EVA: Hotel is fully booked.
ME: Really?
EVA: Yes. All week. By all accounts ppl think they can come here & get a glimpse of you both. Mostly full of under twenty-five-year-olds who spend too much time on TikTok. I’m not correcting them.
ME: False advertising.
EVA: That’s what photoshop is for, dear sister.
ME: You are savage, Evangeline.
EVA: Thank u. How’s the sexy duke? Have you banged him yet?
ME: How’s the earl?
EVA: No idea. Haven’t text him back yet.
ME: And you wonder why people call you a maneater.
EVA: Would I be a woman-eater if I was a lesbian?
ME: I’d assume so.
EVA: What would be I be if I were bi?
ME: Ask Twitter.
EVA: Lord, no. I’d rather gauge my eyeballs out with a rusty spoon than do that.
ME: Oh, you do still have some brains, then.
EVA: Don’t you have anything better to do?
ME: I do. You text me first, remember?
EVA: Balls.
ME: Exactly.
EVA: I miss you.
ME: Miss you, too. It’s not much longer.
EVA: Three weeks, Addy. THREE WEEKS. Just slice out my kidney, why don’t you?
ME: Too messy.
EVA: YOU’RE AWAY FOR OUR BIRTHDAY!
EVA: Do you know how many birthdays we’ve spent apart? None.
ME: …
EVA: NONE, ADELAIDE, NONE.
ME: You’re being co-dependent right now.
EVA: WE’RE TWINS. WE ARE CO-DEPENDENT.
ME: We’ll have to spend them apart one day.
EVA: Not this time. I’m going to speak to your fancy man and demand he returns you to sender for our birthday.
ME: He’s not my fancy man.
EVA: The papers say differently.
ME: Get a bloody hobby, Evangeline.
I tossed my phone down onto my bed and stared out of the window. I had the prettiest view of the woodland that stretched out to the side of the manor, and a flock of birds took flight from somewhere within it. They looped through the air until they disappeared into tiny black dots.
Eva was right. I’d almost forgotten that our birthday was coming up, and we really had never spent it apart. It was one of those things about being a twin, and despite the fact we were edging ever closer to thirty, we still did a lot of things together.
That’s why this whole thing with me being here was a lot.
I was wondering if it was starting to take a toll on me. I’d only seen her once in three weeks, and we hadn’t spent that much time together at the gala weekend.
I wondered if Alex wouldn’t mind if I went home for my birthday. I would have to ask him—if we ever spoke to one another again.
Oh, that was a little dramatic. Of course we would speak again. It might just take us a little time to get back to normal.
As it were, I didn’t have much more time on my hands to think about that. I needed to get out of the house more than ever, and Millie had texted me earlier to let me know that the cross-stitch club was meeting tonight.
That was exactly where I was heading now.
There was still no sign of Alex as I made my way through the house and out to my car, pausing only to let Boris know I was going out, just in case anyone asked.
The drive into Whitborough was as easy as always, and there was no traffic in the shape of sheep this time around. Nor tractors—and that was perhaps rarer than the former.
There were always tractors, and they were always moving things like sheep and hay bales when you were running ten minutes late and could not afford to go ten miles an hour on a single-track road with zero overtaking places.
Not that I was bitter about that or anything.
Finding a parking space was a little tougher than last time, on account of the fact we were smack-bang in the middle of August and the village was surrounded by staycation-lovers who wanted a bit of a countryside break before the school year restarted in September.
After putting my parking ticket on the dashboard, I walked through the village to The Pheasant Arms. I opened the door and wrinkled my nose—it was catastrophically busy here, and this was a far cry from the previous meeting.
Was it even possible to cross-stitch in this noise and mess?
Was everyone here yet?
How would I even know?
Oh, Jesus. This was a nightmare. I should have known better than to come out, no matter how badly I needed to get out of Bentley Manor.
Sleepy little English towns were just that—until they weren’t.
Which was far too frequently in my opinion.
“Adelaide!”
I turned at the sound of Millie’s voice and found her waving at me from their usual spot in front of the fire. Grateful that she’d been looking out for me, I shoved my way through the crowd. Florence made Helena move along the sofa, something she wasn’t all too pleased about—although I rather suspected Helena wasn’t too pleased about many things where I was concerned—and I plopped my backside in the empty spot.
“Gosh. It’s mental here. What’s going on?” I asked, setting my handbag by my feet.
“There’s a small music festival not far away,” Millie explained. “It’s why Grandpa stayed at home tonight. Too many people.”
I peered over the back of the sofa and looked around. She was right; the crowd was largely younger people and not so many kids. “How terrible.”
Maggie chuckled. “Spoken like a true country girl.”
Helena snorted.
Florence side-eyed her. “Something to say, Helena?”
“No.”
“Then be quiet,” she concluded.
