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Rosie set to work packing the remaining boxes to ship across the Atlantic, with separate tea chests for Emily and for Susan. Finally, the rest of her aunt’s belongings were packed into black refuse sacks for the local Oxfam shop. She didn’t want to see any of her aunt’s possessions end up in landfill. Rosie paused in her work. She had never thought she would hear herself say such a thing. Recycling and reusing was Lauren’s mantra, not hers, but having spent time in England where recycling was a way of life she realised its benefits. It thumped home to her just how careless she had been in Manhattan.
Yet another thing she intended to change.
She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the threadbare, care-worn rooms. The cottage reflected an intense sadness at having its familiar adornments stripped from its walls and a sharp pang of grief for the loss of a good friend tightened her chest. She truly hoped, despite Charlie’s prediction of doom, that Brian Dixon and his family would cherish Willowbrook Lodge and treat it with the same love and affection Bernice, and then she, had bestowed upon its welcoming spirit. She was sure Charlie was wrong about him and was just trying to stir things up as usual. It was, after all, his forte.
In the last conversation she’d had with Angus he had suggested a trip to New York for Thanksgiving and she’d agreed, relishing the opportunity to show off her city and its delights to him, to reveal her true self on home turf. Perhaps she could grow to feel more passionate about him, she thought. They had arranged to meet that afternoon at two p.m. at the lodge so that Mr Dixon could conduct his final inspection of the property before instructing his solicitors to exchange on the deal before close of business.
Rosie had to admit that she was more than ready to return home now, and October thirty-first couldn’t come soon enough. She planned to visit her father in Stonington Beach for a few days, and then to gather her courage and meet up with Hannah. She hadn’t spoken to her since their conversation after the wedding. She had called a couple of times over the last few days to tell her she was on her way home, but her phone had gone to voicemail. She recalled her conversation with Lauren about Hannah continuing her wild party lifestyle and sighed at the stupidity of her sister and her inability to appreciate her good fortune in finding love when so many others struggled, perhaps all their lives like Bernice, to be with someone they loved and who loved them too.
And she hadn’t been home since April – a full six months!
What was the matter with her? Where did her priorities lie? Hiding out in the UK, licking her wounds? When had she become so self-focused? Rosie realised how much she had changed over the last few weeks. But had that change been for the better? She wasn’t so sure.
Having finished with the inside of the house, she turned her attention to the outside for a final dose of the therapy it offered, but a muffled ringing sound intruded on her soothing sojourn into oblivion. As the buzzing continued, she straightened heraching limbs and wondered why she felt so sluggish. A pale shaft of sunlight glanced through the drifting clouds to highlight the serenity of the garden in the soft golden glow of late autumn. Would Brian Dixon appreciate the love she had lavished on the plants and shrubs that year? Somehow she doubted it.
The phone continued its jingle as Rosie groped her way to the console table in the hall. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Clearly someone was anxious to contact her as it had taken her a while to get there – it could only be bad news. She quashed the ridiculous hope snaking through her mind that it might be Charlie.
She snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘Rosie, it’s Hannah.’ Rosie’s shoulders stiffened with shock at hearing her sister’s voice. It sounded so close. And why was she ringing on the landline? She didn’t even think Hannah had the number. ‘Please, don’t hang up. Can we meet?’
‘Oh Hannah, yes, yes. It was the first thing I was going to do when I got back home. Will you come out to Stonington Beach?’
‘I don’t have to do that.’
‘Well, no, no of course, but…’
‘What I mean is, I’m right here.’
‘Right here…’ Rosie’s brain decelerated. What did she mean?
‘Jacob drove me down. I’m in this gorgeous little teashop in Somersby. Susan gave me your number and has been plying me with tea until I plucked up the courage to call. If I’d left it any longer, I’d have had to make the call from the bathroom. Will you meet me? Please?’
Rosie’s throat had seized up. She swallowed.
‘Yes, of course, of course. I’ll be right there.’
Rosie jogged down the garden path, her heart giving a sharp nip of sadness as she saw the For Sale board proudly announcing the word “Sold” in big red letters. She could scarcely believe that her sister, Hannah, the most self-focused person she knew, had flown all the way to the UK to see her. More than that, she’d even driven from London to the Cotswolds!
As she arrived at the tearoom door, its Closed sign dangling nonchalantly from a tiny brass chain, she glanced at her mother’s slender watch; two p.m. She would miss her meeting with Angus and Brian Dixon. She dragged out her phone from the pocket of her black jeans and dialled Angus’s number, but her call went straight to voicemail. Presumably he was on his way to Willowbrook Lodge.
‘Hi, Angus, it’s Rosie. My sister’s arrived unexpectedly and I’m on my way to meet her. I know today is the day you’re planning to exchange contracts on the lodge, so please just go ahead. Completion on thirty-first is great. I’ll ring you later to check everything went smoothly. You can show Mr Dixon around the lodge without me – the key is under the terracotta pot next to the front door. Thanks for everything, Angus.’
She jabbed off the phone and briefly wondered whether she should text Charlie to let him know she wouldn’t be at their meeting with the London publisher that afternoon. But as the arrangements had been made without consultation or her agreement, she decided she would afford him a similar lack of courtesy.
All thought of Charlie and his schemes flashed from her mind as the old-fashioned bell tinkled above her head, and her eyes fell on her beloved sister. Her anxiety vanished and her mind cleared, her heart ballooning with love.
Hannah’s sapphire eyes met hers as Jacob nodded a friendly greeting to her, then stood up from the gingham-bedecked tableto guide Susan by the elbow into the adjacent shop, chatting about her suppliers and asking her to show him how the ancient bacon slicer worked.
‘Hello, Rosie.’
Those two words were all it took for Rosie to dash forward and wrap her arms around Hannah, tears rolling down her cheeks, a long stream of questions erupting from her lips until her tears dried and she sat at the table across from her sister, drinking in her familiar features, overjoyed at their long-delayed reunion. Hannah, too, had succumbed to a bout of sobbing, and it was several minutes before she was able to reply to Rosie’s scattergun of enquiries.
‘I’m so glad I came, Rosie. I love you, and I’ve missed you so much. You were always there for me and Dad, and I’m sorry I never appreciated you before. Dad sends his love, too. I’ve been staying out at Stonington Beach for the last couple of months, helping him and Dot to manage the store, and to smarten it up a little. They were starting to struggle to do it by themselves and I wanted to help. Everything is fine now, so you don’t need to worry.’
Good grief, was this Hannah talking? In control, making an attempt to soothe her jagged nerves?
‘Who are you and what have you done with my sister Hannah?’ Rosie attempted a smile as the tears brimmed along her lashes.
