CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was Friday morning in the café and I was desperate to get over to the glamping site to start cleaning the shepherd’s huts. Not to mention the big Bedouin tent.
I glanced at my watch. The previous week’s guests should hopefully have left by now, which meant I had five hours to prepare for the influx of weekend visitors to the glamping site.
The trouble was, Katja – who was standing in for me today at the café – was in a state about Richard. We weren’t yet busy and she was clearly in a mood to talk.
‘Every time I phone him, I can hear someone in the background,’ she was saying now.
‘Every time? Surely not.’
‘Well, maybe not every time. But I swear last night, just as he answered, I heard a woman’s voice calling, “Why don’t you leave it? Let it go to message”.’
I gazed at her, not knowing what to say.
‘The mind’s a funny thing,’ I said at last. ‘It can make you think things that aren’t even happening. Especially if you’re feeling emotional about something.’
‘I suppose so. But even assuming I’m imagining he has another woman over there already, it’s the fact that he didn’t seem that bothered about leaving me behind that’s the real worry. He was so excited about living in New York . . .’
‘Well, he would be. Let’s face it, anyone would be.’
‘I know. You’re right. Maybe I’m just imagining problems where there are none. I suppose it’s more of a feeling that things haven’t been right for a while that’s making me so uncertain about where my life’s going.’ She gave a dramatic sigh. ‘Do you ever get times like that when nothing makes sense and you think maybe you’re on entirely the wrong path in life?’
Oh, crumbs! We were getting philosophical now. And a one-word answer would not do.
‘Katja . . . can we talk about this later?’ I squeezed her arm apologetically. ‘It’s just I need to get the glamping site ready and I’ve only got a matter of hours before everyone starts arriving.’
‘Oh, of course, of course. Rhona’s not here to help, is she?’ She looked apologetic. ‘You go, Ellie. Sorry for being so selfish and rambling on.’
Now I felt terrible.
‘Katja, you weren’t. Rambling on, I mean. You’re worried and I really wish I had time to talk now, but . . .’
She started steering me towards the door. ‘I’m fine here. Things are under control. Get those units cleaned and then maybe think about begging Rhona to come back because you’ve got far too much on your plate right now to cope with. Go, go, go!’
I chuckled. ‘Okay, I’m going.’
‘Why did Rhona leave anyway? You never said,’ she called after me, but I pretended I hadn’t heard her and hurried on, round to the glamping site.
I hadn’t seen Rhona since Sunday, when she’d driven away at speed from Bogg House, leaving us all stunned – me, especially. I kept thinking about the little wooden box she’d grabbed and taken with her. What was in there? What had been so important to her that she had to fabricate a whole series of lies to get it?
I was still trying to get my head around everything she’d confessed that day, and I was glad in a way that she seemed to have done a vanishing act. But it had been hard without her help at the glamping site.
She’d made herself indispensable, of course . . . that day when it seemed as if I’d have to cancel the glamping guests because of the flood at the laundry. I couldn’t have done it without her and the crisis had worked in her favour. I’d come to rely on her help and her apparent kindness in such a short time.
It was hardly surprising I’d been devastated when I’d found out about her lies and deception. I really hadn’t known Rhona at all . . .
But while I still felt really hurt, I also kept remembering Rhona’s expression as she made her confession. She looked . . . devastated. Even at the time, I could tell her attempts at saying she was sorry were coming straight from the heart.
Maybe she deserved a chance to explain properly?
I knew deep down that Rhona wasn’t a bad person. So there had to have been something really precious in that box for her to have gone through all that she did, knowing she was letting me down badly in the process and that I’d be so hurt if I ever found out the truth . . .
‘Ellie? Can I have a word?’
A woman, Mrs Watson, was hurrying over to me with a big bunch of yellow roses. She and her family had been staying in the Bedouin tent and were leaving that morning.
She smiled, a little out of breath. ‘Sorry, before I go, could you possibly give these to that lovely assistant of yours? Rhona?’
‘Oh.’ I took them in surprise. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘She was such a star. I arrived here on the Friday night with raging toothache and of course my dentist was miles away in Sheffield. But Rhona . . . she somehow managed to get me an emergency appointment with her own dentist on the Saturday morning.’ She shook her head, smiling. ‘Goodness knows how she did it, but I can’t tell you how grateful I was to get that damn tooth out!’
‘Wow. That’s great. She . . . didn’t mention it.’
Mrs Watson smiled. ‘Well, some people are like that, aren’t they? Just good through and through. She was brilliant afterwards as well. She brought me a tub of salt so I could do regular mouthwashes and it would heal faster. And she wouldn’t even let me pay her for it.’
I smiled. ‘That sounds like Rhona.’
‘Anyway, please give her those flowers and tell her she made my holiday so much better than it otherwise would have been.’
‘I will. Don’t worry. Your mouth’s feeling much better now?’
‘Oh, yes. Thanks so much, Ellie. For everything.’
I watched her hurry over to the car, where her family were waiting for her. ‘Safe journey back to Sheffield,’ I called as she gave me a wave. I held up the bouquet. ‘And I’ll take these over to Rhona.’
Much later, when all the weekend guests were settled in, I took the beautiful bunch of yellow roses out to the car.
These flowers were just the excuse I needed to talk to Rhona and find out the truth.