Chapter 21
“What?” she demanded, as soon as they were in the car going back to Portneath.
He didn’t pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. “I just find it hard to think as far ahead as the ball,” he said,
“with, well, you and me.”
Jules knew it was going to be bad news, but this? She wasn’t expecting this.
“You mean whether we’ll still be a thing by then?” said Jules, suddenly finding her mouth was so dry her tongue was sticking
to the roof of her mouth.
“I’m not... I’m just saying...” he started. “It’s the future. Who knows?”
“That’s charming,” muttered Jules, turning away from him to look out the window. It was dark. All she could see was her pale
face and his, in profile, beyond.
“So, is this me being dumped or something?” she floated, primed for the reply.
“No! It’s not. I’m not...” He was floundering now. “I’m just aware...”
“ What are you aware of,” Jules interjected, angry now. “Aware you could get tired of me, I suppose. I mean, are you?”
“No, of course not.” He pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “I could never tire of you, but I worry that something might happen that might—will—make you think differently of me.”
They were pulling up outside the shop now, and Jules jumped out, ready to slam the door. Then she changed her mind.
“Just know this,” she said, leaning into the car, “I am never going to ditch you, Roman Montbeau. If you want to get rid of
me, you’re going to have to do better than that. If that’s really what you want, you’re going to have to man up and ditch me yourself.”
Then she slammed the car door shut and stalked away, refusing to wait for a response.
Alone again, driving home to Middlemass, Roman berated himself. Way to go, trying to get Jules to end the relationship before it has to. Because it would, he was sure of that, and waiting for her to start hating him was hard. Harder than he thought it was going
to be. He almost pined for it to happen, so he could get on with mending his shattered heart. And now he had angered her,
but he was just trying to explain that no one knows what the future holds.
Except that he did, didn’t he?
“I have news,” said Charlie the next morning. “Sort of.”
“Go on?”
“My mate at Exeter Uni, Brynlee Ann Roberts, if you’ve heard of her?” Charlie raised his eyebrows in inquiry, but Jules shook
her head. “Actually, it’s Professor Brynlee Ann Roberts. Well, she’s written a book on the witch hunts, done a podcast, all that stuff. Anyhow, she’s doing a
paper on some weird folk customs thing, mainly down in Cornwall. She loved the sound of the grimoire, so I pinged her the
transcript, and she says she wants to meet us. She’s got ‘thoughts.’”
“Ooh! What?” Jules demanded.
“She won’t tell me on the phone. I’m going to Exeter next week, to meet up with her for lunch. Want to come?”
“Is the pope Catholic? Absolutely! You should come too,” Jules told Flo as she appeared with a tray of tea.
“Ah, no, sadly I’m not free this Monday,” explained Flo when the opportunity was explained to her.
“Hot date with keen amateur chef man?”
“I wish.” Flo smiled. “No, I’ve finally got around to making an appointment and getting our darling solicitor to dig out these
deeds and see where we are with this tedious lease renewal. I’m due there midday, or I’d come with you. Doubtless it’ll cost
a couple of thousand to get whatever it is sorted.”
Jules blew out her cheeks. It was a depressing thought, but she was sure Flo was right. Legal stuff could be pricey.
“To be honest, I’ve been putting it off because we didn’t have the funds,” Flo went on, “but business is doing so well, now
is the time, and I really can’t ignore it any longer.”
“You don’t have to do it,” insisted Roman, having pinned his father down over breakfast in the family’s enormous kitchen.
“But why on earth would I not?” his father growled, generously buttering his second slice of toast. “We own the land. They
don’t. They could have extended their lease or offered to buy the freehold from us at any point over the last hundred years.
It would only have cost a few thou if they’d done it sooner, but they didn’t. Now, it’s simple: they pay, or they lose.”
“And you literally get a free building. A highly valuable building.”
“Business acumen, my boy,” Henry boomed expansively. “It is skillful handling of the family’s assets that paid for your education,
for this house—all the advantages you and your sister enjoy in life.”
“‘Acumen’ and ‘skillful handling,’ my foot,” exploded Roman, grabbing his scalp and tugging at his hair in frustration.
“My great-great-uncle or whoever gambled on the turn of a card. There was no skill in that, just a lucky, drunken bet that paid off. Good on him,” he went on sarcastically.
