Page 32 of Sunset at Embthwaite Farm
Deciding to own it, she brandished the bottle of Bombay Sapphire. “As requested.”
With a laugh, James shaded his eyes with one hand. “That was meant to be a joke. I hate you to think I’m so stingy that you have to bring your own booze.”
“Well, better to drink it with someone than alone in my house while watchingThe Traitors,” she replied, smiling as she handed him the bottle.
“I loveThe Traitors,” he told her, and she laughed. As she stepped across the threshold, he put his hand on her lower back to usher her in, so lightly Anna barely felt the pressure but her whole body tingled all the same.
“And I thought the rental you renovated was impressive,” she murmured as she walked into the soaring, open-plan space. The skylight was even bigger from the inside than the outside, a huge, vaulted dome of glass that now showcased a patch of velvety black sky twinkling with the first stars. A massive stone fireplace dominated one end of the space, flames crackling cheerfully within and surrounded by squashy leather sofas and armchairs, bright, cosy-looking rugs scattered across the slate-tiled floor. By the bi-fold doors leading out to the deck there was a table that seated eight, its top looking as if it had been from one of the original barn doors, now varnished to a high gloss. And then the kitchen, on the other end…
It was a dream kitchen, with a huge marble-topped island complete with sink, a massive Aga in cherry red, and Shaker cupboards, some fronted with glass to showcase pieces of pottery in a pretty slate blue.
“This is just about the nicest house I’ve ever seen,” Anna exclaimed, too impressed by it all to be embarrassed by her own enthusiasm. “It looks like it could be inArchitectural DigestorBeautiful Homesor something.”
“Well, I like a project,” James told her with a smile. “And, as it happens, I was an architect before I retired last year.”
“Wow.” Anna shook her head slowly. “I love it.”
“I’m glad.” He held up the bottle of gin. “G&T or something else? I have wine, beer, a few spirits, something soft if you’d rather.” He headed over to the kitchen and Anna followed, noticing several bowls of crisps and nuts already laid out. This little thoughtfulness touched her in a way she couldn’t explain.
“Wine, actually, and just the one glass,” she told him. “Since I’m driving.”
“Fair enough,” he replied equably. “Red or white? I have both.”
She hesitated, amazed at how easy it was to talk to him, and yet how unfamiliar navigating these social niceties had become. When had she done them, really, if ever? A few town or school events when she’d lived in Mathering, a few quiet evenings with friends back in Stroud. Not much more. “What are you having?” she asked.
“Whatever you are,” he replied, smiling, his blue eyes sparkling amidst the weathered creases of his face, and she laughed and shook her head.
“Red, then, please.”
A few minutes later James was handing her a glass and then ushering her over to the sofas before going back to bring the bowls of crisps and nuts.
“This is so lovely,” Anna remarked with a sigh as she settled into one squashy armchair, tucking her feet up under her. The fire was blazing, sending a lovely warmth over her, and she’d taken off her ankle boots and slipped them under the chair. Outside the shadows were deepening and between the skylight and French doors, there was a lot of darkness to see, somehow making the room they were in, despite the soaring space, feel cosy and warm. “Do you mind living out here on your own?”
“No, I’ve learned to like my own space,” James replied. He’d settled on one corner of the sofa, his arm stretched out along the back, almost making Anna wish she’d chosen the other end of the sofa, just for the thrill of wondering if his fingers might accidentally—or not-so-accidentally—brush her shoulder. She was really acting like a lovesick teenager, she thought ruefully. Yet she didn’t actually mind the feeling; it felt too exciting, toofun, to be this buzzy inside. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt this way, and she realised she wanted to enjoy it…for what it was, and no more.
Just a feeling. An evening.
“How have you found Mathering?” Anna asked. “How long have you been here?”
“I was up and down for a bit, checking on the house,” James told her. “But I moved here permanently just before Christmas.”
“Oh!” For some reason, she was surprised; it was around the same time she’d come back. “Not long, then.”
“No, not long.” He smiled faintly, his eyes creasing. He was a handsome man, Anna thought with a pang; somehow the lines on his face and the silver hair just added to his appeal. He was a man who had lived, and suffered, and survived. Just like she had.
And yet…Anna couldn’t shake that he was somehow far more deserving of the approbation of a hard life well lived than she was. It occurred to her, as she took a sip of wine, howcomplicatedit was going to be, to have to explain things when he started asking the inevitable questions about her marriage, her children, herlife. And what would her answers be? Did she really want to burden both of them—and the start of whatever this was between them, ifthiswas anything—with the truth?
“What happened?” James asked, breaking into her thoughts, and startled, Anna blinked him back into focus.
“Sorry, I was miles away there for a moment,” she apologised with a shaky laugh.
“Yes, I realised.” He cocked his head, his expression nothing but sympathetic. “How come?”
He didn’t pull any punches, did James, Anna thought wryly. And maybe she shouldn’t, either. After all, it wasn’t as if they were in their twenties, naïve and a bit silly, trying to be the perfect whatever, because they still believed they could, that life worked that way.
“I was just thinking how complicated life is,” she admitted baldly, taking a glug of wine for a bit of Dutch courage. It was very good—rich and velvety, sliding down her throat, trickling through her limbs. “Especially when you get to our age.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Ourage? I think I might be a bit older than you.”
