Frankie’s belly flipped as she stood back and surveyed the array of garments on her bed. She’d never actually set them all out like this before, so hadn’t realized how many she’d made. It was laying her dreams bare in front of the first and only man who had shown interest in what they were. No one in her life had ever asked her to do that before, not even her father and certainly not Rolo. In fact, Rolo had laughed when she’d once told him about her fashion designer aspirations, so she’d downplayed it and never broached the subject with him again. She’d doubted that she was good enough, told herself that it was just a hobby and that other people would probably think she was mad when she earned so much from her ‘real’ job. It had meant that for years, she’d created in secret, designing and making garments from dresses to tunics to playsuits to pashminas.
She raised her eyes to look at Jonas, wary of his reaction. If he laughed, just as Rolo had, then she’d put this dream well and truly behind her.
But his expression made something inside her shift. It was like an uncoiling, as if something had been tightly wound for a very long time and now, kind-hearted Jonas was gently freeing it with his compassion, teasing it out and encouraging it to fly.
He got up from the chair by the window and walked to her side, then gazed down at the clothing. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he whistled long and low.
‘You made all of these?’
She nodded.
‘I’m no expert, Frankie, but I’m pretty certain that these are incredible.’
‘Really? You don’t have to be kind.’
‘I wouldn’t do that to you. If I thought they weren’t that good, I’d say so… well, words to that effect. But you have talent, Frankie.’
He leant forwards and picked up a sleeveless layered dress that she’d created a few weeks earlier. It was made of pale-blue silk and as he held it up, the dress fell like a waterfall to the floor. The fishtail hem drifted across the wooden boards of her room and the front seemed to billow as if in a breeze.
‘This could be a wedding gown, Frankie, or a prom dress. It’s so soft… I feel bad touching it with my big old hands. You should show your parents. They’ll be really impressed.’
‘Oh… I don’t know.’
‘I do. Wait here.’
He gently laid the dress back on the bed then disappeared and she heard his heavy tread as he went downstairs.
Jonas thought she had talent and had told her he wouldn’t mislead her. However, as he’d also said, he was no expert. But it was nice to have someone see her designs and comment on them.
She picked up the dress and held it against her then walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner of her room. It was beautiful, and as she moved, the light made the dress shimmer, reminding her of Jonas’s photographs of the northern lights.
Something occurred to her. She’d created garments in a range of colours and fabrics but blues, purples and silver were her favourites to work with. What if…
She could call it her Northern Lights range.
‘Frankie?’ Her mother entered her room. ‘Jonas said you’ve got something to show us.’
‘Yes—’
‘Oh my goodness.’ Freya was standing in front of the bed gazing at the clothes. ‘Did you make all of these?’
‘Yes.’
She crossed the room to stand next to her mother.
Freya raised watery eyes to meet Frankie’s. ‘My darling girl, you are so talented.’ She reached out as if to touch the clothes, then withdrew her hand and walked around the bed looking at everything instead.
‘So much beauty.’
‘What’s all this then?’ Hugo came in. ‘Frankie! You made these?’
His expression mirrored Freya’s as he looked at the clothes.
‘Where’s Jonas?’ Frankie looked behind her father.
‘He’s gone to get something.’
‘Oh…’
‘Isn’t she clever?’ Freya said, as she held up a long-sleeved tunic in deep purple linen. The cuffs and collar were decorated with a silver trim and Frankie had embroidered tiny stars from the V-neck right down the centre to the hem. ‘I would wear this!’ She turned the tunic around, causing her silver bracelets to jangle, and pressed it to her front then went to the mirror.
‘It’s yours.’
‘What?’ Freya turned around. ‘Oh no, darling. I couldn’t take it. Unless I paid you for it.’
‘I don’t want payment. I’m thrilled that you like it. No one’s ever seen these before and I didn’t think anyone ever would.’
‘That’s nice, Freya,’ Jonas said as he entered the room. ‘It suits you. Why don’t you put it on? And Frankie, why don’t you put that dress on? I have an idea.’
‘You do?’
He nodded.
‘Mother and daughter photo shoot.’
Frankie and Freya looked up at the same time and smiled.
‘Uh, I don’t know. I’m not really a fan of being photographed.’
‘I think you could sell this range to a boutique owner I know in Norway. But she’ll need to see pictures of it first.’
‘Sell it?’
