come so far. In the last few months she’d started to feel less like Toby’s wife and more like someone else. It would be so easy to fall into the role of the woman who adored Ben Oliver, and nothing else.
Dangerous.
She looked around the room. As a declaration of independence, she ought to just pack it all up and leave it outside the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. If she did, the boathouse would seem as stripped and hollow as the mansion sitting on the hill, and she’d come here to escape that.
The decorations piled in the cardboard box twinkled, begging her to let them fulfil their purpose, and she obliged them, hanging each one with care from the soft pine needles, hoping that the repetitive action would lull her into a trance.
When she’d finished, she pulled the patchwork quilt off the day-bed, draped it around her shoulders and sat on the floor in front of the fire, her back supported by one of the wicker chairs. In the silence, all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing and the happy licking of the flames. She hadn’t been sitting there more than a few minutes when there was a knock at the door.
She stared at it.
Whoever it was-and let’s face it, she’d win no prizes for guessing who-knocked again. Slowly, Louise rose to her feet, keeping the quilt wrapped tightly around her, and walked over to open it. Her heart jumped as if it were on a trampoline when she saw him standing there, his wet hair plastered to his face, a large brown paper bag in one hand and a rucksack in the other.
‘Ben.’
Nice, she thought. Eloquent.
‘Louise.’
At least they both seemed to be afflicted by the same disease.
He brandished the paper bag. ‘Can I come in?’
She stepped back to let him pass and he handed her the paper bag, which was warm and smelled of exotic spices. He moved past her and placed the rucksack on the floor.
‘I ought not to let you in, really. Seeing as you’ve already indulged in a spot of breaking and entering today.’ She kept her voice deliberately flat and emotionless.
He stopped halfway through struggling off his green waxed coat. ‘You don’t like it? Oh, Louise! I’m so sorry. I was just trying to…’
How could she be cross with this wonderful, sweet man? She grabbed the back of his coat with one hand and tugged at it, smiling. ‘You succeeded.’
The relief on his face was palpable. ‘Thank goodness for that. I have food in here and I didn’t want to have to sail it back across the river and eat it cold.’
She peered in the top of the brown bag. ‘Curry? That’s not very traditional.’
Ben took the bag from her and began unpacking its contents on to the low coffee table in the centre of the room. ‘Nonsense. I’m sure I read somewhere that Chicken Tikka Masala has now overtaken traditional Sunday roast as the nation’s favourite dish.’
Louise reached for the old picnic set and pulled out a couple of plates and some cutlery, grateful she’d given it all a thorough wash yesterday. Pretty soon they were sitting in the wicker chairs, feasting on a selection of different curries, pilau rice and naan breads. She broke a crunchy onion bhaji apart with her fingers and dipped it in some mango chutney before popping it in her mouth.
While she ate her bhaji, she looked at Ben, who was absorbed in his meal. Finally, when he glanced in her direction, he froze.
‘What?’
How did she say how much this all meant to her? There just weren’t enough words, so she settled for simple and elegant. ‘Thank you, Ben.’
The hesitation in his eyes turned to warmth.
‘Why did you…I mean…why…all this?’
He put his plate down and looked at her long and hard. ‘I reckoned you needed some cheering up. I remember how awful it was my first Christmas without Jas.’ He gave a half-grin. ‘Put it down to me being a single dad with too much time on his hands. Jas is away, my parents live in Spain now and my sister has gone to visit her in-laws. I can’t even rely on work to be my saviour-no one wants any gardening done at this time of year.’
Oh, that just sounded too good to be true. Too nice.
‘Yes, but you didn’t have to do all
Oh, Lord! Had she really just said that? Her cheeks flamed and burned.
Ben’s grin turned to stone and he stood up and practically threw his naan bread down on the table. ‘If that’s what you think, I’d better leave.’
Instantly, she was on her feet. ‘No! I’m so sorry! I don’t know what made me say that. After you’ve been so kind…’ At that moment, she hated herself more than she’d ever done for wearing fake smiles in front of the paparazzi and pretending her life with Toby was a glorious dream.
Ben was pulling his coat on, his back to her. She laid a hand on the still-wet sleeve, tears blurring her vision. ‘Please, Ben! It’s just…’ Oh, hell. Her throat closed up and she couldn’t hide the emotion in her voice. ‘Nobody ever does something for me without wanting something-without wanting
He turned to face her, his expression softening slightly. ‘Really? No one?’
She shook her head, too ashamed to speak any more. How did you tell a man like him that nobody had ever thought enough of you to make that kind of effort? She always had to earn people’s love-by being the one who gave and gave and gave. Even Toby had only kept around as long as he had because it was good for his image, nothing more. And her younger brothers and sisters had grown up thinking she never needed anything, and they had their own lives now. It was their turn to shine. She couldn’t burden them with all her problems.
She turned away from him and sank down into the nearest chair, hiding her face in her hands. ‘Oh, God. I’m such a mess.’
Ben wasn’t sure what to do. Louise had the ability to make his head swim, to prompt him into doing outrageous things that the sensible side of his brain knew he shouldn’t be doing. He looked round at the holly, the candles, the stupid tree. It was all too much.
Then he did a double-take and looked at the tree again. It was dripping with baubles. He’d abandoned the box when he’d seen Louise emerge from the woods, deciding it was best not to be standing there like a prize banana when she walked in. But, while he’d been away getting the curry, she’d decorated the
Louise was sitting, all curled in on herself, staring at the floor. With startling clarity he realised she was one of those people who didn’t know how to accept things. She gave of herself constantly-any fool could see that if they looked hard enough-but she’d forgotten that giving was only half of the equation. Or perhaps she’d never known.
He’d pieced enough together from their chats over the last couple of months to realise that she’d had it tough growing up. She’d always had to be the responsible one, the one who carried everyone else. No wonder she didn’t know how to receive what had been freely given. And her life since her childhood hadn’t helped. Every good deed came with a web of strings attached.
He pulled his coat off and hung it on the hat stand. Louise turned round and stared at him, her mouth gaping in shock.
She hadn’t expected him to stay. Not even after her heartfelt apology. Why did she think so little of herself?
He refused to answer the questions written all over her face with words. Instead, he walked calmly over to the chair he’d just vacated, sat down and crossed one leg over the other, resting his ankle on the other knee. She arranged her features into a more neutral expression and relaxed back into her chair, but her hands stayed tightly clasped in her lap.
‘I don’t know about you,’ he said, ‘but I could do with some dessert.’
Louise’s mouth formed a circle of surprise. ‘Dessert?’
