles. She hoped that Willow would be as fortunate with whomever she chose to spend her life.
For now, it seemed that Rick might be that man. Good-looking and caring and thoroughly level-headed, he had all the attributes any parent would want for their daughter. But would Willow, who was so fickle when it came to boyfriends, stick with him? Or would she grow bored of what might seem like a safe option compared to previous relationships she’d experienced?
Over the years Naomi had learnt not to become too emotionally invested in any of the boyfriends Willow had brought home for her and Colin to meet. Colin had dismissed them all as no-hopers with as much get-up-and-go as a wet paper bag. Naomi had often wondered if Willow had deliberately chosen those boyfriends to provoke her father. Had she waited until her father was dead to find the right man, when he wouldn’t be able to crow triumphantly?‘Aha, at last, she brings home somebody with a decent haircut and prospects!’
Naomi hated to admit it, but privately she had thought more or less the same thing when she’d first met Rick. As shallow as it sounded, she’d approved straight away of the car he drove and the box of Lindt chocolates he’d given her, along with a bottle of Prosecco. Over lunch, he’d complimented her on the meal she’d cooked, and chatted easily with Martha and Tom. He had clearly wanted to make a good impression, and had succeeded.
‘I can’t believe it; she’s actually going out with a fully-formed adult!’ Martha had pronounced after that first meeting with Rick.
It was generally agreed that if he stayed the course with Willow, Rick would be a welcome addition to the family. Would there be the same agreement, Naomi wondered, when she introduced Ellis to her daughters?
As yet they knew nothing about him. And all anyone in Tilsham knew was that Naomi and Ellis had known one another a long time ago. If it were down to her, she would prefer to keep things the way they were, with no one the wiser; it was simpler that way, because once the genie was out of the bottle – once she told Martha and Willow about Ellis – everything would change.
Armed with a long feather duster, she climbed the stepladders she had placed in front of one of the side windows. She had reached the top when she heard voices behind her, over by the font. One of the voices belonged to Jennifer Kingsbury, the chief organiser of today’s covert spring clean.
‘Hello, Mr Ashton, have you come to help?’
Not trusting herself to turn around, Naomi concentrated hard on reaching for the large gothic-style cobweb that was draped around the stonework tracery above the window.
‘I have indeed,’ she heard Ellis reply. ‘I caught a rumour that it was all hands on deck here.’
‘How very kind of you.’
‘So what can I do? Your wish,’ he said grandly, ‘is my command.’