Jonas nodded, his face brightened by a big grin.
‘I think he’s right.’ Freya walked back to the bed and picked up a silver wool pashmina with purple swirls. ‘And it would be unique, not mass-produced. Who wouldn’t want a range like that?’
‘Go on, girls, why not?’ Hugo beamed at them. ‘And, Frankie… I’m sorry for not asking to see what you’d made before. It’s another area where I was remiss, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s OK, Dad. I didn’t exactly push for you to take an interest in it, did I?’
‘That’s not the point. I chose not to get involved with it and I should have done.’
‘No more regrets, Dad. Just living for here and now and for the future.’
He nodded then sniffed before turning and walking over to the window, clearly needing a few minutes to compose himself.
‘OK, let’s do it,’ Frankie said.
‘Try them on?’ Freya asked.
‘Yes. An impromptu fashion show.’
‘Tell you what, why not use the staircase?’ Jonas pointed at the doorway. ‘With the chandeliers, it’s nice and bright and it’ll give the shoot a dramatic old-house feel.’
‘You’re the photographer.’ Frankie smiled at him, appreciating his enthusiasm, even if the thought of posing for photographs wearing clothes she’d designed did give her butterflies.
An hour and a half later, she sat on the bottom step next to her mother, with her right arm draped around her shoulder as they modelled the last two dresses in the range. Freya’s was a silver Jane Austen style dress that was gathered beneath the bust and fell to her ankles. It showed off her mother’s slim figure and the silver shimmered as she moved. Frankie was wearing a purple tie-dye playsuit that fell to mid-thigh and had spaghetti straps. Under it she wore a silver camisole. She’d paired it with purple PVC and suede Manolo Blahnik mules that had sat in her wardrobe for years and never seen the light of day. They’d been a gift from Grandma for snagging an important client, but for some reason, Frankie had never worn them. Guilt flashed through her; she had so much she’d probably forgotten they were there. She’d certainly try to ensure that she made more of an effort to go through her wardrobe in future and not to just buy more. She had so many beautiful things, probably far too many for one woman to wear in a year – and that was with three or more outfit changes a day – so she should have a good clear-out too and take some to the charity shop.
Jonas was a wonderful photographer. He made her and Freya relax and giggle as he coaxed them into different poses, including hugging, gazing off into the imaginary distance and even jumping in the air together.
‘I think that’s it then, ladies.’ Jonas looked up from his camera. ‘Well done.’
‘Well done, indeed.’ Her father appeared with a tray of champagne flutes and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. ‘Thought we should celebrate.’
He popped the cork then poured them all a glass and they headed into the lounge. Dusk had fallen and Frankie could see her reflection in the large windows, so she went over and closed the curtains. It heightened the sense of cosiness in the room and when she turned around, seeing her parents on one sofa and Jonas on the other, as the fire flickered in the grate and Ella Fitzgerald crooned from Hugo’s old record player about the man she loved, heat warmed Frankie’s chest then emanated throughout her whole body. Moments like this were to be treasured.
If only things could stay this way.
But that was the problem.
Jonas and her mother had lives in Norway and she and her father had lives in London. They had Grandma to care for and the house to maintain and she had her job…
Her job.
She’d been on leave because of the wedding and the thought of returning to her role as a management consultant made her throat tighten, as if invisible hands were choking her. How would she be able to do it?
She went over to the sofa and sat next to Jonas. He smiled at her then handed her his camera. ‘Take a look. You and Freya are naturals.’
She placed her champagne on the side table then started to flick through the photographs. He was right. They did look as though they’d done this before but it was all down to Jonas; he was the talented one. She darted a glance at him, her pulse racing as she tried to focus on the photographs.
‘I do wish that wasn’t the case.’ Her father’s words snapped her back to their conversation.
‘What case?’ she asked.
‘Your mother and Jonas have to go back to Norway on Thursday.’
‘So soon?’
‘There’s the gallery, my mother and Luna to think of.’ Jonas cleared his throat. ‘I wish we didn’t have to go yet but… well…’ He let the silence hang between them but Frankie replayed his words I wish we didn’t have to go yet over and over.
He wanted to stay?
‘Can’t you stay a bit longer?’ She looked at Jonas then at her mother.
‘I wish we could, Frankie, but with Christmas coming, I can’t leave the gallery for long.’
