Her sleuthing antennae had also detected that Ronnie and Venetia had been spending time together since his return from Majorca and it pleased Cassie enormously. Maybe her own happiness after Ben’s romantic proposal was making her wanteveryone else to be as happily loved-up as she was. She had believed she couldn’t love Ben any more than she did already, but the surprise long weekend away he’d planned for her birthday, and then his asking her to marry him had caused her to love him even more profoundly. He was truly the best of men.
When Emily had spotted the sparkly new ring on Cassie’s left hand – she’d seen it when Cassie was making her breakfast the morning after her worryingly tearful breakdown – she had seemed genuinely pleased, if a little subdued. She had then apologised to Ben and Cassie for what she’d said the night before. ‘But don’t expect me to dress up in some hideous bridesmaid dress on your big day,’ she had then gone on to say, sounding more her normal self. She had, however, made Cassie promise that she wouldn’t discuss their wedding plans in front of Rosalyn.
‘I’m not as insensitive as you think I am,’ Cassie had said defensively, ‘and anyway, we’ve decided not to rush things.’ Which was only true in as much as they wanted Rosalyn gone as soon as possible so they could start planning their big day.
Key in hand, and as she now did every time she returned home to the apartment, Cassie steeled herself for what she would find the other side of the door. She so badly longed for the harmonious times of before – before Drew died and when she didn’t have to tiptoe around Rosalyn or smile indulgently when Finlay made a mess or ignore Emily giving her the stink-eye if she so much as grimaced while once again scrubbing at a stain on the cream sofa or mopped the floor after yet another drink had been spilt. She’d never known a child to knock over so many drinks!
She’d also never known a child to produce so many unnerving drawings and paintings. The pictures all seemed to have a theme, a very dark theme. Cassie had asked Finlay one day what he’dpainted. ‘It’s Daddy when he crashed his car,’ he’d said. ‘Look, there’s his head and that’s his blood.’
A child psychologist would have a field day with that!
Hanging up her coat in the hallway and putting her umbrella to dry, Cassie was surprised at the lack of noise. It was as silent as the proverbial grave. An unfortunate analogy, given their houseguests. But it certainly made a nice change not to have her every nerve jangled by a TV blaring, an iPad playing music, and Finlay and Emily talking loudly over the cacophony of noise. It was funny that they could make all that noise, but if Cassie raised her voice by so much as a decibel her daughter told her not to disturb Rosalyn.
But when she took the short flight of stairs down into the main living area she was taken aback at the sight of Rosalyn in the kitchen with a knife in her hand. She was chopping onions at the island unit, and it was hard to say whether the tears in her eyes were caused by grief or the onions.
‘Rosalyn,’ Cassie said by way of greeting. She never knew what to say to the woman, or how to go about saying it. Several times Emily had accused her of being excessively upbeat and therefore coming across as obtuse or patronising, like she was talking to a child, a dim-witted child at that. Another time Emily had said Cassie had sounded too sombre and was in danger of dragging Rosalyn down even further. Basically, she couldn’t win, whatever she did was wrong.
‘You’re back early,’ said Rosalyn, pressing her forearm to her face, the knife glinting in the overhead pendant lights.
‘Yes,’ said Cassie, as she watched Rosalyn put the knife down and go over to the sink to wash her hands.
‘It’s the onion,’ Rosalyn said, ‘it’s making my eyes sting.’
‘Yes,’ Cassie repeated. Could she sound any more taciturn? In any other situation she was never stuck for words, but Emily had made her excruciatingly self-conscious of her every utterance.It still rankled that she was expected to feel comfortable around Drew’s widowed wife, that she should even view Rosalyn as a potential friend. As if that could ever happen!
With what felt like a flash of conversational brilliance, given the lacklustre of it so far, Cassie said, ‘Where are Emily and Finlay?’ She looked around in an exaggerated way, as though the little rascals might suddenly pop up from behind a sofa or a curtain. But as she took in the room, and their obvious absence, she realised that the place was actually tidy. There was no maelstrom of clutter strewn as if flung from a vortex, and come to think of it, Rosalyn herself looked a lot less like she’d just reluctantly dragged herself out of bed.
It would be fair to say, Rosalyn appeared to have undergone a dramatic transformation. She was wearing faded blue jeans with the knees artfully ripped and a loose-fitted dove-grey cashmere sweater. The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, revealing the slenderest of wrists. Her hair was washed and swept up into a messy ponytail, and her movements possessed an energy not seen before. She had, Cassie noted, recaptured something of the attractive young woman from her many Instagram posts before Drew’s accident. Until now, Rosalyn had shuffled about in a towelling robe like an elderly invalid in need of a bath or shower.
Dabbing her eyes with a square of kitchen roll, Rosalyn glanced back at Cassie. ‘Ems has taken Finlay to see your neighbour’s dog,’ she said. ‘He’s always wanted one but in Dubai it wasn’t …’
Her voice trailed off as though it was too painful for her to continue.
But instead of feeling sympathy for Rosalyn, Cassie experienced a sharp jab of betrayal. Rosalyn’s use of the shortened version of Emily’s name crossed a massive line. Emily had never allowed anyone but Cassie to call her Ems; now Rosalyn was making free and easy with that privilege!
What also annoyed Cassie was that Emily and Finlay werenow privy to Venetia’s secret. It was Ben who had let the cat out of the bag, or more precisely, the dog out of the bag last night when he’d been reading a bedtime story to Finlay. That had been a new thing from the boy, his wanting Ben to read to him. Did he see Ben as a potential replacement for his father?
‘You don’t have to do it,’ she had told Ben privately last night, ‘you’re under no obligation.’
‘I know that, and I really don’t mind,’ Ben had said. ‘I’ve always enjoyed reading to your sister’s children as well as my nephews and nieces. It’s no big deal.’
But it was a big deal to Cassie because it roused within her the old familiar emotion: ugly jealous possessiveness. Ben washerBen! And he wasn’t to be divvied up any old how because he was too good-natured to say no. Worse still, and because he seemed so patient and at ease with Finlay it was a reminder that maybe Ben might have liked to be a father. A father to his very own child.
‘Rosalyn,’ she said, forcing the thought from her mind, ‘Finlay mustn’t ever tell anyone that Venetia has a dog here, you and Emily have explained that to him, haven’t you? If certain people here found out, they’d complain, and Venetia would have to get rid of Bon-Bon.’
‘Sure,’ Rosalyn answered with a careless shrug, making her cashmere sweater slide down a skinny shoulder. ‘Can I make you a drink?’ she asked.
The question, as polite and doubtless as well-intentioned as it was, thoroughly narked Cassie, as though it were she who was the guest here and not Rosalyn.
‘That’s okay,’ Cassie replied curtly, her fists clenched behind her back, ‘I’ll go and change and then I’ll make myself a drink to take upstairs to my office. I don’t want to interrupt your culinary industry here,’ she added. ‘What are you cooking? Something for Finlay?’
‘I’m doing peppered steak and mushroom tagliatelle for everyone.’ Rosalyn smiled. ‘Ems mentioned that it was a favourite of Ben’s.’
A million thoughts buzzed around inside Cassie’s head as she went to change, and none of them were good. Not a single one.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sunday morning and the church bells were ringing out across the city of Cambridge, the glorious sound carried on the chilly autumnal air as Nina waited at the punt stop on Mill Lane.
