Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I only realise how much I’m still trembling when I can’t get the key into the lock. It takes several attempts, but once the door is open, I rush inside, beyond thankful that Sian is away.
I can’t believe it. How is Ash a Berkeley ? He’s the son of a viscount , for fuck’s sake!
I sink down on the sofa, shaking from head to toe. I feel as though all the blood has drained from my body.
How can I have found Ash and lost him in the same moment? It’s overwhelming.
But then it hits me like a ton of bricks.
That was Ash. And I have found him, even if he’s not who I thought he was.
I’ve replayed our time together over and over in my mind. I opened up my heart to him in a way that I’d never opened up my heart to anyone, before or since. We confided in each other. Was any of it real? It was for me. But what else did he lie about?
We shared stories about our parents, talked about our hopes and dreams – was it all just bullshit? Did he even study astronomy and physics at university?
We laughed so much together, but was he laughing at me?
I remember every single minute of our time together on that beach, and every single second of what it felt like when his lips were on mine. I remember the feeling of his body beneath and on top of me.
And I remember his small, steady smile, the way he looked at me like he adored me.
I.
Remember.
Everything.
But that Ash didn’t exist. That Ash was a down-to-earth guy who used to camp out in the woods with his friend. He came from a normal household and had a difficult upbringing. He struggled with his dad, who had no time for him because he was so busy toiling away in a fucking furniture workshop.
He sure as hell wasn’t born into nobility, and he sure as fuck didn’t grow up living in a five-hundred-year-old mansion with all the wealth and privilege that entails.
A well of emotion bubbles up inside me. I’ve found Ash, but he’s not my Ash. I thought my heart had broken when he didn’t show up in Madrid, but this might even be worse. Why did he pretend to be someone he wasn’t?
My throat swells and the pressure behind my eyes builds and then my body begins to shake with sobs.
I give up and let myself grieve.
I don’t know how long I cry for, but when I finally stop, I feel completely shattered. I don’t even have the energy to drag myself upstairs to bed, and I must fall asleep on the sofa because knocking on my front door jolts me awake. Evan calls my name.
‘Ellie? Are you in there?’
He sounds worried, and I realise, of course, that I just disappeared. A wave of shame crashes over me. I dumped him in it – and all the other serving staff. Jesus, my shoes are still back there on the grass.
‘Ellie?’ he calls again. He’s still knocking gently, obviously wondering if I’ve gone to sleep, but the light by the door is on.
I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. But he’s clearly troubled and my conscience gets the better of me.
Swallowing my pride, I peel myself off the sofa. ‘I’m here,’ I call through the door. I have to clear my throat and repeat myself because my voice sounds so weak and croaky.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t feeling well.’
He falls silent and my face warms. I’m so embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’m already ready for bed, but I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.’
A few seconds pass. ‘Okay,’ he says uncertainly. ‘Let me know if you need anything. I found your shoes on the lawn. I’ll leave them here.’
‘Thank you.’
I place my hand on the door, fresh tears breaking out at his concern. I wait until I hear his own front door closing before switching off the light, grabbing my shoes from the doorstep and dragging myself up to bed.
I’m the first one outside the next morning, but I don’t go into the walled garden. I wait until Evan sees me so he knows that he doesn’t have to knock.
‘Hey, how are you feeling?’ he asks carefully.
‘Much better, thank you,’ I lie, forcing a tight smile. I’m wearing sunglasses to disguise the shadows beneath my eyes. ‘I’m sorry again about last night.’
‘No worries at all. Are you sure you’re okay to work today?’
‘Absolutely. It’s another beautiful day,’ I add, trying to sound cheerful.
‘It is.’
He doesn’t pry further and I’m relieved. I just want to lose myself in work.
I spend the morning staking delphiniums and other perennials in Maple Garden, down past the orangery. The tall plants haven’t yet come into bloom, but I can already imagine the drifts of brilliant purples and blues, soft pinks and whites. Ducks quack on the nearby lake and birds sing in the woods. I’m about as far from the house as it’s possible to get and I’m glad of the solitude as I tie string around each individual hollow-stemmed plant, attaching them to bamboo stakes to ensure they stay upright once their flowers threaten to weigh them down.
Usually I’d find this repetitive work soothing. It’s mind-numbing, but never boring, allowing room in my head for thoughts to wander. Sun, wind or rain could be hitting my skin and I’d still be at peace spending my hours in the open air.
But today my thoughts are not calm. Fury has sprouted up overnight, consuming the barren wasteland of shock and devastation.
I keep flashing back to Madrid, to searching those squares in the searing sun, heartsick and desperate, day after day after day. I’m remembering the anxiety I endured with my parents just to get there, and underneath it the sweet, budding optimism for the future.
Ash obliterated that hope when he didn’t show up. He reduced me to a shivering wreck who ran home with my tail between my legs, and I will never forgive him for that.
I will never forgive him for lying about who he was, for speaking to me with an entirely different fucking accent. Was there any part of him that believed what he was saying to me? Or did he know all along that he was out of my league, that I was just a bit of fun, a plaything to entertain him?
