Honeysuckle House Read online

  Throwing herself into a frenzy of housework seemed to be the only way to deal with the tight knot of fear that clamped in her stomach.

  It need not be an affair … Maybe it was a casual thing, a one-off that he’d never meant to happen? Did that make it any better?

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. One thing was certain – until Leon chose to come home, she wouldn’t know …

  She heard the key in the lock and called out, ‘Leon? I’m in the dining room …’ Her mouth was dry.

  The door opened slowly and they stood facing each other.

  ‘I … I slept at Steven’s. We had a bit of a session. I – um – slept on the sofa. With the cats.’

  Irrationally, she felt sorry for him. There was none of his usual bluster.

  ‘Really? That was after you left the Nook, was it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He walked to the window. ‘Rosie, I’m sorry I didn’t phone you. You might have been worried …’

  ‘I might have been,’ she agreed, amazed at the way her words could sound so calm when her whole life was falling apart. ‘As it was, I slept like a log.’

  ‘Good. You haven’t been sleeping well lately.’

  ‘You’ve noticed? Goodness me!’

  ‘Please, can we talk, properly?’ His face was etched with pain. ‘About selling up, about the Four Seasons … about our future …’

  ‘One of those subjects, yes.’ She clenched her trembling hands together. ‘Our future, Leon, if we have one. Who is she?’

  He rocked back as though she had struck him. There was no need for him to say anything more. She knew this was serious.

  ‘Do you love her?’ It wasn’t the question she’d meant to ask but it was the one that had been scalding her tongue since last night.

  Leon’s eyes searched hers, as if seeking an answer that wouldn’t hurt. He had never been cruel.

  ‘Yes.’ He had never been a liar, either.

  That was it then. The end of everything. You couldn’t fight love …

  She turned her head away.

  ‘Rosie, look at me.’

  ‘I’m not crying, Leon. And you didn’t ask me how I knew …’

  ‘Was it Steven?’

  ‘Steven?’ Anger flared again. ‘You mean Steven knew?’

  ‘Yes.’ Leon sighed heavily. ‘But he didn’t approve. He told me to go home and patch things up.’

  ‘Well, bully for him!’ Her voice cracked like a whip. ‘Dead simple for you men, isn’t it? A bit of a dalliance, then run home with flowers and chocolates and say sorry and all will be forgiven!’

  ‘No! That wasn’t what I meant! Steven really is on your side –’

  ‘Oh, I’m flattered! I didn’t even know I had a side to be on until last night when she drove you home and kissed you goodnight …’ Her voice broke and Leon took a step towards her.

  ‘Don’t come near me! Is it for her that you’re selling Cookery Nook and Honeysuckle House? It all seems a bit of a coincidence.’

  ‘No, of course not. I want the Four Seasons for us. You and me and the children …’

  ‘Priceless!’ The tears were falling now. Angrily Rosie wiped them away.

  ‘Listen to yourself, Leon! You’ve just told me you’re in love with another woman but you still expect me to go ahead and support your stupid dreams!’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I will make an appointment to see Paul Beatty as soon as possible. I have no desire to rob you of anything that’s yours, so I’ll secure my side of the business and the house – and you and Miss World can open a burger bar in Acapulco for all I care!’

  She swung round and tried to leave before the tears erupted again.

  Ashen-faced, Leon reached out and gripped her arm.

  ‘I still love you, Rosie. I can’t lose you and the children.’

  ‘You love us all, Leon.’ Her voice was weary as she looked down at the familiar hand holding her arm. ‘But that’s not the way the game is played. Someone always gets hurt somewhere along the way. You had a choice, and that choice didn’t involve me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘Do you want me to leave?’

  ‘Oh no, I’m not making it easy for you. That would be a great salve to your conscience, wouldn’t it? You’d be able to tell everyone that I threw you out.

  ‘You’re my husband, Leon. I meant every word of my marriage vows. I remember the for better or worse part clearly – it’s a shame you forgot about forsaking all others.’

  Somehow she got out of the room. It was only when she reached the oddly-shaped corner of the utility room, where the children had kept roller skates and tennis rackets and Wellingtons and footballs over the years, that she allowed her grief to escape in shuddering sobs.

