Chapter five

C

harlotte woke the following day after a disturbed night’s sleep. In spite of their decidedly tricky relationship, she did love her mother. As an only child she also felt responsible for her, and had promised her father she would “keep an eye on the old girl, m’dear, she’s not as strong as she likes to pretend”. Easier said than done with a mother who offered only criticism, she thought, struggling to wake up. Feeling guilty about being pampered in the spa while her mother was unwell, Charlotte consoled herself with the thought there was little she could do until she had seen the oncologist, and crawled out of bed to grab a quick shower.

Within a few days Charlotte settled into the calm, relaxed atmosphere of La Folie, allowing herself to step back from her worries and live in the moment. As she walked around the garden one morning she realised the combination of yoga and the ministrations of Lin and other therapists had worked the same magic she had experienced in the spring. Stopping by a colourful display of deep red roses, she bent to breathe in their heady scent and was immediately transported back to her parents’ garden in Somerset.

Her mother was inordinately proud of her roses, entering them yearly into the village floral competitions and had always won First Prize. Not surprising as her parents were the local nobs, presiding over local functions with genteel bonhomie. Her mother had always been a snob, but after her father was knighted and she became Lady Annette Townsend, she was much worse. Charlotte used to cringe at the way she talked to staff and villagers, so different to her down-to-earth father. He would never have laid claim to being responsible for the efforts of others, unlike her mother. The fact their gardener was responsible for the lushness of the roses did not seem to stop Annette from accepting her due as a woman with the greenest of green fingers. Something Charlotte could never lay claim to, being hopeless with anything so practical, but she did know the names of plants, drummed into her by her mother from childhood.

Continuing her walk, and admiring the last of the sunflowers and delphiniums standing tall in the sunshine, she wondered how her mother was coping in the house on her own, albeit with the servants. Charlotte bit her lip, feeling the familiar pain of her father’s death two years ago. Taught never to display emotions in public, it had been difficult to cope with her loss until she received counselling here in the spring. The grief had been exacerbated by her husband’s desertion shortly after and she had become depressed. Gazing now at the daylilies bowing their heads gracefully in the gentle breeze, Charlotte knew she had come a long way since then, but was not as strong as she liked to appear. Boarding school had coated her with a veneer of independence and self-confidence, but inside she was a woman who needed to be loved. As she had been by her father, but not, she thought, her mother: always keen to find fault. And loved only briefly by her ex-husband.

Charlotte made a supreme effort to recapture the feeling of calm now being sabotaged by her memories and imagined herself in a bubble of light, as taught by Molly, the counsellor. It worked and she was able to smile serenely at a passing fellow guest. Glancing at her watch, Charlotte realised it was nearly time for her t’ai chi class and made tracks inside.

As she passed the reception desk Nadine called out to say Jeanne would be in the following morning for her massage and would be happy to meet for a chat afterwards. Charlotte smiled, wondering if Paul had passed on her offer of help. Even if he hadn’t, she looked forward to talking to Jeanne about the proverbial writer’s block, although a part of her was afraid she was simply a lousy writer. Something far too hard to accept – yet.

At eleven the next morning Charlotte experienced mixed emotions as she made her way to the sun lounge to meet Jeanne. Although it would be lovely to catch up with her, she was having second thoughts about becoming involved with Andy’s research. It would be a wonderful diversion, but it would mean spending time with Andy and he was too attractive to ignore, even by someone bruised by men. Jeanne was watching for her and waved before standing up to share a hug. Charlotte found herself smiling in spite of her unease.

‘How are you? And congratulations on your baby girl. Is she well?’

Jeanne, displaying dark circles under her eyes, but otherwise looking good with gleaming hair and glowing skin, smiled broadly.

‘We’re both fine, thanks. Fortunately I have quick and easy births and we were home again the same day. But I could do with more sleep!’

Charlotte ordered a juice before replying, ‘I bet! But you look wonderful and it looks as if you’ve lost the baby weight already. What does Harry think about his sister?’

‘He adores her, although he was a bit unsure initially when we told him he had a sister. He’d wanted a brother to play with, but once he held her he was hooked and smothers her with kisses,’ she laughed. ‘I now have to stop him trying to pick her up from her crib whenever he can. And yes, I’ve almost lost the extra weight. I’ve been following the healthy recipes Chef cooks up and even Nick’s hooked on them. So, how are you? How’s the book coming on?’ Jeanne looked at her quizzically.

Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘Not great. I thoroughly enjoyed the research, but I’ve been finding it difficult to empathise with my main fictional character and how she would behave at that time. Modern characters would be so much easier, but I love the eighteenth century so…’ she went on to describe in more detail what seemed to be holding her back.

Jeanne was sympathetic. ‘I can understand the problem. You need to fully immerse yourself in the time-period – the sights, sounds and smells. What people wore, how they talked, etc. Not easy, but possible. Have you read any novels set in that time?’ She went on to make more suggestions, admitting she had suffered from writer’s block a couple of times and Charlotte began to feel less of a failure. She was simply inexperienced and needed to hear how other writers dealt with such issues. Months before she had joined a local writing group for support using her pen name, but unfortunately someone had discovered both her real name and her role as a publisher and she had been bombarded with submissions. She left immediately, but missed the camaraderie.

Jeanne then brought up the subject of Andy and his family.

‘Paul said you’d like to help with the research which is fine by me. But surely you won’t be here long enough to trawl through old records and interview people?’

‘I can stay longer if need be, so it’s not an issue. Even if I did have to return home for some reason I could always come back. My deputy takes over when I’m away and he’s excellent. Totally trustworthy, thank goodness. I’ve finally learnt the art of delegation.’

Her friend grinned. ‘A pity I can’t delegate the night feeds! But Nick doesn’t possess the, er, right equipment. But at least he does spend a lot of time with Harry when he’s at home. And he’s become quite a good cook since my first book came out.’ She sipped her juice before adding, ‘Would you like me to ask Andy how he feels about your offer? I understand you met briefly a few days ago.’

‘Please. Andy might not remember me as he really wanted to talk to Louisa about Jim. But I’d understand if he didn’t want a stranger involved. He…seemed a nice guy,’ she said, recalling his warm, brown eyes and sexy body. And quickly pushed away the image as once again she questioned the wisdom of offering to help. Apart from anything else it would be so embarrassing if Andy was completely uninterested in her.

‘He is, apart from the chip on his shoulder about the division in the family. And the fact his father was denied his inheritance. Definitely some bitterness there, but otherwise he’s a decent guy, if a bit of a workaholic.’

They returned to the subject of writing for a while longer until it was time for Jeanne to leave for Freya’s next feed, promising to phone after she had spoken to Andy. Charlotte was left wondering if she would be disappointed if Andy said no to her offer. It was too close to call.