Frankie nodded then lowered her eyes to the camera and continued pressing the button that scrolled through the images, barely seeing them because of the tears blurring her vision.
They had to go; she knew that. She’d known it from the moment they’d got on the plane to London with her, but now… now that it was about to happen… she wished with all her heart that they could stay.
The next morning, Frankie woke when it was still dark. She tried to fall back to sleep but her mind wouldn’t stop racing, so she decided to get up and make a cup of tea.
She padded quietly down the stairs and through the hallway, keen to avoid making any noise that might wake anyone else. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck five just as she passed it, causing her to jump. She clutched a hand over her pounding heart and hurried by, realizing that it was so early that even Annie wasn’t awake. She pulled her baggy cardigan tight over her pyjamas because the central heating hadn’t come on yet and the large house was cold and draughty.
In the kitchen, she filled the kettle then switched it on before dropping a teabag into a mug. She crossed the room to fetch the milk and peered into the large fridge, wondering if she was hungry. Nothing appealed, so she grabbed the milk then closed the door.
And gasped when she realized she wasn’t alone.
‘Sorry, Frankie, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Her mother rubbed her arm gently. ‘I couldn’t sleep so I came down to get a drink.’
‘Me too.’ Frankie held up the milk. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, please.’
Frankie went over to the door and turned the lights on, closing the door carefully to avoid waking anyone else, then she got another mug from the cupboard and made the tea. In her big slipper boots, she shuffled across the kitchen and handed Freya her mug.
‘Shall we sit down or are you going back to bed?’ Freya asked.
‘No, I won’t be able to sleep.’ Frankie shook her head. ‘Shall we sit in here?’
They pulled out stools from under the kitchen island in the centre of the large room and sat down, both nursing their mugs.
‘Why couldn’t you sleep?’ Frankie asked.
‘Too many thoughts swirling around in my head.’ Freya rubbed her eyes. ‘It’s so strange being back here, in this house. At every turn I’m being assaulted by memories and ghosts.’
‘Is it awful?’
‘Not awful… some of the memories are good but because of how things ended, it’s also a bit unsettling. It makes me wish that I could go back in time and change things.’
‘I know.’ Frankie sipped her tea, finding comfort in the familiar act. She could understand how it must be odd for her mother to be in the house after so long, and how the past must be ever present here. ‘I guess when I asked you to stay I didn’t really think it through properly. All I could see was that I wanted you to stay.’
‘It’s fine and I’m glad we came. It’s been lovely to spend time with you and Hugo again.’
‘Are you all right with Dad now? I mean, I know that must also be very strange but you two do seem to get on so well.’
Freya chewed her bottom lip then sipped her tea. As she exhaled, steam drifted from her tea and disappeared into the air. If only hurt and regret could do the same, Frankie thought, then it would be a lot easier to move on.
‘It’s a complicated situation for Hugo and me. There’s a lot of hurt there and we definitely need to talk a lot more. We’re both sorry for the past and for the pain and sadness that we caused each other, and you, of course, but even with all the anger and… the rest, I don’t hate him. I can see how sorry he is that he didn’t do more to protect me from Helen and I know now why he didn’t come after me. If only we had spoken more then, we might have been able to save things, to find a way to be together as a family. But, as with all things, people can be stubborn, they can be angry and they can run away to avoid any more confrontation. Hugo and I did both, and we know that we should have spoken sooner. However, we were a lot younger then and life was… more intense because of your grandmother and because of our different backgrounds. Love can work between people from different classes, even different countries, cultures and religions, I’m sure of it. But back then, it seems that neither of us was one hundred per cent convinced of that, and insecurities, along with my illness and Helen’s interference, all seemed to be insurmountable.’
Frankie reached out and took her mother’s hand. ‘So what happens now?’
Freya smiled. ‘Now, we get on with our lives but we keep talking. We see what we can fix, mainly to make your life as good as it can be, and… to be honest, I’d like to have Hugo in my life again, even in the capacity of friend. We were friends before we fell in love and I have missed him.’ She squeezed Frankie’s hand. ‘Whatever happened between us, we will always have you and that means we have a bond that exists through you.’
Frankie nodded. ‘I’m glad. I’d like you to be able to get on because I want to see more of you and if you hated Dad, it would be quite difficult.’
‘We don’t hate each other. We never did, Frankie. Life just got in the way, as it sometimes does.’