  Half of her wanted him to leave because of his infidelity and his professed love for Her. The other half wanted him to stay because he was her husband – and because, despite everything, she still loved him.

  ‘Mum? Why are you in the utility room?’ Kizzy skidded to a halt. ‘Oh, what’s up? Have you got a cold?’

  ‘I think so …’ Rosie sniffed, hastily wiping her eyes. ‘Why have you come home?’

  ‘It’s lunchtime, and I thought I might catch Dad. I need to talk to him.’

  ‘He’s in the dining room, Kizzy, but I wouldn’t –’

  But Kizzy had gone, her long red curls escaping from their combs, endless legs in black tights scampering across the tiled floor.

  ‘Hi, Dad! Oh – have you got this cold, too? You look lousy. Never mind – I’ve got some news that’ll cheer you up! Something for you and Mum to look forward to!’

  Rosie walked along the shingle track, head down, aware of the afternoon sun warming the back of her neck and this morning’s rain making iridescent patterns on the pebbles beneath her feet.

  That was all she was aware of. Thoughts and plans, hopes and fears jumbled through her aching head, making no sense at all.

  ‘Are you dashing off somewhere important or have you got time for a coffee?’ Steven appeared in the doorway of his shop just as she passed. ‘Rosie …?’

  ‘Don’t waste time on tea and sympathy.’ She raised her head and almost glared at the man she had always considered her friend. ‘Or even coffee and sympathy. I know Leon stayed here last night and I know why. And I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Ah … Right.’ His smile faltered. ‘I wasn’t taking sides by allowing Leon to kip down with the cats. I did it because –’ He sighed. ‘Well, because he’s a friend and because he had nowhere else to go. I’d have done the same for you.’

  ‘Thanks!’ She gave a cynical laugh which faltered into a sob. ‘Only I’m hardly likely to be intending to run away with a blonde in a flashy car, am I?’

  ‘Rosie, please don’t …’ Steven patted her shoulder awkwardly. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Look, Leon said you knew nothing …’

  ‘Oh, I knew nothing all right.’ She gulped back the tears. ‘Right up to the minute I watched him kiss her goodnight …’

  ‘I’ll definitely put the kettle on.’

  Steven disappeared into the shop. ‘Take a seat, please. Don’t run away …’

  Run away, Rosie thought, lowering herself into one of the battered armchairs Steven kept at the shop to enable prospective purchasers to browse through the second-hand books in comfort. If only I could. But this pain could never be eased by avoidance.

  ‘There.’ Steven pulled up a chair opposite her. ‘I’ve practically filled it with sugar. Oh, Rosie – I don’t know what to say. But I’m always here if you need a shoulder to cry on.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The coffee scalded her numb lips. ‘I feel such a fool! I should have known … I should have guessed. I mean, I’ve seen it happen to other people and I’ve never believed that the wife is always the last to know.

  ‘And another thing –’ She raised fiercely tearful eyes. ‘I always thought that if this unspeakable thing ever happened to me and Leon, then I’d scream and bawl like a
fishwife and throw him out of my life for ever.

  ‘But, it isn’t like that …’ Her voice tailed away to a whisper. ‘I love him, Steven. I still love him …’

  ‘Of course you do.’ He stroked her hair like a father comforting a distressed child. ‘And I could cheerfully throttle him!’

  Rosie sipped at the syrupy-sweet coffee without tasting it.

  ‘I wish I could be sure that what I’m going to do is the right thing for me and the children. That’s what’s important now. If Leon leaves us – which I honestly believe he will – then it’ll be up to me to keep Honeysuckle House and the kids on an even keel.’

  She put down her cup. ‘Thanks for listening – and I’m sorry I shouted.’

  ‘Dear Rosie.’ Steven rose to his feet, helping her from the depths of the armchair. ‘In the circumstances I think you’re entitled to do more than shout. Come down here and scream and throw things any time you want. And don’t forget, I’m only a phone call away – day or night.’

