So I do.
Crossing, take two, is much later. It’s dark and still wet. Actually, the weather is wet enough to put anyone off travelling over an already ocean swept road. Not that I’m completely alone, it seems, as a silver van follows me. The winding roads aren’t the easiest to navigate in the dry or daytime; wet and at night they’re almost frightening, my hands grasping the wheel so tight that I have to keep flexing my fingers to ease the strain. The trailing van doesn’t help, sitting on my tail, its lights bright enough to make me anxious.
I finally slow as my headlights sweep the weather-worn sandstone lions; the gatekeepers of Tremaine House. Rubbing my temples, I make the tight turn almost one handed, the beginnings of a stellar headache kicking in.
‘Asshole,’ I mumble as the van passes the end of driveway slowly. For a moment, I thought it might follow me.
At the back of the house, I park near the stables, right next to Rory’s truck. The cottage is empty, I can tell. It looks kind of abandoned, though that could be my anxieties speaking here. I don’t get out of the car, not right away. The prospect of seeing him, of explaining my idiocy, is all too terrifying. But I’ve come this far, and some might see it as some sort of kismet that we’ve met a second time.Hit it off a second time.
I’ve been broken and damaged, but I feel none of those things when I’m with him.
Get out of the car. You can only try.I don’t bother locking it, wary that I might be making a journey back again.
The scullery door is unlocked, the kitchen door beyond also. As my boots echo on the flagstone floor, I suddenly realise I haven’t changed since this morning; leggings and, what were once, a high shine pair of riding boots.Gucci, of course.A teal fine knit sweater and a parka swiped from Ivy. I run my hand through my hair in an attempt to tidy it and realise I don’t have any makeup on, and haven’t all day.
I’m not going to win any award for most pulled together today.
The winding narrow service hallways feel excruciatingly long. It’s almost like they’ve grown and lengthened since yesterday, but as I begin to climb the stairs to the first floor, I hear his voice and think he must be on the phone... until I hear another voice, this one with a much higher pitch.
‘Rory, darling,’ the voice purrs seductively. ‘Look at the picture. Does it look like a lie?’
I stop in my tracks, my heart taking up residence in my throat. Though it’s hard to make out Rory’s words,hersI hear just fine. I don’t like her tone. No, her tone frightens me. Makes me want to run away, because I don’t want to be involved with another man of this ilk.A philanderer. A cheat. Instead of listening to my fear, I edge my way closer, my feet taking me to the entrance of the room earmarked for the cocktail bar, where my body practically hugs the wall.
‘Looks authentic, sure.’ He sounds almost casual, but for the touch of something more tense in his tone. ‘I’ll give you thatandmy congratulations, but I’ve no idea what you’re doing here, Beth.’
Beth. She doesn’t sound like a Beth. More like a Clarissa or a Simone. Someone’s spoiled little princess.
‘I told you, I flew up in the jet with Kit, though I had to beg him to give us a little time alone. I have to tell you,’ she adds with a tinkling laugh, ‘he isn’t terribly impressed.’
‘You told him,’ Rory states rather flatly.
‘There’s no hiding, silly. I’m bursting out of my clothes!’
‘You look the same to me.’
‘What a delicious compliment. Come closer,’ she coaxes. ‘I’ll let you feel. Give me your hand.’
Nervous before, but just plain sick now, I begin to feel the pinch of my nails against the skin of my palms. The only thing keeping me upright and here is the need to know conclusively, to know that I’m not hearing things.To be sure. But my fear is there in Rory’s words.
‘And you told him it was mine,’ he says now angrily.
My heart plunges from my throat to the pit of my gut, but still I can’t move.
‘But of course, and I reinstated the building contracts. We’re going to be family after all.’
‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ he grates out. ‘No wonder he left me that fucking voicemail—he said he was going to tear off my balls. This is your doing,’ Rory spits. ‘You crazy—’
‘Don’t be mad, darling. I had to tell him. You weren’t listening. You said you’d come home. But don’t worry, I told him you’d proposed.’
I inhale a sharp breath, the string holding together the fragments of my fragile heart with an audiblesnap.
‘You really are full of shite, Beth.’ He laughs then, though he sounds far from happy. ‘There’s no fucking way it’s mine, and I’m for sure not marrying your crazy arse.’
My feet begin to move, but not in the direction I expect them to. I’m not leaving. Instead, I’m suddenly on the threshold of the room, where Rory stands, a sonagram image in hand.
‘It’s not mine. Ialwayswear a condom and I check... ’
Oh, Rory. That’s not true.
