Chapter Twenty-Seven
The morning was bright and beautiful and Honor floated from the bungalow to the Teapot in a happy dream. OK, the official end to her marriage was going to be painful and she had to figure out how and when to make it happen — which was going to be a can of worms, even if she argued that, by making bad decisions, Stef had, effectively, chosen jail over his wife.
Honor knew she would just have to steel herself to handle those worms, no matter how slimy. If Stef hadn’t been in a correctional facility, she would simply have filed for divorce.
But if Stef hadn’t been in county jail then the end of the relationship might never have happened, and if, and if, and if . . .
But there he was; and here she was, living in England ‘at the seaside’ (mentally, she put on an English accent to say that) and working for a couple of crazy hippies in a cute English tearoom. Today was Wednesday; tomorrow Martyn would be back and she’d worked yesterday to make it so that tomorrow and Friday were her days off, this week. And she was glad to be alive. Glad she didn’t have to go through life not knowing what it felt like to be touched as if she was the last woman he’d ever touch. To be kissed with ferocious hunger, to make love with a man who used his mouth as his main means of exploration. A gourmand. Pretty damned incredible.
As if on cue, one of the cream-and-red double-decker buses passed her going the other way, and a huge Martyn glowered down at her, a god in boxer shorts. Whoo. Funny, funny feeling . . .
Stepping up her speed, she turned up into The Butts, past Starboard Walk, where Martyn’s BMW should magically reappear tomorrow, past the butcher’s shop, past the greengrocers, past the pub on the other side, across the road into the Eastingdean Teapot.
The counter flap was up and she breezed into the kitchen, reaching automatically around to the hooks where her apron hung. ‘Hi, Sophie!’
Sophie looked up from pricking potatoes that looked like big brown pebbles. ‘Um, Honor—’
Robina shot out from the pantry. Her huge dark eyes overwhelming her face, so absolutely white. Her hands shook. Honor stared, wondering whether Robina was ill or eating the wrong kind of mushrooms. ‘Are you OK?’
Robina swallowed. A tear broke free of her eye. ‘You fucking bitch.’