Chapter Twenty-Seven – Rose
ROSE
The Green-Eyed Gardener
I sa steepled her fingers in front of her face and sat forwards, doing her best impression of Mr Burns from The Simpsons . “How fucking dare he?”
I stared at the tablet screen between us and swallowed. “It’s just… part of his life there, right?”
“Part of his life?” she squeaked, reaching out and swiping to the next picture in the article. “Look at this! Look at how close she is to him! After all his fussing yesterday about you being close to another man, he’s out there at some fancy rich people party with women all over him!”
“They’re not all over him,” I argued, albeit weakly. “And it’s not really my business anyway. I was just humouring him yesterday. We’re not in a relationship. He’s free to cosy up to anyone he likes.”
Although the brunette in this particular picture in front of me who was whispering in Oliver’s ear was really pissing me off.
“I don’t think so! If he’s going to tell you not to even look at another man, where does he get off touching other women? He’s kissing this one’s cheek!” She swiped to another photo. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, and this is not good for the goose or the gander!”
I pressed the button to lock the tablet and pushed it away from me. “Those are his people. His circle. His friends, maybe even family. Cheek kisses are acceptable greetings, you know.”
“Looks more like an old flame than anything!” She stubbornly unlocked it again and read it.
“Yes, here you are! ‘ Miss Alexandra Beaufort, once rumoured to be the childhood fiancée of The Duke of Hanbury, was also in attendance and spent considerable time with the duke and his mother. Given their previous relationship, could wedding bells be ringing for the de Havillands?’ What a load of old tosh!”
“Stop.” I pushed the tablet down and stared at her. “They grew up together, and he sees her as a sister. Their fathers were best friends. I doubt there’s anything to it.”
“Why are you being so defensive? Why aren’t you upset?” She sniffed, looking at me sadly. “Oh. You are upset.”
I jerked my head around and stared out of the window. The branches of the tree outside smacked against the window as wind rustled through its leaves, and rain occasionally hammered the window as the breeze caught it.
There was barely a cloud in the sky yesterday, now we had torrential rain and wind.
Yesterday, I’d been laughing and joking, happy that I’d even been able to talk to Oliver just once, never mind twice on the phone.
Now, there was a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach.
What a difference a day could make.
“It’s not that I’m not upset,” I said quietly, unmoving. “It’s just that I don’t have much of a right to be. We’re not in a relationship. I have no right to tell him what he can and can’t do or who he can’t or can’t touch or see. Even if we were in a relationship, I wouldn’t have that right.”
“Even after what he said to you yesterday?”
A small smile crept onto my face. “He didn’t mean it seriously. He said it because he knew it would piss me off.”
“You said it was hot!”
“It kinda was.” I paused. “What can I say? I’ve read too many romance novels to not be excited by a jealous, slightly possessive man in real life.”
Isa blinked at me. “Yeah, that’s actually a red flag. I don’t think Dr Waffles the chicken therapist is working out for you.”
She wasn’t wrong, but he was cheap.
“But hey, if it tickles your pickle…” She shrugged. “I won’t judge you.”
“The point is,” I said, flattening my hands on the table and meeting her gaze full-on.
“I am upset. I’m upset because it’s a reminder that despite what’s happened between us, we really do live in two completely different worlds.
If he didn’t have business to attend to here, he’d never step foot in a place like Hanbury, and I would certainly never visit London again.
Our paths crossed by pure chance, not because of some divine intervention or because it was going to happen sooner or later.
It’s a reminder that even if things were different and he wasn’t selling the allotments and we weren’t in some weird hate-love-sex situation, we still wouldn’t work. ”
“You don’t know that.” Isa finally pushed the tablet away from her and leant forwards, slumping on the table.
She dragged her hand through her hair. “He doesn’t hate being here, you know?
And besides, London isn’t a million miles away.
It’s not like it’s a six-hour flight. It’s, what?
Half an hour from Exeter at a push? Maybe it would work. ”
“No, it wouldn’t. The life I have here—this little quiet, cosy existence that revolves around contentiously named chickens and vegetable plots and pruning shears is not the kind of life he wants.
It’s not the kind of life he lives. So, all of this…
” I motioned to the tablet. “Doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? ”
“Ro.” She said my name sadly, as if she were the one with an aching heart and not me.
“And before you say it, yes , I am going to talk to him. I’m going to lay it all out and explain that we should have ended this before, because as great as the sex is, a proper relationship wouldn’t work between us.”
“I remember telling you to talk it out, not unilaterally decide on your own.”
“Ah, I have to. Otherwise, do you know what will happen? I’ll get swept up in his seduction and fall prey to his sexy little schemes.” I wiggled my finger. “No, no, if I let him talk me out of it, I’ll end up naked again.”
“I dunno, can’t you just keep him as a fuck buddy?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. That sounds like a great idea, Isadora. Let me just keep having sex with the man I’ve stupidly fallen in love with. That won’t end badly at all.”
She tilted her head to the side. “You know what, it could work.”
What was wrong with her?
What was wrong with me that I kept her as my best friend?
Actually, those were stones best left unturned. God only knew what answers we’d find. Ignorance was bliss, after all.