  ‘Bless you.’ She grazed her lips against his cheek. ‘You may regret making that offer …’

  ‘Never,’ Steven said softly, watching her walk proudly away towards Sea Road. ‘Never in a million years …’

  The sea danced with diamonds beneath the pale sun, but today its beauty failed to touch her. She had made an appointment to see Paul Beatty at the bank on Monday morning. That would give Leon and her the whole weekend to decide what they were going to do. Now there was only one more visit to make.

  The bus was just pulling up at the stop. Quickening her pace, Rosie hurried towards it.

  She arrived to find Dawley was teeming with shoppers and visitors. The noise and the bustle only served to irritate her further. There were couples everywhere – young couples in love, and older couples, contented, sure of each other. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  Suddenly she caught sight of a tousled head and a green sweatshirt, darting through the sea-front crowds.

  ‘Jamie? Jamie!’ She raised her hand and waved, but the boy didn’t stop and was soon swallowed up in the scurrying mass.

  She shook her head, feeling foolish. Of course it couldn’t have been him. Jamie was at school in Highcliffe, not shoving his way round these infernally noisy arcades. Poor Jamie – how would he react to Leon leaving? And William? And Kizzy? Kizzy with her romantic dreams of perfect love. Kizzy – a real Daddy’s girl …

  She crossed the car park towards the office block of Brennan and Foulkes. Might as well get this over. There was no point in delaying any longer. There would be no sale of Honeysuckle House. No sale of her shares in Cookery Nook. No Four Seasons being financed out of the only security she had.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ The pretty young receptionist smiled disarmingly.

  ‘No.’ Rosie shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t even know who I want to see. My name is Brodie. I believe my husband, Leon Brodie, has been dealing with one of your advisers. It’s him I’d like to see.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ The receptionist nodded with understanding. ‘Mr Brodie. The Old Granary – Miss Phelps has been dealing with that account. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll make an appointment.’

  ‘I’d rather like to see Miss Phelps now,’ Rosie insisted. ‘It’s urgent.’

  ‘I don’t know …’ The girl looked at Rosie and her charming smile switched to a look of sympathy. ‘I’ll ring her and see what we can do …’

  Nice girl, Rosie thought, staring at the abstract paintings in soothing sea shades that adorned the reception area. Efficient, too.

  Idly, she wondered what Miss Phelps would be like.

  ‘She’s in Reception.’ The girl was saying. ‘No, it’s urgent. A message from Mr Brodie. Sorry? Oh – no, she didn’t ask for you by name. She didn’t actually know who she wanted to see. All right, yes, thank you …’

  She replaced the receiver, looking puzzled, then turned on her professional smile as she looked at Rosie.

  ‘Miss Phelps is very busy, Mrs Brodie. She said if you could just leave a message she’ll get back to you or Mr Brodie … Mrs Brodie?’

  But Rosie wasn’t listening. Beside the relaxing cool tones of the paintings was a who’s who of Brennan and Foulkes; rows of sober-suited middle-aged male financiers and wheeler dealers – and one woman.

  Beneath the picture of the beautiful blonde woman with the enigmatic smile were the words ‘Felicity Phelps’.

  And she knew who she was, all too well.

  Slowly replacing the telephone receiver, Felicity closed her eyes. She couldn’t pretend any longer. Rosie Brodie was no longer just ‘Leon’s wife’, a hazy figure somewhere in the background, someone whom she had tried not to think about. Rosie Brodie was downstairs in Reception.

  She walked shakily to the window overlooking the square, seeing nothing.

  The Other Woman – was that what she was? A heartless husband-stealer caring nothing for Rosie or the children? She smiled faintly at the irony. If only that were true! It was because Leon was married that she had fought the feelings she felt for him for as long as she had. And now she loved him more than she had ever loved any man.

  And his wife, the woman with all the rights, the woman who obviously didn’t understand him, who seemed determined to thwart his plans, was merely two floors below her.

  Rosie Brodie had become a reality.

  She picked up the phone. ‘Nicky? Has Mrs Brodie left yet?’

  ‘No, Miss Phelps.’ Rosie opened the office door. ‘Mrs Brodie hasn’t …’

  Letting the receiver drop back, Felicity faced the slender, brown-haired woman standing uncertainly in the doorway. When she’d allowed herself to think of Rosie she’d pictured her as a dowdy, middle-aged woman. This woman, with her casually styled hair and jeans and sweatshirt showing off a trim figure, could, at first sight, have passed for Leon’s daughter.

