Page 11 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
Lizzie nodded. Time was the best healer: Bee was right about that. After all, she’d come back to Roseford, which had been the scene of such a horrible event in her teens, and, as a fully grown adult, she was enjoying being here, despite the past. And there was no question that getting away from the flat she’d shared with Paul was doing her a lot of good, too.One step at a time, she thought.That’s the only way to do it.
‘Have you spoken to Paul since the accident?’ Bee asked.
Lizzie nodded. ‘He rang me before I left hospital, and we actually had a civilised chat!’ She smiled. ‘Maybe the crash gave me a bit more perspective on everything, but after we spoke I felt as though I was able to move on a little more with things. I want to keep hold of that feeling, rather than keep revisiting everything that’s happened recently. I don’t want to retread old ground.’
‘Well, I’m here if you do decide you want to talk more,’ Bee said. ‘Any time.’
Lizzie smiled again. ‘You’ve done so much already, allowing me to stay here and get better. Keeping me out of Mum and Dad’s hair.’
Bee smiled back. ‘It was the least I could do.’ She continued eating her sandwich, and then, when they were both finished, she took the plates to the dishwasher. ‘Why don’t you take a little walk over to Roseford Hall this afternoon? The fresh air would do you good. You haven’t seen it since the British Heritage Fund restored it, have you?’
Lizzie shook her head, trying to still the slight speeding up of her heart at Bee’s innocent suggestion. ‘No, I haven’t.’ She forced a smile. ‘Maybe I will.’
‘I’m sure it’ll make you feel better.’ Bee smiled. She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘Now, I’d better get back to the shop. Don’t forget to take the spare keys with you if you do decide to go out.’
‘I won’t,’ Lizzie replied. As she said goodbye to Bee, she shook her head. Roseford Hall wasn’t a place she was going to rush back to in a hurry, despite her philosophical approach about recent events. She might be feeling better for being here at Aunt Bee’s house, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to test that theory any further yet. Seeing Simon Treloar, and then finding his old jumper, had been enough reminders for one day.
But she did feel as though she needed a little fresh air. Perhaps she should take herself off for a stroll? She didn’t need to go near Roseford Hall, after all. She could just walk, and see where her feet took her. There were enough pretty places to visit in the village, and she was sure she’d be able to pass an hour or two exploring the place. It wouldn’t do her any good to mope in Bee’s cottage for the whole of her stay. And if she kept her distance from Roseford Hall, hopefully she wouldn’t run the risk of bumping into Simon Treloar for the third time that day.
11
The post, Simon reflected, seemed to come later and later these days. It also didn’t help that his personal mail was delivered in the same round as that for the British Heritage Fund. Often, the lovely but slightly overworked admin staff didn’t get round to sorting it until late in the day, if at all, so he had taken to dropping by the office and picking up his post as and when he could.
That afternoon, as he rifled through the newest bundle of letters, most of which appeared to be either marketing shots or bills, he was brought up short by the name, logo and crest of a place that he’d thought he’d left behind years ago. Stopping halfway up the old servants’ stairwell, which led to the offices at the rear of the building, he slid his thumb underneath the flap of the thick white envelope, drew a deep breath and pulled out the letter inside.
Over the years he’d received the odd missive, mainly requesting a donation, but as he unfolded the letter he noticed that there was a small cream card tucked into it this time. His hands started to shake as he took in the details on the card.
He’d sworn after he’d left that he’d never, ever, go back to that place. Just the thought of crossing the threshold once more was enough to send him into an anxiety spiral. But it had been over twenty years, for heaven’s sake! Surely he should be over all this by now? Realising he was still frozen to the spot halfway up the staircase, he hurried back to his small office so that he could give this piece of correspondence his full attention. Closing his door firmly, he delayed the inevitable a little longer by pouring himself a mug of coffee from the flask on his desk. But then, the moment could be forestalled no longer.
He sat back down at his desk and looked at the details.
At first the invitation seemed benign enough:
Cross Dean Independent Boys’ School requests the pleasure of your company at a reunion for old scholars. Black tie essential.
RSVP
He should ignore it. He didn’t need the additional stress, with the first wedding in the Roseford Hall chapel at the start of August. And chances were, the school fund reps would try to do a number on him for a donation to the coffers. The thought of that made him laugh out loud. As if he, the lord without a manor, had any extra cash to funnel to an institution he’d loathed nearly every minute of attending! But there was a part of him that was curious. Ithadbeen over twenty years, after all. Some little masochistic side of his psyche wanted to see if the place still had the power to hurt him, to make him afraid. Although, he reflected, that was hardly the most sensible reason to contemplate accepting the invitation, was it?
Simon shuddered as he remembered how, day after day, pretty much from the moment he’d unpacked his school trunk, that group of rowdy, self-confident boys had made his life a misery. How he used to have to sleep in his shoes so they didn’t get pinched from under his bed at night in the lower-school dorm. How they’d laughed at his attempts to fight back, since he was never quick enough to gain the upper hand. And how, seven years later, he’d walked out of the school gates and never looked back.
Until now.
Over two decades on, things were different, weren’t they?
‘Hello-o-o…’
A voice broke into his reverie as he realised he’d been sitting, staring at the invitation in his hand, for a few minutes.
‘Come in, Mum,’ he said hurriedly, just at the moment that Margaret Treloar’s head popped around the office door.
‘Everything all right?’ Margaret said. Her direct grey eyes missed very little, for better or worse, and despite the fact that they no longer lived under the same roof, Margaret having taken up residence in one of the cottages on the estate a few years back, she still prided herself on being attuned to her children’s moods, and being a regular presence in their lives.
Simon quickly assumed what he hoped was a neutral expression. ‘Fine,’ he said, slipping the letter and the invitation under the notepad on his desk.
‘I’m just checking to see if you had the updated guest list for the wedding,’ Margaret replied. ‘I need to send final numbers over to the caterer by the end of the day.’ Because of the nature of the business some of the guests were in, although most of the RSVPs had been returned months ago, there were always going to be a few who couldn’t confirm until the last minute. Margaret Treloar, with her keen eye for organisation, had volunteered to collate the late responses, and so far she’d proved a capable pair of hands.
‘Um, yes, I think so.’ Simon fumbled in a Manilla folder on his desk. ‘Bear with me a sec.’
