Release: Symbols of Love, page 18
I'd spent the last three months hating her, talking to Freya about her in disparaging terms. The memories of the most amazing sex I'd ever had tried to make me forget that every moan had been a lie. Months later, the conversation from the nights we talked until the sun came up, ring hollow. She never talked about herself.
I was so blinded by what I wanted to see that I didn’t even notice. She looked me straight in the eye and lied. I made myself remember all of those things so I could hate her and move on.
It worked too, or so I thought. One look at her and my brain tried to wash away every negative imprint I’d spent months carving. But, in my heart, I hadn’t really let go.
I'd built a wall around all the good we'd shared, and it had crumbled like a house of sand in a gust of wind. I felt happy to see her. I’m an idiot
Even after that little traitorous speck of joy receded, I didn’t know if I wanted to push her against the wall and kiss her, or demand to know what the fuck happened to her.
I'm opening the door to my car when Freya calls out from behind me. "Harry, wait." I look back to see her rushing toward me, her dark hair streaming behind her.
"Frey, where's your coat, your gloves? It's one of the coldest days of the year."
"I wanted to catch you before you left. That's her? Emma?" she asks. Her breath is coming out in puffs of white, her cheeks are red from the chafing wind, and her eyes squint against the wind. The expression on her face tells me she wants to talk. No, that she’s determined to talk. I continue walking to the car. She reaches me just as I’m climbing in.
I start the engine and feel the rush of warm hitting my face as the heat kicks in right away. She stands in the door of the car, preventing me from closing it. I scowl up at her and she scowls back. I sigh in resignation.
"Get in if you want to talk, I don't want you standing out here and getting sick because of me. George will kill me if you can't be his full-time maid because you had the audacity to get ill."
She smacks my arm. "Shut up, Harry. Stop trying to deflect and answer my question. I'm not getting in." My comment about her husband appears to roll right off her back, but it was a low blow.
“I’m sorry, Frey. I didn’t mean that,” I say, putting a hand on her arm.
She rolls her eyes dismissively. “Of course you meant it.”
I don’t argue. I did mean it. He’s a total prick. I groan. "Fine. Yes, that's her and I don't want to talk about it. Not right now.” Not ever. I start to pull my door shut. “I'm late.”
She puts a hand on my door handle and stops me.
"Harry, I'm going to ask her to leave. I won’t let you have another miserable New Year’s Eve" she says vehemently. Her eyes are hard.
I sigh and put my gloved hands over her bare one. My sister would jump in front a charging, hungry lion for me. After everything I've told her about "Emma”, I know she thinks she's only doing what I would want. But this weekend and the next two weeks aren't about me.
"It's Louis' wedding and she's like family to Cara. Mum and Dad would be pissed if we let what was really just a holiday fling gone bad create tension this week. This house is big enough for all of us to co-exist in without killing each other.”
"Pfft. Holiday fling?" She wags a finger in my direction. "I've listened to you talk about her for months. I saw your face just now. You looked like you did when found out about Zara and William." I flinch at the mention of their names.
I fix her with a narrow eyed glare. "I don't want to talk about them. Or her. And there's nothing similar about what she did and what they did."
"I think if I spoke to her alone, she would find a reason to leave without anyone knowing that she isn't welcome under our roof." She muses up at the sky, clearly not listening to me.
"Oh, God. Fre, no.” I raise my voice to get her attention, she glances at me, not the slightest bit perturbed. “You’re overreacting. I'm not going to die or anything."
At least not literally.
“I know, but I'm just saying you looked--" she starts to protest.
“That’s enough. I know you're trying to help me and I love you for it. But I'm late and there's nothing to be done that won't upset Louis, Cara, or our parents." I don't want to hear any more. I know how I feel. I sigh heavily, my gut full of dread and anger.
"I'm sure she's wishing she was anywhere but here, too." I give her a dry smile and glance out at the lane that stretches ahead of me. The snow dusted trees that line it are familiar and give me the same feeling of fortitude that they always do. This estate is my birthright, and my responsibility, but I truly love it. I'll be on steadier ground here than I was in Ghana. She can't get under my skin here.
