and already she carried the responsibility for her two disabled parents. The psychologist had warned her that some of the children might be like this.
‘How would you like something to do?’
At this, Molly brightened. Just as Louise had guessed, she would feel less uncomfortable…less guilty…if she had a job to do.
‘You lot are eating cakes faster than I can bake them. I was planning to do a chocolate one today and I could do with an extra pair of hands.’
For the first time that week, Molly smiled. ‘Sure. I can help.’
As they measured and mixed and washed up back in Whitehaven’s kitchen, Molly began to relax a little. Louise took the opportunity to dispense a little wisdom.
‘It’s okay to enjoy yourself, you know.’
Molly frowned. ‘I know that.’
Hoping that this would be the right time, she walked over to her and put an arm gently round her shoulders. ‘You don’t have to feel guilty for being here, for having a nice time. It’s what the scheme is all about.’
Molly sniffed. ‘I know that. It’s just that I feel bad leaving Mum and Dad alone while I get to stay in a beautiful place like this…and with you. It’s too nice.’
One-handed, Louise tore a piece of kitchen towel off the roll on the table and handed it to the girl. ‘Molly…’ Oh, blow, she was tearing up too. She grabbed a piece for herself as well. ‘You work hard all year round. Much harder than other kids your age. You deserve this, you really do. And your parents would want you to enjoy yourself while you’re here, not spend the whole time worrying about them or feeling guilty.’
As she hugged Molly, she could suddenly picture her own father’s face the day she’d run home from the supermarket and told him about the modelling scout. He’d been so proud of her! And never once had he said anything to make her feel as if she was abandoning him. He’d been such a special man.
And yet, for all these years, she’d held on to the same feeling that was eating Molly alive. The girl beside her started to tremble and Louise pulled her close for a proper hug. ‘Is it really okay?’ Molly whispered.
‘Yes.’ The kitchen distorted and became all blurry. Louise’s lip began to wobble. ‘Yes, it is.’
Ben walked into Mrs Green’s shop on a crisp May morning to get his usual paper. She’d been as meek as a lamb with him since that incident at Christmas. Louise now had a most loyal supporter in her. And that was good. For Louise. The tide of opinion might turn one person at a time, but it was still turning in the right direction.
Thoughts of Louise led to thoughts of Whitehaven and its luscious gardens. He would have loved to have seen how the gardens had turned out, if they matched the vision in his head when he’d drawn up the plans. Best of all would be the places he hadn’t touched, the woods full of foxgloves and bluebells. Sometimes you had to know when to stop meddling and let things be, to let them retain their natural beauty.
He reached the counter and Mrs Green just handed him a paper without asking which one. Then she handed him a glossy women’s magazine, not one of the cheap, gossipy ones, but one of the high-fashion mags that also ran articles on serious subjects.
‘A bit old for Jas, Mrs Green,’ he said, without looking at it, and handed it back to her.
She shook her head. ‘I thought you might be interested.’
Him? He started to chuckle, but a glimpse of a pair of dark and stormy eyes on the cover made him look a little closer. Louise. She’d done an interview. He moved out of the way of the counter so the person behind him could pay and scrabbled through the pages until he found the article he was looking for. It was a long one.
He read it as he walked down the hill back to the cottage. He was working from home today. More than once he stopped in the middle of the road and shook his head. Especially when he realised he’d forgotten to pay Mrs Green. She’d understand. Then he started to smile, even though the ache in his chest that he thought had dulled a little in the last few months began to quietly throb again.
Amazing. He’d always said so. And here she was believing it. Living it.
Not only had she done something amazing at Whitehaven, she was doing the interview to raise the profile of the charity she was now patron of. Relief were lobbying the Government for new funding for child carers, not just respite care but proper practical help on a day-to-day basis.
And Louise Thornton, the woman who would rather cut off her right arm than talk to a journalist, had not only given an interview-and let the photographers into the new apartments at Whitehaven-but had opened up about her own childhood, her own lack of education, in an effort to prevent more children from living through the same things. He felt his chest expand as he read that she was planning to study part-time for a degree in child psychology.
He reached his front door and misjudged putting the key in the lock because he just couldn’t stop reading. He flicked the magazine closed so he could stare at the cover. Yes, the eyes were dark and intense, as always, but they were no longer empty.
This could be the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Apart from jumping the gun on New Year’s Eve, that was. Ben tied his dinghy on to the iron ring outside Louise’s boathouse and wondered whether he should just sail straight back across the river because, actually, he’d been right the first time. This
It was just past noon and the most glorious summer day. He stood for a moment on the jetty and considered his next move. Where was Louise likely to be at this time of day?
It saddened him that he didn’t know, that her life had changed so much since he’d last seen her. But at the same time he was immensely proud of her. He’d seen all that potential inside of her, but it took strength of character and guts to turn that into something real.
Something flashed up on the boathouse balcony and he immediately craned his neck to see what it was. The sun had bounced off the glass part of the door as it had opened and out stepped…Louise.
She was wearing a faint smile and her long chocolate-brown hair glowed chestnut in the sunshine. He couldn’t move, suddenly didn’t know what to say. If it was possible, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was-or maybe she had just got more beautiful, because there was something different about her.
She rested her hands on the edge of the balcony and leaned forward, breathing in the salty river air.
And then she saw him and stiffened in surprise. He couldn’t hear her from where he was standing, but he was sure he saw her mouth his name. The lapping of the river, the constant shrieking of the seagulls all died away as they both stood frozen to the spot, staring at each other.
She smiled. And then he was running-up the jetty, up the steps to the boathouse’s upper room. He made himself stop when he got to the door that led on to the narrow balcony, half worried she would disappear into thin air if he got too close.
She was leaning against the rail, her back to the river. Her long, frilly-edged skirt fidgeted in the breeze. ‘Ben,’ she repeated. Her smile was soft and warm, with a hint of sadness. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
He nodded. Nothing sensible was going to come out of his mouth unless he got his act together. ‘You too.’
His heart started to pound in his chest as he crossed the threshold on to the balcony. He was close enough to touch her now, but he wouldn’t-not yet.
‘I saw the article in the magazine.’
Okay. If this was as smooth as he was going to get, he might just as well jump back into his dinghy right now.
She nodded. ‘I’m going to be in the spotlight whether I like it or not, so I might as well get to choose where it shines.’ She looked at her feet, then back up at him. ‘So, Ben Oliver, why are you trespassing on my land again after all this time?’
It was a joke and he was supposed to laugh, but he seemed to have lost the knack.
‘I…um…forgot to give you something.’
She frowned and her eyebrows arched in the middle. ‘When?’
‘At Christmas.’
His heart slunk into his boots. On the way over here this had seemed clever, now it just seemed…lame.
‘Christmas was a long time ago.’
He reached into his pocket and his fingers closed around the palm-sized box hidden there. ‘I know. But some gifts have their own seasons. This one was a little early back then.’
She bit her lip. ‘Am I going to like this gift?’
