She watched him walk away and bit her lip, thinking it over. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out her mobile phone.
It was time to talk to Jenna.
20
Mac was even more nervous about his sister coming round than he had been about visiting Evan and his wife. It was ridiculous. He and Stella had grown up together. She was three years younger than him and had been his best pal when they were little.
Even in the early days of their marriages the two of them had been close. Stella was his son Wyatt’s godmother, for goodness’ sake, and he and Gavin had got on well, as had Stella and Lynne.
That, he supposed, was part of the problem. He had a feeling that Stella was living in the past far too much and was nursing grudges that she simply couldn’t let go. And there was the other problem of course. Gavin. She couldn’t let go of him either by the sounds of things.
He’d added a cake and Stella’s favourite brand of coffee to the supermarket basket after he’d said goodbye to the Wainwrights, even though he wasn’t sure his sister would stay long enough to partake of anything. It depended what sort of mood she was in, and how quickly his words would inflame her. Because they were bound to, he thought wearily. She wanted him to sell the land to her ex-husband. He wasn’t going to agree to that. Where did that leave them?
When the rap on the door came, he found himself smoothing down his shirt and swallowing nervously, as if he was going on a first date or something. He glanced over at Mrs Beddows, who stopped washing her paws and eyed him innocently.
‘Wish me luck.’
She gave him a look of contempt and went back to washing her paws. It was too late to ask the same of Carne. He’d shot into the hallway and was yapping excitedly at the front door, no doubt recognising their visitor already.
‘Good afternoon, Stella.’
She was dressed for the late February weather in a smart navy-blue coat, black knee-high boots, a hat, gloves and a scarf, which was pulled up over her nose as if she was planning on committing a robbery. She might as well have worn a balaclava.
‘Come in,’ he began, but she’d already pushed past him, ignoring Carne, and headed straight to the kitchen where she plonked herself at the table, dropped her bag in front of her and folded her arms.
‘Well,’ he said, giving her a resigned look, ‘you might as well take your hat and coat off. Unless you’re not stopping?’
‘That depends on you,’ she said, her voice muffled under the scarf. ‘Are you willing to have a reasonable discussion or are you going to close me down the minute I open my mouth?’
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her there was nothing to discuss, but he knew she’d simply storm out without a backward glance, and where would that get them? He missed her. He’d lost enough people in his life. He didn’t want to lose his sister for good, too.
‘I’m willing to have a reasonable discussion,’ he said. ‘Tea? Coffee?’
She shook her head, pushing down her scarf. ‘Haven’t you got anything stronger?’ she asked irritably. ‘Surely there’s some of Mum’s wine left? Or have you drunk it all?’
‘You’re not driving?’
She shrugged. ‘I came by taxi so I could have a drink.’
Stella lived in the next village, which was Weltringham, just a five-minute drive away, so it wouldn’t have been too expensive – although the nearest taxi company was based in Millensea. Looking at her face, he had a feeling she’d still have demanded wine, even if she’d lived miles away and the taxi had cost her a fortune. Stella never used to drink before dinner, and it was on the tip of his tongue to remark on that, but he decided not to risk antagonising her further.
‘Fair enough. I’ll open a bottle.’
He wasn’t a wine drinker himself, but there was still an unopened bottle in the fridge from when his mum had lived there. He handed it to Stella, along with a glass, and popped another one from the wine rack into the fridge.
‘Aren’t you having one?’
‘No. I like to keep a clear head.’
She unscrewed the cap on the bottle. ‘Hoping I’ll get drunk and you can wangle an agreement out of me?’
‘No agenda, Stell. I just don’t like to lose control,’ he said evenly.
She hesitated, then nodded. ‘Fair enough.’
He made himself a cup of tea and found plates for the cake.
‘None for me,’ Stella said. ‘I’ve given it up for Lent.’
