Page 42 of Sunset at Embthwaite Farm
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever it is that’s upsetting you,” he replied, “because you look as if you might cry.”
Well, if that wasn’t enough to set her over the edge! “Oh…” Anna began, and then, to her horror, an unruly sob escaped her. She pressed her hand to her mouth, but it was too late. Another one, and then another one, escaped until she realised, somewhat distantly, that she was full-on ugly crying and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it except let it happen. In the midst of her deep embarrassment, it felt like such a relief—a pressure released, a burden laid down.
Somehow, she wasn’t quite sure how, she found herself seated on the sofa facing the fireplace with James next to her, his arm around her as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder and soaked his jumper with her tears. How hadthathappened? He must have got her up from her chair and walked her over, but Anna couldn’t actually remember it; she’d been crying too hard.
And now all she could think was how absolutelywonderfulit felt to be held, and how long it had been since she’d felt this way. Years. Decades, even. How had she gone so long without someone’s arms around her, someone’s strong and solid shoulder to cry on, quite literally? Someone holding her and murmuring that it was going to be all right, so she hazily started to believe that it actually might be?
Except she really had soaked his jumper now, and she probably needed to stop. With what felt like superhuman effort, Anna pulled away from James just a little and wiped her face.
“Thank you,” she managed shakily. “You’re very kind. I didn’t realise I was going to fall to pieces like that. I hope I haven’t ruined your shirt.”
“I’d be surprised if you hadn’t fallen to pieces,” James told her as he eased back, seeming wonderfully and remarkably unfazed. “You’re dealing with so much.” He paused. “And I know from experience how shocking the death of a spouse can be. I know you and Peter divorced a long time ago, but you were together for twenty years. That’s no small amount of time, and you’re bound to feel grief.”
“Yes…” Anna murmured, conscious of all she still hadn’t told him. Perhaps now was the time to admit at least a little bit of the truth. “But our marriage wasn’t…your average marriage.” She glanced uncertainly at James, who was gazing back with a small, sympathetic smile, everything about him alert and listening, ready to comfort, and the truth was, Anna realised, shewantedto be comforted. Needed to, even. Needed to be honest…and, hopefully, understood. Right now, she was willing to take the risk.
“Peter was having an affair for pretty much the entire length of our marriage,” she confessed in a rush. “I knew about it, almost from the beginning, and I accepted it because I didn’t know what else to do.” She bowed her head, feeling a dart of shame. What kind of wife—what kind of woman—went along with something as messed up as that? Why had she stood for it, for so long, even when it caused her so much heartache?
“Oh, Anna.” James’s voice was low and laced with sadness. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I am, too,” she agreed, drawing a breath. “I’m sorry he had the affair, and sorry I stayed for so long when I was so very unhappy, and it should have been clear he was never going to change. Maybe I should have left earlier—far, far earlier, really—but Harriet and Rachel were so little, and the truth is, I really thought he might give her up.” She glanced up at him with damp eyes. “Does that make me pathetic?”
“No,” he replied firmly, his smile softening. “Just hopeful.”
She sighed, a long, watery sound. “Hopeful with no good reason.”
“If hope needs a reason,” James countered philosophically, “is it really hope?”
She leaned her head against the sofa and closed her eyes, feeling spent. “That’s too philosophical a question for me.”
“Did your daughters know about it?” James asked after a moment.
“No, I kept it from them,” she replied. “Looking back, I’m not sure why. I thought I was protecting them, but maybe it was just pride. I told them about it a few days ago, and they wondered why I hadn’t said anything before.”
“It can be so hard to know what the right thing to do is,” James mused, “in regard to your children. I’m not sure there is even a right thing—what works with one child might go down like a lead balloon with another. Sometimes it can feel like you’re just groping through the dark.”
“Too true,” Anna replied, thinking of Harriet and Rachel, and how different they were. Parenting had definitely felt like a grope through the dark for her. She hadn’t had the kind of relationship with her mother to ask the important and necessary questions, and she’d been so very young and alone.
She glanced at James, giving him a small smile. “Thank you,” she told him, “for listening, and for…for comforting. I think it was just what I needed.”
“It was my pleasure, Anna,” James replied. “Honestly.” He held her gaze for a moment, and Anna felt it spin out into something else—something charged with promise, with deeper emotion. It thrilled her and alarmed her in equal measure, because she wasn’t sure she was ready for it, not with everything else going on, and yet she wanted it. Wanted the possibility of something happening between them…eventually. Not quite yet, especially when there was still so much she hadn’t told him. Still so much he might not understand. She broke their locked gazes first, deliberately, and she could tell James felt it.
“The real question is,” she remarked, deciding to go for a light tone, “how did you become so wise?”
“Old age,” James replied, matching her tone with easy alacrity. “Do you see how white my hair is?”
She laughed, shaking her head. His hair was white, and thick and wavy, and just added to his appeal. Smiling back, he rose from the sofa to fetch their dinner plates and glasses of wine. “We might as well eat here,” he remarked, handing her her plate and placing her glass on the coffee table. “By the fire.”
By mutual, silent agreement, they shied away from the serious stuff and chatted easily instead, about all sorts of things. James regaled her with stories about the house renovations, and how difficult it had all been, and Anna talked about what she loved about gardening.
Her glass of wine slipped down nicely, followed by another that she hadn’t realised James had poured until she’d drunk it, and it wasn’t until it was after ten o’clock that she realised, with a jolt, how late it was—and that she’d probably drunk too much to drive safely. Two, maybe three glasses, at least.
“I’ve had such a nice time,” she confessed, horrified by how thoughtless she’d been by knocking back so much wine without a thought. It had just felt so nice, to be curled up on the sofa, chatting inconsequentially, laughing at little things…and yes, drinking wine. “But I…I think I’ve drunk too much to drive home.” She let out an embarrassed laugh. “I’ll call a taxi, of course,” she added hurriedly. “I’m so sorry. I know Mathering has a taxi service…” Although she didn’t remember it being at all reliable—a one-man outfit that operated only when he felt like it, but maybe things had changed in twelve years. She could hope. Did Uber operate out here? Probably not.
“Anna, you don’t need to take a taxi,” James assured her. “I have three spare bedrooms. You’re welcome to use any of them for the night, if you want to.”
“Oh…” She hadn’t even considered that as an option.