  A wave of sickness swept over her, followed quickly by guilt. Trying to retain the ice-cool poise for which she was famed, Felicity took deep, steadying breaths.

  Rosie was quite unprepared for Felicity’s beauty. The fleeting glimpse in the moonlight and the harshly posed photograph downstairs certainly didn’t do her justice.

  Leon had always had an eye for a pretty face, she thought sadly. Like most men. But unlike most men, he hadn’t been able to leave it at that …

  ‘Mrs Brodie.’ Felicity tried to calm the trembling. ‘I’m so sorry – I did ask the receptionist to give you a message. I simply don’t have time to –’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t.’ Rosie surprised herself by speaking evenly. ‘However, Miss Phelps, as you seem to have more than enough time for my husband – no, please don’t deny it. I saw you last night when you dropped him outside our home. And, believe it or not, that isn’t why I came here today. I didn’t even know who you were … However, now I’m here, I’ll kill two birds with one stone. May I sit down?’

  ‘I really don’t think …’ Felicity began, her composure shattered by Rosie’s serenity.

  ‘Well, I do.’ Rosie sat in one of the honey-coloured leather armchairs, wondering if Leon had sat here, smiling lovingly at this beautiful woman in the expensive suit the way he had once smiled at her.

  ‘I came here to tell whoever was dealing with Leon’s affairs –’ she paused and bit her lip ‘– that as far as I’m concerned the Four Seasons is no more than a pipe-dream.

  ‘Of course, now I know who you are, it puts a different light on things. However, please don’t waste any more time in encouraging my husband to sell all that he has to finance a whim. I won’t be selling my shares in Cookery Nook, nor will I agree to the sale of Honeysuckle House. If you and Leon are determined to buy the Old Granary for your country club, then I suggest you start looking for other means of finance.’

  ‘I’m not entering into a business partnership with Mr Brodie.’ Felicity felt as though the floor was moving beneath her feet. She struggled to regain some professional composure. ‘At Brennan and Foulkes, we merel
y assemble business plans, find financial backing, and set the wheels in motion. Leon – I mean, Mr Brodie – approached me on that basis. And I’m afraid I really am unable to discuss this any further …’

  ‘Of course you are.’ Rosie took a deep breath. ‘I’m not a complete innocent in the ways of business, Miss Phelps. All I wish to make clear is that whatever plans you and my husband may have, they will not include taking away my security or that of my children.’

  ‘Mrs Brodie –’ Felicity felt tears stinging her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean this to happen. Oh, I don’t expect you to believe that but it’s the truth. I’d – I’d feel better if you shouted …’

  ‘Of course you would.’ Rosie stood up slowly. ‘So would Leon. But I rarely shout, Miss Phelps. And I certainly don’t intend to start now, not even to make you feel better.’

  She moved towards the door, aching to turn and scream at this lovely woman to leave Leon alone and allow things to return to normal. But it was too late. Far too late. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  She paused. ‘I assume that you’re in love with my husband, Miss Phelps? He has told me that he loves you. Leon is guileless. He’s a charming dreamer – although you probably already know that. I’ve had to be the realist throughout our marriage – and apparently through its break-up. I do hope that you, too, can keep a grip on reality during the next few weeks because one of you will have to. Goodbye.’

  Once the door had closed behind her, Rosie choked on the tears that she had been determined should not fall in front of Felicity Phelps. Stumbling down the staircase, feeling the nobbly plaster wall beneath her fingers, she prayed for numbness to return. There was a physical lump in her throat and a wrenching knot of pain in her stomach.

  Felicity had not answered her question, nor had she needed to. Rosie had looked into those translucent green eyes and read the answer.

  Felicity Phelps was hopelessly in love with her husband.

  It’s Time To Talk

  ‘Why haven’t you got a ring then? How can you be getting married without even having an engagement ring?’

  ‘Who’re you having for bridesmaids?’

  ‘Honestly, Kizzy, what did your mum and dad say?’