My heart contracts hard as if to tell me I can lie to everyone but myself. The thought of her being here makes me want to break something. Freya, smooths her hand over my head, like she used to when we were little and I’d crawl into her bed after a nightmare. What used to sooth me, now irritates me.
I duck my head from under her hand. She just smiles, a pitying smile and says, "I'm glad you invited Camille to be here this weekend. It'll be good for you to have her there. She's so lovely. I think she'll make you happy."
At that, I groan and roll my eyes. "I've only been seeing her for a month. Leave it."
She mimics me, "Fine, but it's true."
I lean out of the car and place a quick peck on her cold, wind-chafed cheek. "Get inside, it's freezing. I'll see you tonight."
My stomach pitches at the reminder that tomorrow is the rehearsal dinner for Louis and Cara and she’s likely to be there. Freya smiles at me, but the sympathy in her eyes is all I see and it makes me crazy. I'm not a victim. Lilly's the one who walked away from something with real potential. It's her loss. I dodged a bullet.
I force a smile but, shut the door of my car with a slam that makes her jump. I glance in my rearview mirror and see her standing there watching me.
I drive in silence, forgetting to turn on my radio as every single memory that I've battled over the last few months comes flooding back. Her touch, her taste, the way she cried when she came. The salt of her tears on my tongue as I kissed her eyelids. How happy I was when I thought I'd finally gotten somewhere with her. What a fucking joke.
I shake my head in disgust and remember the way I sat in the hotel lobby until noon waiting for her. I'd known she wasn't coming as soon as I got downstairs and she wasn't at our usual table. But I'd sat down anyway, ordered coffee for both of us. Watched as hers had grown cold, a thin film forming over the top as the cream I knew she’d want had congealed.
I didn't call Kojo to get Bambi's information. I decided I wouldn't chase her. Not if she could look at me and promise something she had absolutely no intention of giving.
It was tempting to tell myself the lie that everyone tells themselves when someone doesn't return a call, doesn't show up, or doesn't respond: Maybe they're hurt. Maybe they're lying in a ditch bleeding and alone, unable to reach me.”
Only, they never are. They're just not coming. They’re not going to call. They’re not going to respond.
I'd had enough of lying women to last me a lifetime.
So, I'd gone upstairs, packed my bags, gone to the airport, and left Ghana with my heart in my throat. The tightly wound ball of resentment still sat in my gut for months.
I prayed to never see her again. Those prayers were lies. Seeing her again was all I’d wanted.
But now that I have what I want, I have no clue what I should do.
20
Lilly
"Isn't it cool? Ms. Freya says this isn't really a castle, but if it's not, then gosh, what must a real castle look like?" Anthony prattles as he leads me up the stairs, his little hands sweeping the air as if he’s been giving tours of this house his whole life.
I feel like a dead woman walking. How can he be here? How can he be the brother of the fucking groom. I wail a silent “Why?” and think about how I can manage to avoid any confrontations. But, I’m also happy to see him. It feels like fate. That night on the beach had been the spark that lit this fire and now I feel like we’ve been given a second chance. I drag my suddenly heavy body up the stairs after my nephew, despondent. He’s so angry with me. He has every right to be. And, I’m still…me. Nothing has changed – in fact, things have gotten worse.
"He looks like he was really brave." Anthony says and brings to a halt on our climb up the stairs. I look over my shoulder down the long stairway back to the place we’d been standing. Nobody’s there. All that's left are the shadows the morning sun is creating from the statues that line the foyer. It doesn’t look like the scene of an earthquake. But that’s what standing there has left me feeling like I experienced – an uprooting of seismic proportions. Falling without knowing where the bottom is. Unsteady and confused.
Anthony tugs my hand and I look down at him. His big brown eyes are full of confusion.
