A Special Kind of Woman. Caroline AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
because Owen volunteered the information without a flicker.
‘Just south of Audley—about ten miles out, a little bit west of Wenham Market.’
‘That’s near me,’ she said, and wondered if she sounded hopelessly over-eager. That would be embarrassing. Just because he’d said there was no one waiting that didn’t mean there was no one in his life. Maybe she was away, perhaps on business. Oh, blast.
‘Near you?’ he said. ‘The shop or your house?’
‘Both. That’s where the shop is, in the square, between the antique shop and the butcher, and we live in the flat above it.’
‘It’s a nice little town—or is it a village?’
Cait laughed softly. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure they can decide. We’ve got a village hall, but it’s quite big for a village and it’s got lots of shops. I’d say it was more of a town, in a way.’
‘It’s got lots of character. I envy you in a way. It’s a bit isolated where we are. It’s all part of its essential charm, but it’s also one of the greatest drawbacks.’
‘Is it an old house?’ she asked, slightly appalled at her curiosity, but he didn’t seem to mind.
‘Yes and no,’ he said confusingly, and then elaborated with a smile. ‘It’s a converted barn—so the barn itself is old, but it’s only been a house for a short while. Six years or so, I think. I bought it three years ago, after my wife died.’
Cait felt shock run over her like iced water. Not away on business, then, she thought numbly, and shook her head in denial. ‘Oh, Owen, I’m so sorry,’ she murmured.
‘Why should you be sorry?’ he said softly. ‘It’s just one of those things. It was quick, at least. She didn’t suffer. She had a burst blood vessel in the brain—she must have died almost instantly.’
‘Oh, Owen,’ she said again. ‘How awful for you. Was she at home?’
‘No. She was in the car. She’d pulled over but the engine was still running. A witness said she pulled up, slumped over and that was it. They discovered the haemorrhage at post-mortem.’
How hideous for them. How horribly sudden and violent and unexpected. She felt tears prickle at the back of her eyes and blinked them away. ‘It must have been dreadful,’ she said, choked. ‘How did Josh take it?’
Owen laughed, a short, humourless huff of sound. ‘Not well. He was fourteen at the time. He was furious with her.’
‘And the others—are there any others?’
He shook his head. ‘No. No others. Just me and Josh.’
‘Chicken and chips?’
They both looked up, slightly startled, to see the waiter hovering over them with two plates.
‘Um—yes, thank you,’ Cait said, moving her cup out of the way and letting his revelation sink in. The waiter left them, and without thinking she reached out her hand and covered his. ‘Owen—thanks for telling me about it.’
His grin was crooked and a little off-key. ‘That’s OK. I don’t usually talk about it. I’m sorry to unravel on you like that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’
‘Yes, you should. She was a part of your life for years. You can’t just not talk about her as if she didn’t exist.’
He met her steady gaze, gratitude at her understanding showing in his amber eyes, and then he smiled a little sadly. ‘Thank you for that. You’re right, but most people don’t see it that way. It makes them uncomfortable.’
‘That’s silly.’
‘Maybe. Eat your chicken and chips.’
She looked at his plate, heaped with what looked for all the world like a truly wicked Sunday breakfast, and had a sudden urge to dunk her chip in his egg yolk.
‘Go on, then, if you must.’
‘What?’ She looked up, startled, to find him laughing softly at her.
‘Dunk your chips in my egg.’
The smile wouldn’t be held in. ‘That’s so rude of me. How did you know?’
‘Something to do with the longing look you gave it?’
Oh, lord. She’d better not direct any longing looks at him, then. He was altogether too good at picking them up!
She reached over, the chip in her fingers, and pierced the golden yolk. ‘Oh, yum,’ she mumbled round the mouthful, and he laughed again.
‘One more, and that’s your lot,’ he said firmly, and she indulged herself one last time before turning her attention to the fragrant, steaming plateful of chicken in front of her.
Within a few minutes she’d demolished it, and sat back with a huge sigh of contentment. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said with a grin. ‘Excellent.’
He speared the last mushroom and chewed it thoughtfully, then smiled back. ‘How about a pud?’
‘That’s too wicked!’ She laughed. ‘Anyway, I’ll burst.’
‘How horribly messy. We’d better avoid that at all costs. Another coffee?’
She shook her head, reality coming back to her. She had work to do before she opened the shop in the morning, and it was already after seven. Besides, the cat would be hungry and would take the hump and go off in a sulk if she didn’t get back soon.
‘I ought to go,’ she told him, and he nodded.
‘OK.’ He looked up and caught the waiter’s eye, and a bill appeared a moment later.
‘Could you please split it?’ she asked him, but Owen shook his head.
‘No. Leave it. Here.’ He counted out a pile of notes, told the man to keep the change and ushered her out.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she protested, but he just smiled.
‘Yes, I should. I talked you into it—and, anyway, it was a pleasure having your company.’ He walked her to her car, and as she reached it he looked down into her eyes and searched them in silence for a moment.
‘Thank you for rescuing me from the doldrums,’ she said, a touch breathlessly, and he smiled, just a slight shift of his lips in the harsh glare of the outside lights. His eyes were in shadow, but they seemed to burn with an inner fire that she didn’t dare interpret.
‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and before she could move or speak or even blink, he bent his head and brushed her lips with his. ‘Goodnight, Cait. Take care.’
He slipped a card into her hand. ‘Here. This is my number. Ring me if you need anything.’
Then he was gone, his long legs striding round his car. He slid behind the wheel and waited for her to get into her car, then once she was settled and pulled forward a fraction, he raised a hand in farewell and followed her out of the car park.
His lights trailed her all the way home, then as she pulled up they flashed a couple of times and he drove away.
How chivalrous, she thought with a tiny smile, and then looked up at the dark window in her flat over the shop. Oh, lord. No Milly to nag and bully and hug. None of her various friends to trip over, no festering coffee-mugs on Milly’s bedroom window-sill, no frenzied searching for a bag, a phone, a piece of paper.
Just silence.
Cait braced herself, and got out of the car. It was time to start the rest of her life.
She slid her hand into her pocket to pull out her house keys, and the sharp corner of Owen’s card scratched the palm of her hand. She pulled it out and looked at it in the dim light of the streetlamps, and a smile curved her lips.
Maybe—just