Caroline Anderson - A Bride Worth Waiting For

‘Michael? Good grief, no!’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘Hardly.’

‘Is he so bad?’

Ruth chuckled. ‘No, he’s not bad at all. Far from it. I suppose if he was your type, you’d think he was very sexy in a rather brooding sort of way. I don’t know. You can judge for yourself on Monday.’

‘Monday?’

‘Mmm. He’s coming over then—I’m moving out at the weekend, and he’s going to start tearing the place apart. He’s jumped at the chance to get in there. He wants to refurbish the whole building, in fact; says it’s long overdue, which it is.’

Annie blinked in surprise. ‘Does he have time?’

Ruth nodded. ‘He’s going to have a break from writing, and he’s told me to take a holiday, so I am. I think he’s planning a little physical work to free up his thoughts and, let’s face it, the place could do with a hefty dose of TLC. I think he’s looking forward to pushing his sleeves up and getting stuck in.’

Her heart thudded unexpectedly. ‘Wow. So I get to meet the great man at last.’

She chewed her lip absently. She’d never met her landlord, not in the seven years since he’d bought the Ancient House. Ruth had been the go-between, working for him as his researcher and living here in the flat that occupied the whole of the top floor, but curiously Michael himself had never darkened her door, so she knew little about him except that he was a writer—a hugely successful one, if the best seller lists were to be believed.

That was probably why she’d never met him. Too busy and important to trouble himself with some trifling investment property—or so she’d thought. He certainly didn’t need her contribution to his income if the rumours of his advances were true.

Roger had loved his books—he’d even met him once, but she’d been out when he called and so she’d missed him, to her disappointment. But he hadn’t described him as broodingly sexy—

‘I wonder if he’ll use the refurb as an excuse to put my rent up?’ she murmured, dragging herself back to practical matters and the here and now.

Ruth shrugged. ‘Dunno. I doubt it. You’ll have to ask him.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’ll be odd not living here after so long.’

‘Seven years. It’ll be weird without you. I’ll miss you.’ Unaccountably she felt herself tearing up again and looked away crossly. ‘Sorry, I’m being an idiot. I’m delighted for you, I really am. It’s just—’

‘You’ll miss me. I know. I’ll miss you, too.’ Ruth patted her arm awkwardly. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ve got my mobile number—perhaps we could go out for a drink one evening, if Stephen’s with a friend or something?’

‘That would be lovely,’ she said, knowing quite well it was unlikely to happen but grateful to Ruth for suggesting it. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done for me in the past few years, especially since Roger died. You’ve been a star.’

‘My pleasure. You’ve been a good friend to me, too, Annie. There were times when I couldn’t have got through without you.’

That unexpected frankness was nearly her undoing. Annie swallowed and gave a little shrug. ‘What are friends for? I’m glad you’ve found someone. You deserve to be happy.’

Ruth nodded and turned her attention to her coffee, looking at it rather than at Annie, stirring it with meticulous care. ‘I just wish you could be as happy,’ she said quietly after a moment. ‘I know you and Roger were very fond of each other, but you weren’t exactly soul mates, were you? You’ve never really told me about Stephen’s father, but I get the feeling you’re still a little in love with him. Is there any chance—?’

Annie felt her smile slip. ‘No. He’s dead—years ago, before I started running this place. The way I felt—well, it was a one-off, crazy thing. I don’t know if it was the real thing, but it certainly felt like it at the time. He was French, and such a charmer—I just fell for that broken English and gorgeous, sexy accent hook, line and sinker. I adored him, but you can’t base a marriage on it. At least we didn’t have time to get bored with each other. I don’t know. It might have worked given time, who knows, but I doubt it. We just didn’t get the chance to find out.’

‘But maybe now—if the right man came along—?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t need any more heart-ache, and nor does Stephen. He’s lost two fathers, although he only ever knew Roger. I think that’s enough for anyone.’

Ruth was quiet for a moment, then she looked up and searched Annie’s face. ‘Do you think Stephen’s suffered for not knowing his real father?’

Annie shook her head slowly. ‘No—not really. I know we had an unconventional marriage, but Roger was a good father to all the children. Stephen adored him, and I would have been horribly lost without him—even if I could never compete with his first wife.’

‘Ah, yes. The amazing Liz. Ghosts are always the hardest. She was a bit of a legend, by all accounts. They still talk about her, you know.’

Annie nodded. ‘She was certainly loved in the village. Her death was an awful shock to everyone. I couldn’t believe it. She’d been my college lecturer, you know—taught me everything I knew about catering, but she was more than that, even then. She was a friend, a real friend, and I was lost when she died, but at least we’d set this place up by then, so she saw her dream become reality. Still. Time moves on, and they’re together again now. And you’ve got your Tim. I really, really hope you’re happy together.’

‘We will be. Do keep in touch. Can I come and have coffee still?’

Annie laughed. ‘Of course. I run a coffee shop—what else would you do?’

‘But you’re busy.’

‘Never too busy for a friend. Please come. Don’t be a stranger. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.’

‘You won’t lose me—promise.’

Ruth hugged her again, and then went out, running up the stairs to the flat above to start her packing, and Annie scrubbed the kitchen until it sparkled, determined not to let the stupid tears fall. It wasn’t as if Ruth was a bosom buddy, but as busy as she was, Ruth was probably one of her closest friends. Bringing up the children and working the hours she did didn’t leave a lot of time for socialising.

She straightened up, threw the tea towel she’d used for polishing the worktops into a bag to take home, and looked round, checking to make sure she was ready for the morning.

What would her landlord make of it, she wondered? And how would he want to change it? Refurb covered a multitude of sins. A shiver of apprehension went down her spine. The Ancient House was Grade II listed, so there were restrictions on what he could do to it—she hoped. She didn’t want it to change. She’d had enough change recently. But what if he wanted to throw her out and turn it back into a house? That was always a possibility now she was the only tenant.

It was old, very old, a typical low Tudor house, stretching all across one side of the square, with a big heavy door in the centre that led to a small rectangular entrance hall. There was a door straight ahead that led to the flat above, another door leading to Miller’s, her little tearoom that ran front to back on the right of the door, and one opening into the left-hand end that was occupied by the little antique shop.

Ex-antique shop, she reminded herself, now that Mary had wound down her business and closed the door finally for the last time only a week ago, so what better time for him to move in and make changes?

More changes. Heavens, her life was full of them recently. Roger’s death in June last year had been the first. Even though they’d been waiting for it, it had still been a shock when it came. Still, they’d got through somehow, comforting each other, and it hadn’t been all bad.