He nodded.
‘Could I get a coffee?’ She realised she’d phrased it as if she was in the States and wished she’d said, ‘Coffee, please,’ like the English, to show Stef how well she fit in.
Ru looked from Honor to Stef.
‘For me, too,’ snapped Stef.
They waited, in silence, for Ru to reappear with a round tray and two tall white mugs, a milk jug and sachets of sugar.‘Thanks, Ru.’ Honor watched him through the door into the tearoom and caught sight of Robina looking at her. Robina smiled. She wasn’t smiling at Honor; it was just the kind of smile people give when their thoughts amuse them. But Honor still smiled back.
Stef followed the direction of her gaze. ‘You know how weird she is, don’t you? She knows everything there is to know about your Englishman.’ He said the wordEnglishmanas if it tasted bad. ‘She knows when he runs and where to intercept him on his route, all his social networking platforms and that he does web design. I’ll bet she has a scrapbook of his ads. Doesn’t it creep you out thatshefeels like that abouthim?’
What was creeping her out was that he was talking about this right outside Robina’s tearoom. Keeping her eye out for Robina to appear, Honor added milk and sugar to her coffee and took a sip. ‘It’s certainly an awkward situation.’ She met his gaze steadily. ‘My life seems to be filled with them, right now. I have stuff to sort out and changes to make.’
His brows snapped down. ‘Don’t you count me as one of those changes! I’m your husband. You made vows.’
‘I did,’ she admitted. ‘But I made those vows to a different Stefan Sontag and I don’t think even vows are designed to allow a woman’s husband to run wild while she just has to put up with the consequences. You’ve chosen a life I don’t want a part of.’ She shivered. ‘I curled up and died of humiliation, seeing you in the dock, and when they took you away to jail I felt disgust.’
He dropped his eyes, fiddling with a tube of sugar. ‘It can be put in the past, Honor; Martyn Mayfair and all of my pranks. I’ll mend my ways, I swear. I’ll never make you feel humiliated or disgusted again.’ Suddenly, his eyes were tawny bright. ‘Our life is still waiting for us. We can go home and get our apartment back, put our lives back how they were. Only better.’
‘With neither of us having a job?’
He scrabbled for arguments. ‘OK, we’ll start over, somewhere new.’ He looked less sure of this idea. ‘You still have all your licences, you can get a job, and maybe I’ll start my own business so my record won’t count against me with an employer.’
‘Doing what? You never got yourself a career or a skill, Stef. And we don’t have enough money to open up a diner.’ She fumbled her way to her feet before the tears of pity came and Stef thought she was weakening. ‘I hate that I’m pouring cold water over everything you offer. But, I’m sorry, it’s not going to happen.’
He jumped up, screeching his chair back. ‘Then I’ll just have to make it happen, won’t I?’
* * *
Martyn returned from his run, cooled down, stretched, and showered. Honor was out, so he picked up his phone and called Clarissa.
‘I thought your phone didn’t make outgoing calls to mine and that’s why I always call you,’ she greeted him.
He wasn’t in the mood to be guilted. ‘Honor’s got a problem with the bungalow. She has a squatter.’
A pause. Clarissa sounded guarded. ‘Squatter?’
He hesitated, alerted by her uncharacteristically mild reaction. ‘You don’t sound shocked or horrified or outraged. I thought you’d go ballistic.’
‘I just—’ She seemed to be choosing her words. ‘Would the squatter be Honor’s husband, by any chance?’
His heart gave a thud. ‘How did you know?’
She sounded uncomfortable. ‘He was there when I called. About the lawns.’
‘In the bungalow?’
‘Um . . . outside.’
He let a silence grow, hoping she’d fill it. She didn’t. ‘He’s inside now,’ he prompted, helpfully.
‘I didn’t let him in. Or not into the house.’ Clarissa sounded defensive.
‘So where did you let him into?’
‘He said that he’d cut the grass so I let him in the garage.’
‘And I suppose he found a window open at the back,’ Martyn finished, grimly. ‘And now he’s in, he’s refusing to get out.’
