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Authors: Sara Craven
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and light, wanting me to quote for catering a ‘ very special buffet ’ next month. She was so pleased and coy about it that I jumped to the obvious conclusion. I ’ m so sorry, love. ’
Helen spooned coffee into two beakers with more than usual care. ‘ Nigel ’ s probably planning it as a big surprise for me, ’ she said calmly, ignoring the sudden churning in her stomach. ‘ Although I can ’ t really imagine his mother turning cartwheels over it. She must like me better than I thought, ’ she added, without any real conviction.
‘ I shouldn ’ t have said anything, ’ Lottie said ruefully as she stirred her coffee.
‘ No, it ’ s fine, ’ Helen assured her. ‘ And when I do see him I swear I ’ ll be the world ’ s most astonished person. ’
That would be an easy promise to keep, she thought, when Lottie had gone. She was already bewildered and disturbed by his failure to contact her when he must know how she was longing to see him.
Well, she could do something about that at least, she thought, and she dialled the number of his parents ’ home.
She ’ d hoped Nigel himself would answer, but inevitably it was his mother.
‘ Oh, Helen, ’ she said, without pleasure. ‘ I ’ m afraid this isn ’ t a terribly convenient moment. You see, we have guests, and we ’ re in the middle of dinner. ’
‘ I ’ m sorry, ’ Helen said. ‘ But I do need to speak to him. ’
‘ But not this evening. ’ There was a steely note in Mrs Hartley ’ s voice. She sighed impatiently. ‘ Oh, well. Perhaps if there ’ s something particular, he could call you tomorrow? ’
Oh, nothing special, thought Helen. Only the rest of my life.
‘ Thank you, ’ she said quietly. ‘ I look forward to hearing from him. ’
But it wasn ’ t true, she realised as she put down the phone. She had a feeling of dread, not anticipation. And once again Nigel ’ s mother had succeeded in making her feel excluded — as if she had no place in their lives.
When she and Nigel finally managed to talk, Mrs Hartley ’ s attitude was going to be one of the topics of conversation, she thought grimly.
When she awoke next morning, it was to intermittent sunshine and scudding clouds driven by a sharp breeze.
Unpredictable, she thought as she dressed. Rather like my life. But a good day for touring historic houses rather than going to the beach, so let ’ s hope the queues start forming like they did last week.
Well, not quite, she amended hastily. At least this time Marc Delaroche would not be part of them.
She was on her way to the kitchen when she saw the post van disappearing down the drive. At the door she paused, and drew a deep, calming breath before entering.
‘ Any phone calls for me? ’ she enquired, making her tone deliberately casual.
‘ Nothing so far, ’ Daisy told her, putting a fresh pot of tea on the table.
‘ What about mail? ’
‘ A couple of bills, ’ Daisy said. She paused. ‘ And this. ’ She held out an imposing cream envelope embossed with the committee ’ s logo.
Helen ’ s stomach lurched frantically. She wiped her hand on her jeans and took the envelope, staring down at it. Reluctant, now that the moment had come, to learn its contents, slowly she pushed the blade of a table knife under the flap and slit it open.
The words ‘ We regret ’ danced in front of her eyes, making it almost unnecessary to read on. But she scanned them any-way — the brief polite lines that signified failure.
George had come into the kitchen and was standing beside his wife, both of them watching Helen anxiously.
She tried to smile — to shrug. ‘ No luck, I ’ m afraid. They try to help places that have suffered some kind of terrible devastation, like earthquake sites. It seems that rising damp, leaky roofs and dry rot aren ’ t quite devastating enough. ’
‘ Oh, Miss Helen, love. ’
She sank her teeth into her lower lip at the compassion in Daisy ’ s voice,
Helen spooned coffee into two beakers with more than usual care. ‘ Nigel ’ s probably planning it as a big surprise for me, ’ she said calmly, ignoring the sudden churning in her stomach. ‘ Although I can ’ t really imagine his mother turning cartwheels over it. She must like me better than I thought, ’ she added, without any real conviction.
‘ I shouldn ’ t have said anything, ’ Lottie said ruefully as she stirred her coffee.
‘ No, it ’ s fine, ’ Helen assured her. ‘ And when I do see him I swear I ’ ll be the world ’ s most astonished person. ’
That would be an easy promise to keep, she thought, when Lottie had gone. She was already bewildered and disturbed by his failure to contact her when he must know how she was longing to see him.
Well, she could do something about that at least, she thought, and she dialled the number of his parents ’ home.
She ’ d hoped Nigel himself would answer, but inevitably it was his mother.
‘ Oh, Helen, ’ she said, without pleasure. ‘ I ’ m afraid this isn ’ t a terribly convenient moment. You see, we have guests, and we ’ re in the middle of dinner. ’
‘ I ’ m sorry, ’ Helen said. ‘ But I do need to speak to him. ’
‘ But not this evening. ’ There was a steely note in Mrs Hartley ’ s voice. She sighed impatiently. ‘ Oh, well. Perhaps if there ’ s something particular, he could call you tomorrow? ’
Oh, nothing special, thought Helen. Only the rest of my life.
‘ Thank you, ’ she said quietly. ‘ I look forward to hearing from him. ’
But it wasn ’ t true, she realised as she put down the phone. She had a feeling of dread, not anticipation. And once again Nigel ’ s mother had succeeded in making her feel excluded — as if she had no place in their lives.
When she and Nigel finally managed to talk, Mrs Hartley ’ s attitude was going to be one of the topics of conversation, she thought grimly.
When she awoke next morning, it was to intermittent sunshine and scudding clouds driven by a sharp breeze.
Unpredictable, she thought as she dressed. Rather like my life. But a good day for touring historic houses rather than going to the beach, so let ’ s hope the queues start forming like they did last week.
Well, not quite, she amended hastily. At least this time Marc Delaroche would not be part of them.
She was on her way to the kitchen when she saw the post van disappearing down the drive. At the door she paused, and drew a deep, calming breath before entering.
‘ Any phone calls for me? ’ she enquired, making her tone deliberately casual.
‘ Nothing so far, ’ Daisy told her, putting a fresh pot of tea on the table.
‘ What about mail? ’
‘ A couple of bills, ’ Daisy said. She paused. ‘ And this. ’ She held out an imposing cream envelope embossed with the committee ’ s logo.
Helen ’ s stomach lurched frantically. She wiped her hand on her jeans and took the envelope, staring down at it. Reluctant, now that the moment had come, to learn its contents, slowly she pushed the blade of a table knife under the flap and slit it open.
The words ‘ We regret ’ danced in front of her eyes, making it almost unnecessary to read on. But she scanned them any-way — the brief polite lines that signified failure.
George had come into the kitchen and was standing beside his wife, both of them watching Helen anxiously.
She tried to smile — to shrug. ‘ No luck, I ’ m afraid. They try to help places that have suffered some kind of terrible devastation, like earthquake sites. It seems that rising damp, leaky roofs and dry rot aren ’ t quite devastating enough. ’
‘ Oh, Miss Helen, love. ’
She sank her teeth into her lower lip at the compassion in Daisy ’ s voice,
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