‘Do you want more tea?’
‘Yes!’ Freya frowned. ‘Do you know… I used to do a lot of baking in this kitchen when Hugo and I were first married.’
‘What did you bake?’
‘Oh, all sorts of things. I loved this kitchen and how much space there is to move around. The oven is new, of course, but look at it. I bet you could make cakes and pies and scones all at the same time with the double ovens.’
Frankie looked at the oven and a wave of sadness washed over her. It was something she’d often thought of as a child, being able to bake with her mother, to do all those normal things that families did. But that time had passed and she couldn’t get it back.
‘Frankie, darling, would you like to make something with me?’
‘What? Now?’
Freya nodded. ‘Why not? We’re both awake and soon we’ll be hungry. Why don’t we see what’s in the cupboards then whip up some scrummy delights to surprise your father and Jonas?’
‘I’d love to.’
Frankie’s stomach fizzed with delight as she located some aprons and washed her hands at the sink. She didn’t know if Freya realized how wonderful her suggestion was, but for Frankie it meant a great deal.
One by one, her dreams were coming true…
Jonas descended the stairs slowly, yawning as he reached the ground floor. He’d woken from a deep sleep and felt quite rested, even though it had taken him a while to drop off the night before. He’d had a lot of fun taking photographs of Frankie and Freya as they modelled Frankie’s fashion range and it had been a good evening, but later on, when Freya had told Frankie that they had to return to Norway, he’d seen sadness settle in Frankie’s features.
It had hurt him to see it. Strangely. As if their connection had deepened further. He’d been glad to go to bed, hoping it was the effect of the champagne and the fun they’d had, that he was just getting carried away with everything because of that and because he was in a foreign country. Back home in Norway, with his mother at hand, he’d feel differently, he was sure.
At least he hoped he would. Otherwise, leaving Frankie behind when he went home was going to prove to be tough. He hated to think of her here alone, except for her father, rattling around in this big old house, wondering whether her grandmother was going to make it home from hospital and when she’d be able to see Freya again.
Never before had life seemed so complicated.
Or so… exciting. It was strange, this rolling in his stomach that thinking of Frankie created, but it was there and he couldn’t deny it. He liked being with her, seeing her smile and even though he knew that she was from a very different background to him, he couldn’t suppress the way he desired her. He didn’t want to suppress it because it was so different from anything he’d experienced before. And yet… surely this was just a one-way street to heartbreak for both of them, that was if Frankie even saw him that way, of course.
He crossed the hallway, the grey light of a winter’s morning making him shiver, and just as he reached the kitchen door, the grandfather clock chimed seven o’clock and made him jump. What was it with clocks like that? Why did it have to be so loud? His internal body clock was pretty accurate, so he’d never feel the need for a huge clock like that to remind him what time it was, even with the time difference.
The kitchen door was closed and he stood outside it, wondering if there was some upper-class custom that said you couldn’t enter when it was closed.
Then he heard laughter from behind it so he pressed his ear to the wood.
And listened.
He could hear Frankie and Freya, chattering away, as well as pots and pans clattering and clunking. What were they doing in there?
‘Can I help you?’
A voice from behind made him turn quickly and he lost his balance. He flung his arms out to steady himself and grabbed the kitchen door handle, which swung open under his weight, sending him flying into the kitchen.
He closed his eyes for a moment, willing what had just happened to undo, but when he opened them he found three women staring down at him: Freya, Frankie and Annie the housekeeper who’d startled him in the hallway.
‘Jonas!’ Freya knelt at his side. ‘Are you all right?’
Frankie knelt next to her and placed her hand on his arm. ‘Jonas? Can you hear us?’
He smiled then nodded. ‘I’m fine. I just slipped as I went to open the door.’
‘Hmmm.’ Annie’s noise of disapproval made him blush.
‘I wondered what was going on in here and didn’t want to come in unless it was OK to do so.’ He sat up and rubbed his shoulder, the part of him to hit the floor first. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’
‘It’s fine,’ Freya said as she stood up and held out a hand to him. ‘Frankie and I were making breakfast.’
There was a gasp from Annie as she entered the kitchen and looked around her at the mess. There were pots and pans on every surface, cracked eggs, bags of sugar and flour littered the island and Frankie and Freya were covered in flour too, as if they’d been throwing it up in the air then dancing around as it fell. But they were grinning broadly and the kitchen was filled with the most delicious aromas of cakes and pastries.
