Chapter 19 Charlotte
Charlotte
The blank canvas stared me down. My fingers hovered over the pot of fresh brushes, but I didn’t dare pluck one out.
I hadn’t had space for art in my life for a long time.
Looking after Dad had been demanding, but I couldn’t use it as an excuse.
I just hadn’t felt the urge to draw or paint.
Not since the shambles that had been art school.
I perched on the stool at the pottery wheel.
Birdsong drifted in through the window in the stillness.
What was I supposed to do here? My life had changed overnight.
Without Dad, I had this space in my heart where he’d been, and an empty expanse of time to fill.
I drifted to the enormous tub of clay by the sink.
The canvas was too intimidating, but I could at least try to throw a pot.
Cole had gone to all this trouble. I had to give something a go.
I lifted the lid and grabbed a mound of wet clay.
It would need to be wedged first to get the air out.
That’s about as much as I could remember.
On the table, I pressed and folded it with my hands, smoothing it.
Then, I put the mound on the wheel and began spinning it with my foot on the pedal.
The clay slid wet and cold between my palms. Wet earth filled my nose, and I expected it to trigger all those bad memories of art school—the criticism, the tears, that feeling of never being good enough.
But my mind fell into a calm, focused fixation.
The repetitive whir of the wheel soothed me.
A small cylinder took shape between my fingers.
A pencil pot, maybe, or a small plant container – something, anyway.
Something I’d created myself from scratch.
I stopped the wheel and examined my finished product.
Not great, but not terrible either. An achievement, after all these years.
A small smile lifted my lips. It was a start.
Spring turned into summer, and I passed a host of sunny days perfecting my technique on the wheel.
I settled into a routine, working all day, and stopping only to eat one of Elain’s delicious salads.
Lunch was taken alone on the shady steps of the pottery studio, watching the sparrows splashing on the bird table.
Late afternoons, I sometimes took a dip in the outdoor pool, followed by dinner in the cozy snug at the back of the house.
Most nights, I fell asleep on the couch in front of Dating in the Wild.
At the sink in the studio, I carefully measured out the components needed for a glaze.
I’d been experimenting for weeks, trying to find a shade the specific color of Dad’s eyes.
The trouble was, it always looked different when fired.
The closest I’d got was a muted ocean blue, but I needed something lighter.
I wiped dirty handprints down my apron. Things got messy in the studio. By the end of the day, I always had specks of clay caked into my hair. Cole would have hated it. He was so neat and well groomed. No wonder he’d had to put so many miles between us. He probably couldn’t stand the chaos.
Cole had sent me the odd message to check in since he’d dropped me here, but otherwise I’d heard nothing from him. On impulse, I pulled out my phone and sent him a text.
Do you want to see a dirty picture?
The reply was instantaneous. You have my attention.
I snapped a photo of the studio interior and the glaze-splattered sink and pressed send.
Not what I was expecting.
I tapped the phone against my chin, wondering whether to write more, but my phone buzzed before I could reply.
You’re enjoying the studio, then?
I love it.
Good.
I waited, but there was no further reply. Good? Is that it? It should have been enough, but I couldn’t help myself.
You don’t need me for anything? No fancy parties where I can flirt with rich, handsome men?
Nothing on the immediate horizon. I’ll let you know.
When are we saying I do?
Soon.
A movement outside the studio caught my eye.
Someone was outside, but it wasn’t time for Elain to bring lunch yet.
I moved to the window. My sister plowed over the lawn toward me with my nieces at her side.
Tiff was making hard work of dragging an enormous suitcase along the grass behind her.
I stepped outside to greet them. Both little girls broke into a run and threw themselves at me when they saw me.
I dropped to my knees to hug them so hard they almost floored me.
Tiff set her case down. Her face was pale and pinched. Dark shadows lurked under her eyes. My heart sank.
“What’s wrong?”
Her mouth opened in dismay. “I’ve left Paul again. I need somewhere to stay.”
“I went back to Dad’s house, but it was too depressing.
There’s mold in the back room.” Tiff stretched her legs on the lounger and watched Clara and Imogen dive-bombing each other loudly in the pool.
“I have a friend at work looking for a new place. They’ve got a toddler and a baby on the way. The house would be ideal.”
“Which house?”
“Dad’s.”
No way. “It’s not for sale.”
“It’s just sitting there empty, Lottie. It’s damp and falling into disrepair.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“But it’s not healthy to hold on to it like this.”
A sudden crick in my neck made me wince. These loungers were too hard. I adjusted the pillow behind my head. “I’m moving back in. When Cole doesn’t need me anymore, I’m going back.”
“It’s not a house for a single woman. It’s a family home.”
My nieces were play-fighting in the pool, splashing water in each other’s faces. I tried to take a calming breath. A strong chlorine odor burned the back of my throat. “It’s my house now. Not your problem.”
Tiff wrinkled her nose. “It’s my problem if squatters move in and turn it into a crack den.”
I gave her a dubious look. “In Ecclesdale?”
“Where better? No one would ever guess. Crack dens happen everywhere.”