I bit my lower lip to stop myself laughing. Sure, Florence looked all sweet and nice and like the kind of gentle grandmother who knitted baby booties and hats to donate to the local NICU ward, but she had a wicked tongue.
I knew I didn’t want to get on her bad side.
“There’s no need to be so rude,” Helena replied, prodding her needle through her cross-stitch design.
“That’s why I told you to be quiet,” Florence promptly shot back, drawing herself a stern glare from the other woman.
Maggie chuckled and pulled a ring out of her bag. “Adelaide, dear, I remembered a training pattern for you. It’s rather garish and childlike, but it’s the simplest one I had.”
I took the cross-stitching hoop she offered me and studied the design that was printed on the cloth.
A rainbow.
“Well, fortunately, I know a ten-year-old who happens to be rather fond of rainbows.” I grinned. “Thank you, Maggie. It’s sweet of you.”
“Can you get started by yourself?” She passed me five skeins of cross-stitching thread and a case with needles in. “Or do you need a hand?”
“Um.”
“I’ll help you, dear,” Florence said, setting hers down. “Oh, good. Maggie assembled the hoop. That can be a bit tricky at first. Now…”
Florence guided me through getting set up and starting, including the best way to start, in her opinion. It turned out that everyone had a different way of doing it—not that Helena offered her way, naturally—and it didn’t take me long to find a bit of a rhythm.
Following a pattern was harder than I’d thought it would be. It was one thing to randomly stitch everywhere, it was another entirely to do what it said on the bit of fabric-thingy I had to stitch on.
Dear God. How did these guys do it without a printed pattern?
I’d barely gotten through a quarter of the red part of the rainbow when Helena spoke up.
“So, Adelaide,” she said with a snideness in her voice that made me bristle. “I saw online that you’re seeing the duke.”
“Well, you know what Abraham Lincoln once said, don’t you?” I replied brightly.
“What?”
“Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”
Millie giggled, dipping her head.
“Abraham Lincoln died before the Internet,” Helena said, peering over at me.
I fought a smile. “That’s the joke.”
“It’s not very funny.”
“Not to you,” Millie said dryly. “I thought it was.”
“You have a questionable sense of humour,” Helena replied.
“Better to have a questionable one than not one at all.”
I had to agree with that.
“But now that we find ourselves on the subject,” Millie said, turning her attention back to me and paying Helena’s ever-present glare no mind. “We did see it in the papers and online. I was going to text you, but Maggie told me not to.”
“I said you’d tell us in your own good time,” Maggie confirmed, leaning over. “Watch that stitch, dear.”
I glanced down. I was about to double-cross a stitch. “Thank you.”
“Now answer the question.”
I shook my head, laughing. “Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”
Florence cackled while Millie frowned at me.
“That’s not an answer!” Millie pouted.
“I can neither confirm nor deny the reports,” I said carefully, dropping my gaze so none of them could draw the truth out of me.
“It isn’t true,” Helena deduced. Truthfully, too.
“Oh, really?” Millie asked. “If it weren’t true, she’d say so. If you ask me, it’s something they’re trying to keep to themselves, but the papers have run away with the story like they usually do.”
Maggie snorted. “The papers? Running away with a story? Surely not.”
“Well, there was that time Arthur Miller’s duck went on her jollies from his farm and the local paper reported a platypus on the loose,” Florence recounted, smiling dreamily as she looked up. “That was rather fun. Imagine having one hundred people searching for a platypus.”
“In Whitborough?” Maggie asked, chuckling. “Who on Earth would think there would be a platypus in Whitborough?”
“It could have escaped from the zoo.” Helena picked up her glass of wine and sipped. “You never know.”
“Seventy miles away? Behave, Helena.”
“We’ve taken rather a wild turn from Adelaide and Alexander to a duck turned platypus, haven’t we?” Maggie didn’t miss a trick as she expertly cross-stitched what I now knew was a rooster. “I don’t believe we got an answer.”
“And you shan’t receive one,” I replied primly. “As I said, I can neither confirm nor deny what is in the papers. I’m here to escape Bentley Manor for a while—would anyone mind if we discussed something else? Like the weather, perhaps?”
“It does look rather grim for the next few days.” Millie set down her hoop and picked up her glass. “Has anyone seen that thunderstorm we’re due in two days? I don’t know if the allotments will survive it. It looks like a bad one.”
And just like that, Millie saved my arse.
***
“Thank you for saving me,” I said, pausing behind my car. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Millie grinned. “Saving you? What do you mean?”
I nudged her. “Come on. The thunderstorm? Talk about a British deflection.”
She laughed and shrugged, putting her hands in the pockets of her cardigan. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean.”
“Millie, you are a treasure.” I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her cheek. “For what it’s worth, I really can’t tell you either way.”