Jonas allowed Frankie to lead him to a stool at the island and to help him to sit down, even though she was much smaller than he was and even though he didn’t really need her help; his pride was a bit bruised but the rest of him wasn’t hurt at all.
‘Don’t worry, Annie, we’ll clean it all up.’ Freya gestured at the mess.
‘Yes, Annie, why don’t you go and relax?’ Frankie said. ‘In fact, take the day off.’
Annie frowned. ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that. Mr Ashford might need me.’
‘No, it’s fine. Go and have a nice day. Grandma’s not here and I’ll make sure your wages aren’t affected.’
Annie looked at the mess once more, then at Freya and Frankie, then she smiled briefly, as if she was unaccustomed to being given extra holidays.
‘Well… if you’re sure.’
‘I am! Bye!’ Frankie ushered the older woman from the kitchen then turned back to Jonas and Freya.
‘Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself, Jonas?’
‘I’m fine, honestly. I take it that you two have been having some fun?’
‘Oh yes.’ Freya opened the oven door and lifted out a tray of enormous muffins. ‘We’ve been baking together.’
‘For the first time.’ Frankie smiled then went and got a tray of pastries out of the other oven.
When she placed them on the island in front of Jonas, then met his gaze, there were tears in her eyes.
But Jonas could tell that they were happy ones.
Frankie finished loading the dishwasher then closed the door.
‘All done?’ Freya asked as she folded a cloth over and placed it next to the sink.
‘I think so.’ Frankie scanned the kitchen, looking for flour, utensils or crumbs that they might have missed during their big clean-up, but she didn’t spot any. Her eyes landed on Jonas who was sweeping the floor around the island in the middle of the kitchen. He was wearing a white T-shirt and baggy grey jogging bottoms that sat on his slim hips. He looked too big for the room, as if he was some kind of giant better suited to the wilds of Norway than an English kitchen. But he did look good, with his blond hair tied back from his face and his golden beard shining in the electric light.
‘Well, in that case, it’s time to eat!’ Freya announced.
‘Thank goodness for that. I’m losing weight as I sweep. And I can’t help drooling… over the food you’ve baked, I mean.’
Pink spots appeared on Jonas’s cheeks and Frankie wondered why he’d felt the need to mention the food. What else would he have been drooling over? Unless…
Surely it couldn’t be her in her silky pyjamas and apron, sleeves rolled up and covered in flour with her hair in a messy bun? She was hardly picture-perfect this morning but she didn’t care. She’d had a blast baking with Freya, and they had made muffins, cherry tarts, sultana scones and cheese scones. The kitchen smelt glorious, homely, and as Freya taught her how to rub butter into the flour for pastry and scones and how to rest the pastry before rolling it out, Frankie had felt the bond between them deepen. It was such a simple act, that of baking, but it could be so much fun. Freya had proved to be a patient teacher, evidently as keen to teach as Frankie was to learn, and Frankie had experienced a shifting inside, as she accepted that although they’d never be able to turn back the clock, they could build on their relationship from now on. Maybe even spend more days like this, waking early and enjoying a mug of tea as the sky outside turned from black to grey, as the house warmed up and the wind outside howled around, as the sky threatened more wintry weather. During the past few hours, even when Jonas had come down, Frankie had felt warmer than she ever had done before, as if the only thing that mattered was the here and now, right here at the heart of her home.
And it was all because of Freya. Her mother had come home. At last.
Of course, she was leaving the next day, but Frankie knew that they’d stay in touch now. As for Jonas, who knew? She really hoped so.
‘Jonas, help yourself now.’
‘He already has.’ Freya giggled. ‘But we do need more tea and perhaps someone should wake your father.’
‘No need.’ Hugo entered the kitchen, freshly shaven, showered and dressed. ‘The delicious aromas drifted up the stairs and woke me up. Looks like we’re in for a treat, eh, Jonas?’
Jonas nodded, pointing at his mouth to show that it was full of muffin.
‘I could get used to this,’ Hugo said quietly, as if to himself.
‘To having cakes baked for you in the morning?’ Freya asked as she switched the kettle on.
‘That…’ Hugo nodded. ‘And to having you all here, to having a family.’
So could I, Frankie thought. So could I.