“Maybe if you both just ignore the topic, you’ll end up accidentally getting married and living happily ever after because neither of you want to talk about it.”
“People don’t accidentally get married. There’s a very specific procedure including an in-person interview when you get the license to stop people doing dumb shit like that,” I reminded her. “So, no.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right.” Her phone buzzed, and she turned the screen towards her and groaned. “Hello… Yeah, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten.” She got up and rushed up the stairs, speaking some medical gobbledegook I wouldn’t understand in a million years.
I stayed where I was, sipping my coffee. I wasn’t letting this perfectly good caffeine go to waste, even if she was being called in to work.
This was the great thing about being self-employed.
The only person to call me in on a Sunday was me, and I was never going to do that.
I quickly poured her coffee into her Lilo and Stitch to-go cup and waited in the hallway for her.
She ran down the stairs, now wearing a bra, and shoved her feet into a pair of Crocs.
I handed her the cup and dangled her spare key from my pinky finger, indicating I’d lock the door behind me, and she gave me a grateful smile before disappearing through her front door saying something about a caesarean.
Hopefully, that meant I’d be getting furry baby pictures later.
I sat back down at the dining table and pulled the tablet towards me. I had no idea where she’d even found these pictures and this article about some fancy event Oliver had attended with Luke and Eleanor last night. Then again, it wasn’t as if I had a hobby of reading gossip columns.
Or even knew who anyone was.
If she’d told me this three months ago, I’d have shrugged, said “Good for them,” and gone about my business.
Now, I was torturing myself. I flipped through picture after picture of the event, full of faces I didn’t know. My heart stuttered every time I saw Oliver’s handsome face, only to squeeze painfully every time I saw a woman standing near him.
Touching him.
Smiling at him.
Being smiled at by him.
That was the worst bit. When he had a hand on their back or leant in towards them, when he smiled at them, when he gave them any kind of attention that was more than superficial.
The ugly twist of jealousy knotted in my lower stomach, and I shoved the stupid tablet away from me again. Nothing good would come of me sitting here staring at these pictures over and over. It wouldn’t change the situation we were in.
That was his home. That was where his life was. That’s what his life was like . It was business meetings and sharp suits and shiny jewels. Fancy food and expensive liquor and charitable donations that wouldn’t so much as scratch the surface of his bank account.
Mine was nothing like it.
My business meetings happened over a cup of tea or coffee in a conservatory. My sharp suits were grass-stained shorts and t-shirts, maybe even a dress if I was feeling fancy. Jewels? Ha—as if they could be worn while gardening.
The fanciest food I ate was produce I’d grown myself, expensive liquor was a Christmas treat, and charitable donations most definitely moved the number in my bank.
We were chalk and cheese.
We had been since we met.
Even that first night, he’d been quiet and reserved where I’d been loud and free. I was the one who’d approached him. I was the one who’d eked a laugh out of him, who’d pulled him out of his shell. I was the one who’d suggested another drink together, then one upstairs.
None of this would have happened if I’d minded my own business that night.
A part of me wished I could turn back time. Wished I could go back to that night and make different choices—I wouldn’t take the seat at the bar next to him, I wouldn’t order another drink, and I wouldn’t speak to him.
I’d finish my drink and leave, keeping my business mine, and his business his.
That way, when he showed up at my plot and handed me a closure notice, that would be the true beginning of our relationship.
If I could go back, I’d never know the feel of his lips or the touch of his hand. I’d never know what it was like to be wrapped in his arms, to be held in a way that made you feel like the most wonderful thing in the world.
I’d never know what it would feel like to be the most important person in someone’s eyes.
Because that was how he looked at me sometimes. Like there was nothing else, only me. No matter how I tried to ignore it or he tried to hide it, I caught it in those fleeting moments where he’d let his guard down.
I was sure he’d noticed the same thing for me, too.
I knew I looked at him that way. Sometimes I couldn’t help it.
Sometimes my heart just skipped a little too enthusiastically or my stomach fluttered a little too smoothly and all my self-control went out of the window.
There was no way he hadn’t noticed me looking at him as if he were made of magic.
Maybe he was.
That was the worst thing about this whole situation.
Maybe Oliver de Havilland was made of magic.
God only knew he’d added some sparkle to my life.
He had to be magic. There was no way I could both love and hate him so intensely if he wasn’t. I wanted to throttle him and kiss him at the same time, almost every time I looked his way. I was constantly at war with myself, fighting what I felt and what I thought I should be feeling.
Perhaps it really was time for me to pull up my big girl knickers and do what I should have done weeks ago instead of putting it off. I needed to end this ambiguous relationship.
There were only four weeks until we had to vacate the allotments.
All of us had already begun moving our personal belongings, but there was still so much to do.
Sheds and greenhouses had to be deconstructed and moved on, equipment needed to be carted around or sold off, and what plants and trees could be moved and saved needed to be carefully cared for.
It was almost too much to bear.
Maybe this was the right time, though. If I said goodbye to two things I loved at once, then I’d only have to feel heartbreak once, right? I could process it all at the same time.
If I didn’t, I feared I might really go down for murder.
And I wasn’t that fond of a jail cell.