Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
I may have agreed to stay, but I still want to be as far away from Jarvis as possible. Instead of setting up another bedroom, I drag a blanket and pillow to a big velvet couch in the living room on the ground floor.
Jarvis shakes his head at me. “You know there are several perfectly adequate beds on the upper floors?”
“They’re too close to yours.”
“What? You think I’m going to sneak in and take advantage of you in the middle of the night?”
My face reddens as I remember our kiss in the nineties a few hours ago. “No. I’d just feel better this way.”
“You can probably lock the bedroom doors, whereas there’s no way to secure this room.”
“Stop it. I’ve made up my mind. We should focus on figuring out a plan to organise Florence’s belongings efficiently.
We could start with her clothes and donate any that are still in good shape.
” I pause as I think about how Jarvis would be quite experienced with this kind of thing, but I don’t want to mention I knew he worked at the community centre—especially since his visit to the nineties was so recent.
My stomach rumbles, and I realise I haven’t eaten since breakfast on the plane.
“Are you hungry?” Jarvis asks, clearly hearing the rumble.
“A little.”
He goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge. “It looks like Ginny stocked up on food for us. I’ll make something to eat.”
“Uh, okay.”
I know I should be being a mature adult about everything, but my whole world has been flipped upside down lately. Part of me wishes I could get back on the plane and return to my normal boring life.
And then I think about how Frankie is there, waiting to reconcile.
It’s strange that I’ve barely thought about him at all since our phone conversation.
It makes me wonder if maybe the universe knew what it was doing—or at least I knew what I was doing—when I left him the first time.
And I’m sure the same could be said about my second marriage too.
But if that’s the case, why do I feel so jittery now?
It’s probably because I’m in a castle where I very distinctly remember sharing a bed with Jarvis. And I don’t mean just for sleeping. The walls are very thick in this place, and Florence had been hard of hearing, so we didn’t feel bad making the most of our honeymoon evenings.
I press my lips together. God.
“What are you thinking about?” Jarvis asks, looking at me.
I blush. “Just that the sooner we finish this, the sooner we can go home.”
“When was the last time you had a holiday?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Last year?”
“So why not enjoy this time now? Pretend I’m someone else and that you have an all-expenses-paid vacation to one of the most beautiful countries in the world.”
“Who am I supposed to pretend you are?”
He grins. “I don’t know. Who do you fantasise about?”
My stomach swoops. Why does he sound so flirty? And why is my body responding positively again?
I can’t have this. “Don’t act like we’re friends. We’re divorced, remember?”
The grin instantly disappears. “How could I forget?”
He turns to a cupboard beside the fridge and opens it. I watch as he pulls out a box of pasta and some tinned tomatoes.
I probably shouldn’t let Jarvis cook. It’s one of the things that made me fall in love with him when we first met—how he made dinner for me nearly every night.
His father’s family is Italian, and he learned a whole bunch of traditional recipes from his grandmother when he was younger.
I was very appreciative to be a beneficiary of all the resulting food.
I try not to watch as Jarvis locates an onion and some garlic and starts chopping.
I focus on a hall table nearby instead and pull open its drawers.
They’re full of old papers, and I start flicking through them.
I don’t know which ones are important. Is anything important when the owner is no longer around?
My phone beeps, and I see it’s a message from Kiva asking about a client enquiry from the gallery.
I’d typed up some documents to send them, but I’d been waiting to hear back about a few details before I could finish them off.
This isn’t the kind of job to do on my phone, and I didn’t bring my laptop with me.
“Florence had a computer upstairs, didn’t she?” I say to Jarvis.
“Ah, yeah. Why?”
“I need to send some stuff to my boss, so I might just use it for a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
I head for the stairs. From what I remember, Florence had a study on the second floor.
I was right. The room is full of modern technology and office furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in an urban skyscraper. It’s quite disconcerting. I sit in the office chair in front of the computer and turn on the machine.
It only takes me a few minutes to access my documents online and forward them to Kiva with an explanation on their status.
I shut down the browser and look at the desktop.
I wonder if there’s anything on here that Florence’s lawyer might need—like records of bills paid or other official documentation.
I see a folder that says Property, and I click on it, finding a bunch of what look like professionally shot photos of the castle. These could come in handy if we put the place on the market, although I suppose we’d first have to find out who took them and request permission.
Another folder says Family, and I click on it.
Oh.