"You okay, Aunt Lilly? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"What?" I murmur absently, my brain sluggish. He tilts his head, his confusion turning to worry. Shit.
If Anthony can see something’s wrong, everyone else will, too. I take a deep breath and collect myself.
“Ghosts? Are there ghosts here?” I widen my eyes, pretending to be scared
"I'm just kidding Auntie Lilly. Ghosts aren't real." He giggles at me and I thank God that he's still so innocent.
"That’s what you think, I’m still scared!" I say and tickle him a little trying to distract myself. He giggles and dances out of my reach. I hold my hands up in surrender and comes back. I wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him into my side. We resume walking up the stairs, and I tell him, "I'm tired after all that traveling."
"Wasn't the train fun? Mommy and Dean slept most of the way, but I couldn't sleep. I've never been on a train like that before." He beams his eyes full of unadulterated joy.
"I slept most of the way. You’ll have to tell me everything I missed." And now I'm glad I did. I have a feeling sleep will be elusive while I’m here.
"Old people miss everything!" Anthony says with pity in his voice.
"Look at that guy," he points to one of the huge portraits on the wall right above where we're standing. "Miss Jan told me that he loved cheese so much he built a cheese making shop on the estate. The cheese we ate with our dinner last night is made there and they sell it in the shop. Oh, wait until you see the shop."
If I wasn't so preoccupied with thoughts of Harry I might have laughed at Jan’s food themed history lesson.
"Is my room far?" I ask Anthony. I need to get out of sight. I'm afraid Freya will come back and confront me or worse. I need to hide myself away and figure out what I'm doing next.
"Nope, we're all on the second floor, so it's just down this way." He says as we step off onto the landing. I look up and see that the stairs continue for what looks like four more floors.
He practically runs down the corridor. It's wide enough for ten people to stand side by side and from where I'm standing appears to run on forever.
"Okay, this is your apartment." He says with a flourish of his arms as if he's presenting the room to me. "Grandma and I were in here earlier just to check it out. She wanted to make sure you had enough pillows."
My heart gives a little pull at this small detail that my mother has never forgotten. I've been away from home for so long. I have so many things to work out with her, with my entire family. But this gesture tells me she’s still thinking about me. That she remembers all of the things I needed to fall asleep at night. It made me long for her, right now.
"This is the parlor," Anthony says, sweeping his arm in a graceful arc as he present the room to me. He pulls me through a huge sitting area and darts into a room that's opposite the entrance.
"And this is your bedroom. There are three bedrooms in this apartment.” He runs in and jumps on the huge canopy bed that's in the middle of this ornately decorated room. It's like stepping back into time. The bed clothes are sumptuous. Teal colored velvet drapes fall from the ten foot high canopy and hang elegantly down the four posters. On the king sized bed, there are more pillows than any one person could possibly need. The big fluffy squares of teals and light pinks, mustards and greys are beautiful and beckoning. I can’t wait to lay down.
The bed faced a huge bay window that’s draped in the same fabric that the bed is. I walk over and lose my breath at the view. Large expanses of rolling hills dotted with cottages, farm houses, and other structures whose purpose I can’t identify, run for as far as the eye can see. There are flocks of sheep grazing. But the real show stopper is right below my window. A beautiful winter garden sits on the lawn directly below me. A lime stone path along the edges of it defines it's octagonal shape. A bite of nostalgia hits me as I remember how much I loved the garden at our house in Maryland. That is one of the things I miss the most about not going home.
This garden is full of knobby trunked, conifers, yew trees, red tipped dogwoods and all look and ethereal with the dusting the last snow fall left.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
I scream and spin around and see Jan standing in the door of my room.
"You spook easily." She says with a laugh.
Anthony laughs from my bed. "She was afraid of the ghosts on the stairs, earlier Ms. Jan."
I turn and shoot him a scowl before I turn around to face Jan.
"Well, you sort of just appeared out of nowhere. I thought I was meeting you in the kitchen later."
If she heard the annoyance in my tone, she ignores me.
