Ivor carried a rabbit outside and lifted it onto a hook. Rose followed his lead. ‘Doctor says it might be flu.’
‘Spanish flu?’ asked Rose, horrified.
Ivor nodded. ‘He says that there has been another wave of people falling ill. Not as many as last year, but there have been a few cases here and there.’
‘But he is going to be alright, isn’t he?’
‘Doctor says he is strong as an ox not like the soldiers who came home.’
‘But what about you? Your heart . . .’
‘Mother won’t let me near him. Besides, I have a shop to run.’ He paused for a moment to catch his breath. ‘Rose, I havesome heavy work that needs to be done. I can’t do it and as much as I appreciate your help, it’s too heavy for a woman. Will you fetch Fred from up the road to give me a hand? He usually offers his help at the Molesworth Arms Hotel, but I’m sure he won’t mind coming down here.’
Rose immediately left Ivor to fetch Fred. Although he was elderly, Fred had the energy and agility of a man half his age and preferred to spend his remaining days doing odd jobs for anyone who needed an extra pair of hands. Rose found him at the back of the hotel and, after a brief explanation, he was only too happy to help. Rose left Ivor confident that he was in good hands.
She returned to her own shop, turned the sign to open and immediately thought of Nicholas. He couldn’t have left on the earliest train as he had not come to say goodbye. He must be leaving on the afternoon one. He could arrive anytime between now and then and, although she hated herself for doing it, she knew she would spend the following hours glancing out the window to the street beyond expecting to see his familiar figure walking along the snow-covered street towards her.
* * *
Rose’s eyes brimmed with tears as she tidied the little kitchen at the back of the shop. With each hour that passed, her heart had grown heavier until she could no longer ignore the truth of the situation. Nicholas had not come to say goodbye after all, despite always being reliable and keeping his promises in the past. He had finally realised that her stubborn mood and unforgiving nature was not worth fighting for. She may never see him walk through her door again, with that charming smile upon his face and those dark glinting eyes looking at no one but her. She had lost him and the realisation hurt her even more than her shock that Sam had lied to her all this time.
Rose put on her hat and coat and looked at her reflection in the mirror. What a fool she was. She no longer needed to put on her hat and coat. She lived upstairs now. Nicholas’s non-appearance had unsettled her in more ways than she cared to admit, she thought as she unbuttoned her coat. The simple task seemed to take an age. Why was she hurting so much? Was it because she felt rejected — or because she had fallen in love? And no matter how much she pretended she no longer cared, she still did — deeply. The bell above the door chimed. Her eyes widened and her heart began to race. In a blink of an eye everything suddenly felt right in the world and she knew, without a doubt, what the answer to her question was. She hastily pinched her cheeks to encourage a rosy glow, before hurrying to greet him.
A woman, fashionably dressed in a slim-line, velvet, burgundy coat with deep fur cuffs, large pockets and a grey fur muff, stood in her tea shop. She was in her late forties and stood with a regal posture that oozed confidence in her position in the world. Beneath her matching hat, Rose could see golden hair framing her pretty face, with delicate threads of silver hinting at her age which her features failed to do. A slight smile curved her lips as Rose entered the room. It coaxed her forward, although she was unsure of the reason why. Was it the sincerity in her smile or the fact it seemed strangely familiar to her?
‘Hello. Are you Rose Gribble?’ asked the woman.
Rose nodded warily.
‘I have heard so much about you. I hope you don’t mind me calling on you unannounced.’
‘I was about to close the shop.’
‘I have not come for tea and cake, although I know that your cakes are very good.’
Her words confirmed to Rose where she had seen that smile before and it had not been on the face of a woman. She hugged her coat about her and waited for the inevitable.
‘I am Evelyn, Nicholas’s mother.’ The woman grew concerned. ‘You look a little pale? Would you like to sit down?’
Rose shook her head. ‘I’m fine, just a little surprised to meet you.’ She hadn’t expected Nicholas’s mother to visit her. He had briefly mentioned her. She was an activist for women’s rights, he had said, and although he claimed she didn’t go as far as carrying out the more violent protests committed by the suffragettes, Rose was left with the impression she was a formidable spokeswoman with strong convictions. She had imagined her as a well-built woman with a roaring voice, not this dainty lady who was a good inch smaller than her. Rose knew she was staring, but felt unable to do anything about it.
Evelyn noticed the tree in the corner. ‘What a beautiful tree. Very festive. You both did a wonderful job decorating it.’
Rose was grateful for her attempt to put her at ease. She must look like a scared rabbit caught in the light of a hunting lamp.
‘Nicholas told you about it?’
His mother nodded. ‘Nicholas has spoken of you often. He is the reason I’m here.’ Her smile faltered before finally fading away.
Rose inhaled deeply and braced herself. This was the reason his mother was visiting her, to pass on the parting message that he felt unable to give her face to face. She couldn’t blame him. She had not been very understanding. She had been too wrapped up in her own feelings of betrayal to think of his. Now it was too late. He was gone and she should be thankful he had thought of her at all, even if it was to send his mother to do his bidding.
‘You have a message for me?’
Evelyn glanced down at her grey, fur hand-muff. ‘Nicholas does not know I am here.’
So Nicholas had not thought of her after all.
She wondered what Nicholas would say if he knew that his mother had taken it upon herself to meddle in his affairs. She almost felt sorry for him — almost.
