designing?”
“I don’t really know. It was when things were really iffy with John…” Her voice trailed off and he waited. “I saw a program about jewelry design on telly one day and it seemed a good idea. So I took a course and loved it. It really helped.”
“You mean it helped you see things in a clearer light?” he murmured perceptively.
“I suppose you might say that. At the time, it seemed that way. But then John had the accident and I wondered if—oh hell, I don’t know and it doesn’t matter anymore,” she said in a rush, gulping down the wine. The last thing she wanted was to get into a conversation that would surely end in Brad telling her she should leave her husband and get on with her life. Nobody, least of all him, could understand her reasons not to.
“I think it’s great you’re taking it so seriously,” he responded in a neutral voice and she sighed, relieved.
“Yes. I enjoy designing and lately visitors seem to be quite taken with some of the pieces. Moira’s my goldsmith, you know. She went to the Royal Academy and has been in this business for years now. Real luck, that, wasn’t it?” she added, grinning. “I wasn’t sure that expensive jewelry would work here on the island, but you’d be surprised at the number of tourists who’ve bought pieces.”
“I hear you’re planning something with Armand. He seems to think you’re very talented.”
“It’s just an idea. I haven’t really given it a lot of thought,” she lied, taking another gulp of wine and reaching down to pet Hermione.
“You’re taking this to heart, aren’t you, Charlie?”
“I suppose so.” She shrugged. “Keeps me busy.”
“I’m glad. You needed something to fill your life.”
“God, Brad! Don’t be patronizing,” she snapped crossly.
“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He leaned back, laughing.
“Then how did you mean it?” Her eyes flashed and she plunked her glass down with a bang. “Charlotte has something to keep her busy while Genny’s at school?” she mimicked. “You make me sound like one of those silly women—” She cut off, bit her lip and turned away, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Brad, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I always get the impression you all think I’m a flake who can’t take care of herself.”
He reached across the table and placed a hand over her long, nervous fingers. “Nothing’s wrong with you that can’t be set right. You’ve been trapped in limbo in your marriage and since the accident it’s been worse, because you feel so darn guilty you can’t see the forest for the trees.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We’re going to have to talk about it, Charlie. It might as well be now as later,” he said, determined to bring the subject out in the open. Her fingers clenched under his and he squeezed them tight before she could escape. “How is John?”
“Just the same. No change.”
Brad hesitated, stroking her hand gently. “Have you thought about taking measures to end it?” he asked quietly. It was time someone made her face the fact that it might be better to let John die a natural death, rather than keep him alive, hooked up to a machine.
“No!” she burst out, snatching her hand away. “I can’t and won’t do it. They don’t know if he’ll get better or not, but while there’s the remotest chance, I don’t feel I have that right. And I wish you’d all stop going on at me. He’s my husband, after all, and Genny’s father. I have some sense of loyalty left, even if you lot don’t,” she spat.
“Yeah, well, maybe we were all so impressed by the loyalty he showed you over the years that it’s hard to feel the same sympathy for him that you apparently do,” he threw back dryly.
“It’s nobody’s business but mine,” she muttered. “Sometimes I think his eyes flicker, but the nurse claims it’s just his nerves reacting.” She sighed, lifted her glass and sent him a brittle smile. “Cheers. Tell me, how are the twins?”
“They’re great. Looking forward to seeing Genny.” He watched as she retired once more behind that shield of self-protection. There was no point pursuing the subject, but he was glad he’d brought it up and cleared the air, for although John brought back memories best forgotten, he loomed too large to be ignored.
“She’s terribly excited, too.” Charlotte smiled at the thought of her daughter and the twins, who she adored. “I haven’t seen them since last summer. Gosh, time flies, doesn’t it? Are they huge?”
“Rick’s shooting up like a beanstalk and Todd’s not far behind. I’m worried about his schoolwork, though. His attention deficit disorder’s a real problem and tough on his self-esteem. But we’ll get there.”
“Perhaps he should be in a special school.”
“Yeah. We’re looking into it for the fall. Sylvia thinks she may have found just the right place.”
Charlotte winced at the “we.” It sounded so final. A unit. One she was not part of. She was definitely right to have moved out, she realized with a twinge of determined satisfaction. Crossing her legs under her on the chair, she glanced at him. “I’m glad you’ve found someone to share your life with, Brad. I hope you’ll be very happy. Do you think Sylvia will like being mistress of Strathaird? It’s quite a job, as I’m sure Mummy will tell you. I hope she’ll be up to it.”
“Syl?” he gave a rich laugh and grinned. “She’ll take on anything. She’s so organized it’s unreal. I don’t know where we’d be without her at Harcourts. You should see her Filofax, and her BlackBerry pager.” He laughed, shook his head and took another sip of wine. “I don’t expect it’ll be easy for her, but I know she’ll give it her best try. And Syl’s best tries are usually very successful.”
“Well, that’s great then, isn’t it?” Charlotte jumped up, feeling suddenly antsy. “It’s a bit chilly to eat out, lets go in.”
“Sure. Can I help?” He followed her back inside, not certain what had prompted the sudden change in her but aware that something he’d said appeared to have displeased her. He shrugged, caught the fresh scent of her as she passed, and smiled inwardly. Charlie was mercurial as a weather vane and he was used to her ups and downs.
“You can set the table,” she remarked, returning to the stove and lifting the lid off the casserole to take a sniff. “The mats and cutlery are in the drawer to the right of the sink.”
Brad opened the creaking drawer, picked out two mats and frowned. “Didn’t you pick these out in Sarlat one summer? I seem to remember them. It was the year you turned fifteen.”
“Good memory. I chose them for Mummy. We had fun that day, remember?”
“Very well.” He placed the knives and forks and napkins on the table while Charlotte tended to the casserole, recalling amusing anecdotes that took them back many years, then placed the piping-hot gratin on the table. It felt homey, cozy and right being in her kitchen. Too cozy for his own good, he reflected grimly, Sylvia’s image flashing as he picked up the cruet and placed it on the table. “We must do this when Syl