"Yes, well we're about to start getting lunch ready and I realized I'd forgotten to ask you if you had any allergies." She says with a kind smile that makes me feel ashamed for being so short with her.
"I'm sorry, Jan. I’m just so tired.” I apologize quickly, she nods in understanding and I answer her question. “I don't have any allergies, but I don't really like chicken breast or pork. And I don't eat beets, turnips or carrots."
"Well, we do accommodate for allergies, but not for picky eaters. Unless your abstinence of fowl and swine is due to a religious restriction, you'll be eating what we serve. And we don't waste food, neither.” She says, clasping her hands in front of her, smiling even though her voice is stern.
“Everything's delicious, cook is a master. Her restaurant is a favorite of the tourists and is one of the best in the country. You'll love whatever she makes. Lunch is at 1:30pm, see you then." And with a small smile that is in complete contradiction with the brisk orders she just gave, she turns and leaves.
"She's really funny about food." Anthony chirps from my bed.
"No kidding." I waggle my brows at him, "And you're really funny about ghosts, you blabber mouth." I leer at him, my fingers out to tickle him.
He shrieks as I jump on the bed and tickle him until his laughter is louder than the pounding of my heart and the screaming in my head.
Lunch was delicious and stress free. When Louis' mother announced that neither Freya or Harry would be joining us, my appetite had returned with gusto. This despite the fact that the offerings read like Jan told the cook it was the Universe's Shit on Lilly Day and they should make sure to take part in the festivities.
Seeded rolls burst with chicken, chopped carrots, almonds and coriander mayonnaise were served alongside ham sandwiches topped with beet salad and served on fresh baked ciabatta. I ate it because I was hungry and almost moaned when the delicious flavors hit my tongue. Jan would have a good laugh when I told her.
I got to meet Louis' parents. His mother was an elegant blond who hugged everyone and didn't seem the least bit frazzled by the talk of weddings and events. She laughed loudly and I was happy to see her lavish Cara with affection all afternoon. Their father was Harry's twin - if Harry had been thirty years older. He looked tired, but was also in very good spirits as he told us about the manor and his family's history.
The estate, had at one time, relied solely on the income from the rents paid by it's tenants and the dowry that his great grandfather's American bride had brought to them in the early part of the twentieth century.
Today, it’s a multimillion dollar enterprise that the family runs. They have holiday cottages for sale and for rent. There’s a camp ground where people could park their RVs, and go what they call "glamping." Apparently, it’s all the rage, “The adventure of sleeping under the stars but none of the inconvenience,” his father had said.
The grounds boasted four restaurants, a brewery, various gift shops, a butchery, a garden center, the famed cheese maker, an apiary that Lady Carlisle - that was the family's name - managed herself. It was amazing. They were one of the few remaining landed families that had actually turned their estate into a profitable business.
"Harry came home after university and forced us to add all of the restaurants and scoured the region to make sure our shops, restaurants, our bakery, the hampers we sell at Christmas, are all stocked with local products. It's made us not just a tourist attraction, but a place where large parts of the county shop on a regular basis. Our London store front, which is run by a wonderful company, is booming. We’re adding tea service and creating a feel of Fortnum and Masons in London’s East End. And Lady Carlisle’s honey is exported all over the country. Harry brought a whole new colony of stingless bees from Ghana a few months ago The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh are partial to it." His stroked his wife’s hand as he nearly burst with pride while she preened under his touch. They leaned toward each other for a kiss and I decided that was my cue to look away.
I find my father’s eyes on me then. From the looks of it, he’s the only one who was listening to Lord Carlisle’s story because no one else seems to have caught his mention of Harry being in Ghana a few months ago.
I look away from him quickly and survey the rest of the people at the table. Cara's parents are excusing themselves. Cara and Louis go with them. They have errands to run for the wedding. My mother was practically sitting in my father's lap and he’s whispering into her ear while she giggles. My sisters are both lost in conversation with their men and the children are running around the room playing hide and seek with each other.
