smiled. Their ‘business chats’ were very rarely about business. Lady Venetia, she had long suspected, was actually just lonely.
Her mentor recrossed her legs and arched a solitary eyebrow. ‘Did you know the boy’s begun a campaign to put wolves on the farm?’ She cackled. ‘Mind you. With any luck it’ll put short shrift to Esmé. She is ridiculous, isn’t she? Side with me, won’t you? Isn’t my son’s wife a dreadful bore?’ She brightened, her face aglow with a fresh idea, then – just as quickly – whatever it was that had cheered her passed. ‘You won’t forget me, will you darling?’
The lump in Charlotte’s throat quadrupled. ‘Of course not. You’re my mentor, my inspiration …’ She debated for a nanosecond over whether to say the next word then threw caution to the wind, ‘You’re my friend. I will never forget you.’
Mollified, Venetia threw her the most heartfelt smile they’d ever shared. ‘Darling, come.’ She patted the sofa. ‘Sit by me.’
Charlotte joined her, surprised at how papery and soft Lady Venetia’s hands were. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. Perfectly, it’s just that … saying goodbye to you is a bit like sending my favourite child out into the big wide world.’ She dropped Charlotte’s hand and drained her martini.
Charlotte couldn’t meet her eye. She didn’t know if she’d ever been paid such a high compliment.
Life, after all, had cornered her into choosing this new path.
Hazel the Lawyer had put it quite simply. Charlotte could either be entirely dependent upon Oliver until the children were eighteen (living in the house, bickering about which schools were right for which child, endlessly debating who cared for which child when), or she could take the reins of her own life right now and get on with things.
After a rather painful lunch with Oliver, she’d chosen the latter.
‘How’s your friend receiving the treatment getting on?’ Venetia’s tone suggested Izzy had been receiving weekly facials instead of chemotherapy. ‘And that fabulous child of hers?’
Charlotte didn’t take offence that Lady V never asked after her own children. Everyone had a child they adored, and in Lady V’s case it was most definitely Luna.
‘I think all of the skipping about with schools has been a bit much, but hopefully the move to Bristol for Izzy’s new treatment will be a good thing.’ It was strange to be breezily discussing an experimental treatment that could kill Izzy as easily as it could cure her. Then again, what choice did Izzy have? The first round of chemotherapy had had no impact on her tumour at all. It had taken some doing, but Emily had finally convinced her that moving to Bristol where they were trialling some intensive new treatments was the best course of action.
Lady V cut into her silent musings. ‘Did you know Izzy sold her surfing company to one of those child television stars? You know the one I mean. He played an adorable child prodigy lawyer but grew up to look like a thug and –’ she made a pinging noise – ‘career over.’
Charlotte did know that. She’d sold it to pay her hospital bills in Hawaii.
‘And her little one will be staying at your new place in Bristol?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Izzy says she has some sort of job lined up in Devon come autumn, but it all sounded rather vague. I thought I’d check into getting Luna registered at Poppy’s new school just in case.’
‘She’s always welcome to rattle round Sittingstone with me. Especially if she learns how to make martinis as well as you do.’
Before Charlotte could come up with an appropriate response, Lady V rose from the sofa. ‘Be careful how you tread, darling. Make sure Izzy has some proper plans in place – legal forms and such – in case things don’t pan out for her. Some friends,’ her tone turned ominous, ‘remain a mystery on purpose.’
True, but, everyone had a set of cards they played close to their chest.
Charlotte thought of Rocco. The kiss they’d shared. The warmth that still flared inside her when she thought of the moment when he had held her in his arms. The scant contact they’d had since then. She’d sent a thank you card. He’d sent one back. She’d not come up with a reason to thank him for his thank you card without sounding ridiculous, so it appeared that was that.
He’d be letting the cows out to pasture soon. At least according to Countryfile. She’d taken to watching it on catch-up after her talks with Lady V. It was terribly informative.
‘What is it, darling? You look wistful.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’
‘Don’t be obtuse. I can see with my wise old lady eyes you are lost in a romantic thought.’
Charlotte’s eyes widened.
Lady V gave a victorious laugh, then pulled Charlotte in for a brisk farewell hug and kiss at the door to kennels where they always bade one another adieu. ‘Why don’t you stop torturing yourself and ring him … your farmer.’
Charlotte flushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.’ Venetia mimicked Charlotte, ‘Freya’s brother would have had those shelves up in less than an hour. The milk Freya’s brother’s cows produce is superb. And the butter. Did you know he’s been selling kilo upon kilo of butter?’
Charlotte flushed. ‘Well.’
Lady V’s eyes glittered with delight. ‘Well, indeed.’
‘Where are the kids tonight?’
Freya handed Emily a small vase, which she dutifully rolled into a sheet of newspaper and stuffed into a box. The vase certainly didn’t spark any joy in her, but … she lived on a futon in her parents’ basement so it wasn’t as if she had much room to argue.
‘Staying overnight with friends. They’re binge-socializing. Felix has been out three nights on the trot.’ Freya almost sounded proud.
For some reason it made Emily cranky.
She’d thought of Felix as a kindred spirit. Someone who merely tolerated human company. It looked like everyone was changing apart from her.
Other than her weekends in Sussex to see Izzy through her chemo (utterly worthless), Emily’s life had fallen into that same, tedious, endless cycle of work, eat, sleep, repeat. The nine-to-five consultancy job meant far too much free time. Free time she’d slavishly applied to Netflix, volunteering for surgical shifts at the hospital, and a rather consumptive obsession with the bonsai crab-apple tree her father had given her for Chinese New Year. With any luck it would flower soon.
Freya handed her a screwdriver set. ‘Don’t bother packing this. Monty’ll want it straight away. D’you mind popping it in that box over there?’
Emily dumped the screwdrivers into the box, then dug into a bag of vegetable crisps Freya had unearthed before immediately wishing she hadn’t. It was possible the crisps were potpourri. ‘Do you think Monty’s taking this whole carpenter thing a bit seriously?’
‘What