“Way to continue the rift, to continue the way the Montbeaus exploit the Capelthornes, to crush them, humiliate them, ruin them... Why do we do it? Let’s face it, no one can even remember anymore.
And so, it continues... another hundred years of hate. ”
“So, who is it that’s filled your head with all this nonsense?” his father sneered. “It’s that Capelthorne girl, isn’t it?
Maggie’s child. If she’s anything like her mother—”
“Stop!” Roman shouted. “Her name is Julia. And if you dare to say anything negative about her or her family, I will walk out of that door, and—I swear to God—you will never see me
again.”
Roman’s mother gasped, and he turned to her. “Ma,” he said softly, “you have to listen, both of you... I love her. She’s
the one.”
“Darling,” she said, holding out her arms, smiling sadly. Roman went to her and hugged her. He was so huge, and she was so
tiny, she nearly disappeared from view. “I just want you to be happy,” she said into his chest. “Bring her here. Maybe your
father will come ’round.”
“What? No! I’m not subjecting her to this family,” said Roman firmly. “Not unless I have your word you will not use this ridiculous
legal technicality to remove her entire family’s assets. You’d also be making an elderly woman homeless, taking away everything
she’s ever known, her livelihood too,” Roman said to his father, who was now looking abashed as he finished his coffee.
“I’m sorry, son,” he replied, “but it is what it is. Just business.”
Jules was dying to tell Roman about the mysterious developments around Bridget Capelthorne’s story, but he had proved elusive since their row after the supper at Gabriel and Imogen’s house. Normally, they would have had one of their walks or at least a quick coffee at Finn’s by now.
She missed him. Their daytime meetings—fit around a busy work life—had quickly adopted the form of freewheeling conversations
about every topic in the universe. When their viewpoints aligned, Jules felt more validated—seen—than she had ever felt in
her life before. When their viewpoints differed, Jules could not remember ever being more fascinated by another person’s opinion.
And if that all sounded too serious, Jules smiled at the memory of the many times they gently took the piss out of each other,
she mused as she dusted the shelves before opening.
More romantically, Jules also loved spending the evening in Roman’s apartment up at his grand Middlemass family house, but
she was shy about bumping into the rest of his family and had avoided staying overnight. Also, she was keen not to leave Aunt
Flo on her own in the flat above the shop too long—not now that she had fallen and injured herself.
Who could ever have imagined she and Roman would have developed this—whatever this was—so easy and yet so intense? Perhaps it was that sense of things being too good to be true that had rattled Roman so much,
Jules pondered, starting to feel bad she had been so angry with him. She got it. She felt that way too... as if their happiness
and good fortune were more than they could reasonably hope for, as if fate was bound to have some cruel twist up its sleeve,
just ready to crash down on their world. Why not? It was a Capelthorne and Montbeau liaison after all. When had that combination
of factors ever gone well in the past?
But could all that have ended now, as a result of her losing her temper? Maybe... if four days’ radio silence was anything
to go by.
Her phone pinged.
Supper? it said.
Roman had cooked them steak and salad, with baked potatoes.
It was his favorite meal, but he was barely eating, Jules noticed.
Instead, he was already on his second glass of the wine she had brought, a smooth, full-bodied red she knew he liked.
He sat, watching her eat, his eyes fixed hungrily on her over the rim of his glass, as if only the intensity of his gaze could keep her there in front of him.
The candle between them flickered, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes and the chiseled planes of his face.
At a loss to understand his mood, Jules kept up a light flow of chat about Flo and her fancy man, about Merlin’s antics, and
about her and Charlie’s planned trip to Exeter the following day, to hear about the grimoire.
“What about Flo? Is she not going too?” he said, obviously making a palpable effort to sound interested.
“I hoped she’d come, but she says she’s got to go and see our solicitor—something about the lease on the shop,” she told him,
reaching for her wine.
Tucking back into her steak, Jules initially didn’t notice the sudden change in mood, but when she glanced up, she gasped
in shock. Roman’s eyes were filled with tears.
“Oh, no, please don’t!” she gasped, reaching and grabbing his hand, holding it between both of her own. “I’m so sorry we argued.
You’re my best friend in the world. Please... tell me. What is it?”
Roman hung his head for a moment, and when he looked up, his eyes blazed with such intensity Jules gasped again.