A little voice inside my head whispers that this doesn’t ring true, but I shut it down. He’s a sick bastard and now he’s ruining this for me too.
Cold dread engulfs me as I realise just how much he really could ruin for me – not only my enjoyment of this ordinary gardening task, but my whole employment here. His parents are my bosses. I can’t go around laying into their son, however much I want to.
I hope he stays away from me.
I end up working right through my tea break, and my wheelbarrow, which was previously full of bamboo canes, is empty when I return to the cottage for lunch.
So far today, I’ve managed to avoid exchanging many words with my colleagues. I feel bad about it, but I’ve been too messed up to be sociable. I’ll make more of an effort this afternoon.
When I open the cottage door, I see that a white envelope has been pushed through the letter box.
At the sight of my name scrawled across the front in sloping cursive, I feel physically sick.
Breaking the seal, I pull out a note.
Ellie,
Can we talk? Please. I’ll come by tonight at seven.
Ash
No, you won’t , I think to myself darkly as I shakily stuff the note back into the envelope. No, you fucking won’t. What excuse could he possibly give me that will make all this okay?
The three days we spent together felt like the start of something. And when he didn’t call or turn up, when he left me stranded and alone, it destroyed me. I had the biggest high followed by the lowest low and I still haven’t recovered.
I can’t believe I’ve wasted almost six years of my life pining over a man who didn’t even exist. I have never felt more hurt or betrayed.
‘I was just coming to find you,’ Bethan says brightly as I exit the cottage, having forced some tea and toast down my throat. ‘I’ll help you stake the perennials in the Maple Garden.’
‘I’ve done them,’ I reply.
She jolts. ‘You’ve done them?’
‘Yes, I did them this morning.’
She gawps at me. ‘But there are loads!’
I shrug. ‘I work fast.’
‘Well, you’d better slow down,’ she says with alarm. ‘You’ll make the rest of us look bad.’
I purse my lips at her, contrite, and she laughs.
‘I don’t usually work that quickly,’ I admit as we wander through the walled garden, nodding at the visitors we pass. ‘I guess I was just super keen to get started.’
‘The novelty will wear off,’ she assures me.
I feel a bit better as we work side by side in the White Garden beyond the lower terrace, chatting as we lift and clear the spring bedding: a combination of wallflowers, hyacinths and daffodils, plus the tulips that the squirrels haven’t eaten. Soon I can feel myself beginning to relax again.
‘Are you up to anything tonight?’ I ask as we’re finishing for the day and wandering back to the workers’ cottages.
My mood has improved from this morning, but my blood still simmers and I know that if I think about Ash too hard it’ll be back at boiling point.
‘Nope,’ she replies.
‘Is there a local pub somewhere? I quite fancy a pint in a beer garden. Would you be up for that?’
There’s no way I can handle seeing Ash yet. I’ll lose it. I want to be anywhere but the cottage come seven o’clock.
‘Absolutely, and there’s one in the village,’ she replies.
‘Where’s the village?’
‘Down the farm track behind the workshops. It’s about a twenty-minute walk.’
Perfect.
Evan and Harri are keen too, and when the four of us are showered and dressed in casual clothes, we set off out the back, but not before I’ve scribbled my own note to Ash and stuck it on my front door.
A couple of the guys I met at Evan’s barbecue are sitting on deckchairs, further along the lawn. They live together in the second to last cottage – Dylan is a ranger and Jac is employed by the workshop.
‘Where are you lot off to?’ Dylan calls.
‘Pub,’ Harri calls back.
‘The more the merrier?’ I say it as if it’s a question.
They glance at each other and nod, and then Celyn comes out of the fifth and final cottage in the row with his girlfriend, Catrin, and they decide to join us too.
I’m on a bit of a high as the eight of us traipse down the country lane in the early-evening sunshine. Catrin is warm and friendly and Bethan is funny, a total goofball.
Just as we’re arriving at the pub, Harri remembers that it’s fish-and-chip Tuesday and I actually laugh at how happy everyone is.
We stay out until closing time and then wander back along the pitch-black lane, stumbling over holes made by tractor treads.
I’ve had a surprisingly good time, even if Ash has been on my mind. How long did he stick around when he realised I wasn’t at the cottage? I suddenly have a vivid mental image of him still waiting and a thrill rips through my body.
We all go into our respective cottages through the back doors, but as soon as I’m inside, I hurry to the front door and nervously crack it open.
‘Hello?’ I call quietly into the darkness.
Silence.
My note is exactly where I pinned it earlier and my chest constricts at the sight.
Did he even come by?
I pull out the tack and take the envelope back inside, opening it.
My heart jumps at the sight of fresh handwriting.
I’d drawn a line through his plea to talk and underneath I’d scrawled: FUCK OFF .
But below this, he’s written: Not happening .
I can hear the way he’s said it and I can picture him staring at me, determined, and also a little bit playful.
I could kick myself as I walk upstairs, because I’m trying not to smile.