I nod and watch him walk away, still trying to catch my breath.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Stop overthinking, Ash texts me the following evening.
Is he a mind reader? He asked earlier if he could see me and I replied that I couldn’t because Siân seemed in need of company. She was a little down this morning, but perked up when I suggested anotherGleemarathon. She never watched it when it first aired and has been hooked since Bethan’s birthday.
But now I’m staring at the TV in a daze, unable to concentrate. Heartbreak is on the horizon and I’m catapulting towards it.
Everything I said to Ash last night was true: whatever this is between us cannot last. Idowant a family one day, and the thought of my children having to deal with the pressure of being the twenty-second generation of Berkeleys is inconceivable.
Maybe it’s because of what I went through as a teenager, but I’m not comfortable around posh people, and I hated feeling invisible at Ash’s parents’ party. I can’t bear to imagine how some of those people would look down on me if I had to socialise with them, the comments they’d make after finding out that Ash left the beautiful Bex for a grubby gardener.
I do a full-body shudder at the thought. No. Whatever this is between Ash and me has a limited lifespan.
Unless he commits to gifting this property to a charity like the National Trust once he inherits, but the thought of asking him to turn his back on his heritage makes my blood run cold. He would never forgive himself for letting down his friends and family – the past generations of Berkeleys, including his late brother, and the future generations he feels a responsibility towards. From the way he was talking, he wouldn’t walk away from his duties under any circumstances.
We’re between a rock and a hard place.
I don’t know how to reply to his text message.
Hey, he texts again.
Hi, I write back.
I miss you.
His words don’t melt my insides, they make me feel sick. I stare down at my phone, the sound of Lea Michele and Cory Monteith wailing on about holding on to this feeling in the background.
I have to go away tomorrow for three days, Ash texts again, giving up on waiting for my response.Conference with my father. I’ll be back on Thursday.
OK. Hope it goes well.
Are you all right?he asks.
Confused.
Come over tonight?
The sudden rush of wanting is almost too much for me to bear.
I can’t, I force myself to type back.But I’ll see you soon.
I spend the early part of the week overseeing the volunteers, clearing the foliage and dead heads of the big round purple alliums in the walled garden to make way for the annual plants that have been grown in the greenhouses over winter. By Wednesday, I’ve moved on to helping Evan cut the box hedges in the courtyard and the topiary birds around Cedar Lawn and the lower terrace.
Although I have plenty of time to think about Ash and the impossible situation we’ve found ourselves in, my mind doesn’t race at work as it does at home.
On Thursday evening, I arrive back at the cottage to see that about a dozen or so sawmill and workshop crew are in the courtyard of the outbuildings, sitting at bench tables in the sunshine, drinking beer.
They do this occasionally, but today I notice that Celyn is there too, as well as Dylan, his fellow ranger. They look to be in high spirits about something.
I hear a door slam behind me and turn to see Siân, her face red from crying, rush up the stairs.
‘Siân?’ I hurry after her, but she’s already disappeared into her bedroom. ‘Siân? Can I come in?’ I knock tentatively and then take a chance, opening the door. She’s lying on her bed, sobbing.
‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ I ask with sympathy.
Her sobs begin to die down, but she keeps her face buried in the palms of her hands. Her voice is so muffled and shredded that I can barely make it out when she says: ‘My heart is broken.’