“I figured as much.” She squeezed me before she stepped back. “Look, it’s none of anyone’s business. I haven’t spoken to Alex properly in years, but I know he’s a good man. A truly good man who loves his family.” She smiled. “He’s had a lot of hurt in his life, but regardless of that… Oh, Addy, whether your relationship is real, media-made, or something you want to keep secret, I’m sure there’s a very good reason for it.”
I swallowed. I barely knew Millie, yet she understood. “There is,” I said after a moment.
“And I will not force the subject,” she said softly, holding onto my hands. “I know we don’t know one another very well, but I’d like to think we’re friends. Or could be. I know you’re not here for long, but if you need to talk to anyone… I’m here.”
“Thank you.” I pulled her into another warm hug before stepping back. “I should get back before it gets dark. I don’t fancy driving on those roads at night.”
“Good decision.” She tucked her tote bag under her arm and waved as she headed towards her car. “I’ll see you next time?”
“I think so!” I waved and got into my car. It was much quieter now than it had been when I’d gotten here, and that made the drive out of the car park and through Whitborough much more enjoyable.
I did make it back to Bentley Manor before darkness started to fall, and I wasn’t the only one who’d made it back.
Alexander’s car was here.
Knowing how astutely he’d avoided me all day, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already gone to bed to ensure we didn’t run into one another.
I wouldn’t blame him if he had. After a couple of hours with Helena, I was more than ready to go to bed myself.
She was exhausting.
I got out of the car and let myself into the house. It was eerily quiet, and I carefully pushed the door closed without making more than the barest of clicks as the latch sealed.
Where was everyone?
All right, so I assumed Olympia was in bed as it was past nine o’clock, but that didn’t explain the absence of everyone else.
Actually, Elizabeth usually retired to her bedroom at this time, as did Boris.
Never mind.
I’d answered my own questions.
I was hungry, so after taking off my shoes and putting them in the closet near to the front door, I took my bag into the kitchen with me to get something to eat. I settled on a sandwich and a packet of custard creams—yes, the entire packet, don’t judge me.
I sat at the counter and opened my phone to catch up on Instagram while I ate. It was all the same old, same old bullshit. I congratulated a friend whose boyfriend had proposed on the beach at sunset, watched a quick reel on the best way to clean your toilet, and mindlessly liked a few photos of friends at dinners or parties or in nice new clothes.
See?
Same old bullshit.
Also, everyone knew how to clean a toilet. If you couldn’t pick up a toilet brush, I wanted to know why.
And what did everyone have against sunrise? Propose at sunrise instead, damn it.
After the sandwich, I debated making a cup of tea to dip more custard creams in, but the sound of approaching footsteps made me pause.
Those footsteps belonged to Alexander.
How did I know that?
That was weird.
I shoved a custard cream in my mouth and was just about to bite into a second when he walked into the kitchen and paused.
He glanced down at the packet in front of me and looked back up at my obviously full mouth with his lips twitching to one side.
“Want one?” I asked through the mouthful of biscuit and held out the packet.
“No… You keep those.” He strode into the kitchen and checked the water level in the kettle. “Would you like a side of tea with your custard creams?”
“You know, I was just considering making one.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, please.” I grinned before biting down into another biscuit.
Alex set about making two cups of tea, and I continued my mindless scrolling on my phone until he set a mug on a coaster in front of me. “Here you go.”
“Ooh, thank you.” I grabbed another biscuit and dipped it in the hot tea.
No.
There was not a limit to the number of custard creams one could consume in a single sitting.
You know… In case you were wondering.
“Sure you don’t want one?” I asked, offering him the packet again.
Alex shook his head and rested his forearms on the island. “No, thank you. I’m more of a bourbon or a chocolate digestive kinda guy.”
“Ooh, I love bourbons. Are you why I couldn’t find those in the pantry?”
“Yes. I hide them or everyone else eats them.” He glanced at the half-eaten packet of custard creams.
“It sounds like you’re judging me right now,” I replied slowly, yet my hand still reached out for another biscuit.
He noticed, and his lips tugged into a small smile. “Do you care?”
“Not particularly.” I retrieved the biscuit I was after and dipped it in my tea again. Unfortunately for me, the worst happened.
It broke it two.
Half of my custard cream broke off and sank sadly to the bottom of my mug.
“Nooo!” I stared into the mug and then looked up at Alex. “I’ve been betrayed by a biscuit.”
“You should put that on a t-shirt,” he retorted, lifting his own mug of biscuit-less tea to his lips and sipping.
Well, that was rude.
I sighed. “I bet that was a perfectly good cup, too. Hey, do you think I can scoop it out with a spoon?” I jumped up from the stool.
Frowning, Alex exchanged his mug for mine and swept it away before I could grab a spoon to test my theory.
“Hey!”
“I’m making you another one,” he replied, carrying it to the sink.
“It’s just a little biscuit!”