This is why the school mums had booted Tiff out of the group chat. Because she was annoying and never let anything go.
“Why are you so insistent about selling? You’ve been paid off. What does it matter to you?”
“Because I think it’s healthy for you to let go. I don’t like the idea of you sitting in that house alone, drowning in memories.” She turned her face away. “Clinging on to it won’t bring him back, Lottie. He’s not there anymore.”
A surge of anger made my blood hot. So fucking righteous and patronizing. She opened her mouth to keep nagging me, but I cut her off.
“Do you think you can work things out with Paul?”
Her face hardened. She shook her head and pain flickered in her eyes. “No.”
I sighed. Tiff broke up with Paul all the time, but this time she looked genuinely distraught. It was probably why she was giving me grief about the house again. “You can stay here as long as you need. I don’t see the girls enough. Stay for a vacation.”
“You don’t need to check with Cole?”
Yes. Probably. He wasn’t particularly easygoing about change. But that wasn’t Tiff’s problem. I waved a dismissive hand. “He doesn’t care what I’m doing out here as long as I’m not bothering him.”
She peered around the pool and slathered her shoulders with sun cream. “I can’t bloody believe this place.” She watched Clive pottering around, trimming the hedges. “You have staff.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“You’re like some sickeningly rich person now. I don’t know you anymore.”
“I’m engaged to a sickeningly rich person. There’s a difference.”
“In less than a year, you’ll be five million pounds richer. Then you’ll be the sickeningly rich person. Good for you. You’ve really landed on your feet.” She dropped her voice low. “Where is Billionaire Dick, anyway?”
I snorted. “Keep your voice down. He’s in London. He does his own thing, and he doesn’t bother me.”
“Separate lives.” She nodded sagely. “Like a real marriage, then.”
I chuckled. “If you say so.”
She lowered her sunglasses and nodded her approval. “So you get this place to yourself and you don’t even have to suck anyone off? Talk about living the dream.”
“Stop. There is none of that. You saw the contract.”
Just one noncontractual orgasm that we never needed to talk about.
I let my eyes drift shut. The sound of splashing and my nieces’ cheerful voices filtered to my ears.
At least they’d stopped trying to drown each other.
Footsteps sounded, and I opened my eyes.
A dark figure blotted out the sun. My heart jumped, but my excitement was short-lived.
This man looked a little like Cole, but it wasn’t him.
Reuben was dressed in clothes that looked casual but must have cost a fortune—dark-patterned tailored shorts and a lilac Balenciaga hoodie with what looked like a small coffee stain on the chest.
“Hey there!” He flashed a beaming smile.
An uneasy feeling settled over me. Cole had flipped his lid when I’d danced with his brother.
He wouldn’t be happy about this. It was weird, because this man was all cheerful affability and good grace.
Difficult not to like. But that was Cole’s choice.
Now I had to sit here feeling awkward about it.
I straightened on the lounger. “What a lovely surprise.”
He held out the biggest bottle of champagne I’d ever seen. “No problem. I was passing. I thought I’d stop by and say hello.”
“Cole isn’t here, I’m afraid.”
Reuben’s smile widened. “That’s a shame.”
Tiff lurched over me and snatched the champagne bottle. “Thanks. I’ll take that.”
“Reuben, this is my sister, Tiff. Tiff, this is Cole’s brother, Reuben.”
Reuben almost tripped over his expensive-looking loafers in his effort to thrust out his palm to Tiff.
Pink tinged his cheekbones as he shook her hand enthusiastically.
I’d have to get rid of him. It was perfectly innocent, but Cole wouldn’t like it.
Cole had been good to me with the house and the studio. I wouldn’t piss him off for no reason.
Tiff lifted her sunglasses and surveyed Reuben. “Hi.” A curious smile lifted her lips. “The famous Reuben Thorner. I watched Monaco on the TV last week.”
He brushed a hand through his floppy hair and laughed. “Oh God. The less said about that the better.”
I twisted to look at Tiff. “Famous?”
“You didn’t know your brother-in-law-to-be is famous?”
He flashed a self-effacing grin. “I’m not that famous. I just drive cars.”
Tiff’s impressed gaze drifted over him. “Not just any old cars. You’re definitely famous.”
Reuben frowned and scratched his unruly mop of hair. “You know, I can never seem to get hold of Cole. His PA is like a guard dog. What’s he up to these days?”
Miriam was perfectly nice. She’d probably just been told to screen Reuben’s calls.
I shrugged. “The usual. He works hard.”
“He definitely does that.” His eyebrows rose in amazement. “I have no idea how he sits in an office all day. I can’t think of anything worse.”
Tiff swung her legs over the lounger and sat upright. She held up the champagne and studied it. “This looks fancy.”
Reuben pulled up a deck chair and sat with us. “I swiped it from Dad’s cellar. He only has the best.”
Tiff grinned. “Better crack it open then. I want to know everything about the season so far. Do not spare me a single detail.”
Reuben’s lips curved upward. “You like Formula One?”
“Not really.” Tiff smiled sweetly. “But I like the drivers.”