It’s all photos of me, Jarvis, and Florence when we stayed here. I scroll through them, and a strange mix of emotions washes over me. I almost forget all the bad stuff and remember why I ended up with Jarvis in the first place.
Stop, Rachel. You cannot forget the bad stuff. Jarvis wasn’t good for you.
I shut the folder and open Florence’s email program. It might be helpful to note down anyone who had contacted her recently but who didn’t know she’d passed away.
It appears there is not, which makes me sad. Although hopefully it just means she stayed in touch with her friends another way.
I’m about to close the program back down when I see a message folder with Jarvis’s name on it.
I know I shouldn’t pry, but I’m curious to see whether he really did communicate with Florence regularly.
It looks like he did. And he was telling the truth about their last exchange not being too long ago. I skim through the most recent message he sent, my hands shaking slightly.
I’m glad to hear you’re well. No, there’s been no progress with Rachel.
I’ve been too nervous to reach out, but I promise I’ll do it sometime soon—and you’ll be the first to hear.
If I don’t ever summon the courage to tell her the truth, I know I’ll regret it.
But with my past hanging over my head, I sometimes think she’d be better off without me.
I stop reading, my heart threatening to burst through my chest. What is all this? What truth is he talking about? And what past is hanging over his head? What did he do? Was I right and something unfortunate happened between the time I met him in 1999 and when I met him for real in the present?
“Rachel?” Jarvis’s voice floats up from downstairs.
“Yes?”
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a second.” I quickly shut down the computer and take a few deep breaths. I need to act normally to avoid letting on I know anything. But it’s not easy. Jarvis is the actor, not me.
I can’t even walk down the stairs without feeling guilty. I go to the kitchen and force a smile on my face.
Jarvis looks at me. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Nice one, Rachel. You can’t even be normal for two seconds.
“This is my regular smile.” I try and rearrange my expression to something neutral. “What did you make?”
“Just a vegie pasta.”
I inhale the smell of garlic and tomatoes, and my mouth starts watering.
“I found a nice Cabernet to go with the food. Do you want some?” he asks.
One glass of wine shouldn’t get me in any trouble. “Sure.”
Jarvis carries our plates to the dining table before going to get the wine. It’s not until we’re sitting facing each other that I realise I shouldn’t have agreed to any of this. I’m not sure I’m prepared for whatever he’s been hiding.
But maybe I can enquire in a roundabout way before deciding if I want to hear more.
“What were you like in your late teens and early twenties?” I ask.
He furrows a brow. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m just making conversation. Do you know we’ve never really talked about when we were younger?”
“I’m sure we have.”
“Nope. I remember asking you at one stage, and you only mentioned learning to cook from your grandmother and your acting career—but you didn’t get into TV until your late twenties.
You also used to joke that you partied so hard, you forgot everything.
And you never really asked about my life before we met. ”
“I know you were married briefly, but I assumed you wouldn’t want to talk about that period of your life with me.”
“I’m not ashamed. I actually caught up with Frankie the other week. It was nice to see him again.”
Jarvis stares at me. “You met up with him?”
“Yes. And?”
“Why did you meet up?”
“No reason. I guess I wanted to see what he was like now as someone with a bit more life experience. We were quite young when we got together.”
“So? Was he what you expected?”
His tone is a little accusatory, and I suppress a smile. Is he jealous of Frankie?
I contemplate telling him how Frankie is considering moving back to Shell Beach partially for me, but something in his eyes makes me reconsider.
“He was… more attentive than I remember,” I say slowly.
“In a good way?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What about me? Did you feel the same way when we were married? That I wasn’t attentive?”
“You did seem to be often lost in your head. Tortured about something.”
He’s quiet, and I wonder if he’s going to share this mysterious history that’s been haunting him.
“I was tortured. And I still am. But I’d rather not get into it right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll hate me more than you already do.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” I tease.
And then I turn serious. “Sorry. I don’t hate you.
I’m just frustrated that our relationship felt very one way.
I was always trying to understand your moods, but then you’d retreat or disappear, and I would second-guess everything because you weren’t around to clarify any misunderstandings. ”
“I know. And you deserve better than that.” He takes a big slug of his wine and stands. “But I can’t do this today. I’m sorry.” He takes the wine and plate of pasta and disappears up the stairs.
I sigh. Does he not realise this is exactly what I’m talking about? And that he’s never going to get his happily ever after if he keeps acting like this?
Because I’m certainly not going to go back.
And then I wonder if it would be different if he did tell me what’s really going on.
I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be.