She smiled at him, a little too brightly. ‘I don’t want it to solve anything. I just want a glass of Chablis.’
‘Please don’t.’
She pulled away from his hold, a sense of calm enveloping her. ‘If I want a glass of wine, I’ll have one, Tom. I really don’t need to ask for your permission.’
‘Clara, let someone help you.’
She took a glass from a shelf. ‘You don’t understand. You can’t …’
‘I understand better than you think. But we can’t help you if you won’t allow us to. Clara, let someone in.’
She thought she would be able to, she’d really thought she’d be able to confide in him like she hadn’t been able to with her friends. That the action would somehow open a magic fast-track back to a life she could see herself living. She’d been wrong. On two counts. She couldn’t bring herself to confide in anyone, she realised that, now. But more than that, she decided, it no longer seemed to matter.
She shook her head. ‘No, you don’t understand. And anyway, I don’t need anyone’s help. Because I’m perfectly fine.’
Rose passed Clara on the stairs. Or, more accurately, Rose plastered herself against the wooden panelling as Clara took the stairs at speed, a bottle and glass dangling from one hand.
‘Clara, where are you going?’
With no response forthcoming, Rose continued up the staircase, the frown deep on her face by the time she saw Tom. ‘What just happened with Clara?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘She was making tea. Then she started to cry and grabbed a bottle of wine instead. She said she’s fine, but clearly …’
Rose believed she had been under no illusion about how difficult this week would be, for Clara, and by extension for all of them. But the last couple of days seemed to have shown a brighter Clara. Rose had almost begun to think that, as Tania had hoped, the mountain was working its magic. That it was somehow working its magic on all of them. It seemed that thought had been a little premature.
On her way to the kettle, Rose passed the pile of clothes. The mountain was working some kind of magic for Tania, that much was clear. But then, that was nothing new. The ease with which Tania seemed able to slip in and out of intimacy, her nonchalance where men were concerned had always been a trigger for Rose. Tania’s ability to move on without seeming to break into a metaphorical sweat had always been astounding. How could she be so composed about that part of her life, when for Rose it was all so incredibly challenging? It had never felt fair. Rose knew it was an irrational response, that she hadn’t experienced the same prickle of irritation when Clara had first introduced Mike, or married him, or told them she was pregnant.
Rose turned away from the clothes and flicked the kettle on, the water boiling almost immediately.
‘Fastest shower ever,’ Madeleine said, appearing at the top of the stairs, her hair still wet and hanging loose down her back.
Rose jumped. ‘You’ve gone from noisiest person on the planet to stealth-Maddy,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you coming.’
Madeleine smiled. She peered into the kitchen and greeted Tom before she said, ‘It’s part of my plan, Rose. Lull you into a false sense of security with my clumsiness, then shock you all when you discover I’m actually a highly paid international assassin.’ She eyed the pile of clothes. ‘Ooh, are those—’
‘Before you say it, the answer is yes. At least, that gilet is definitely Tania’s.’
‘Oh goody,’ she said.
Rose rolled her eyes.
‘What?’
‘You’ve forgotten our conversation about him being eaten for breakfast, then?’
Madeleine shook her head. ‘I know you’ve been through a lot more with Tania, but I honestly think they’re crazy about one another.’
‘Or perhaps you just want them to be.’
‘Perhaps I do. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing.’
Madeleine picked up the pile of clothes, clamping the phone on top with one hand.
‘Where are you going with those?’ Rose said.
‘Well, he’s going to need something to wear later, isn’t he? I’ll put them outside her room.’
