Sam laughs, his voice husky with sleep. ‘Chit-chat? Do people still say that?’
Sophie pulls on her jeans and zips the zipper. ‘Well, I do.’ She glances at her watch. ‘Oh, God. It’s nine already. The consortium’s meeting in New York at two.’
Sam takes hold of Sophie’s wrist, covering the watch with his hand. ‘Hold on. Sit down. Please.’
Sophie sits on the bundled sheets with a huff. ‘Yes?’
‘You’ve got plenty of time. We’re an hour and a half ahead of New York, remember?’ Sam turns over her hand in his. He traces his finger along her palm. Sophie swallows, willing the shocks snapping in her body to stop.
‘It’s Winny, isn’t it?’ he says.
Sophie’s shoulders slump. How can he read me so well?
‘I’m not Winny, Sam.’
His finger runs up the side of her ring finger, cresting the tip, sliding down the other side like a skier on a steep slope. ‘I never said you were.’
‘You did. You just said my eyes were like Winny’s.’
‘Well, they are. And they’re like Ellie’s too. And Becca’s.’ The swooping finger, sliding up her index finger and down to the base of her thumb.
‘I’m not Winny.’
‘I know. Believe me, I know. You’re Sophie and you’re …’ he chuckles ‘… you’re impossible.’
Sophie tugs to free her hand but he holds fast. ‘I’m impossible? What about you? Stomping around the place like some … like some bloody biker in the middle of nowhere? You had a successful business in Boston. Why are you even here?’
‘I like it here.’ He shakes his head. ‘Impossible.’ He takes her ring finger into his mouth.
Sophie closes her eyes. ‘Oh, God.’
***
‘Stay here as long as you like. I’ve set up my laptop for you and lit the fire.’
Sophie slides onto the bench. ‘Are you sure? You know you’re sleeping with the enemy?’
‘Can’t be the first time that’s happened in the history of the world. And I’m still not going to sell. Even if you do that thing you did last night again.’
‘Sam!’
Sam ducks as Tigger shoots across the room into the kitchen. He takes a quick sip of coffee from the World’s Greatest Dad mug and sets it on the kitchen counter as Bear lumbers across the living room rug to join him. ‘I’ll pick up something for dinner. Try to pull Becca away from Toby to join us. I’ll tell Ellie you’re eating here tonight.’
‘No, it’s Aunt Ellie’s birthday. Florie’s throwing a surprise party, remember?’ Sophie drops her head into her hands. ‘I probably shouldn’t go. Everybody in Tippy’s Tickle hates me.’
‘That’s no reason not to go.’
Sophie jerks her head up. ‘You agree with me?’
Sam shrugs. ‘I’ve got to agree with you sometimes.’
‘Yes, but not when I don’t want you to.’
‘I’ll come by before the party,’ he says, grinning. ‘We can go over together. That’ll give them all something to talk about.’ He grabs his jean jacket off a peg and heads towards the porch.
‘I’ll need to go over earlier to change and spruce myself up. I’ll see you there later.’
Spinning around, Sam strides back to Sophie and plants a kiss on her lips.
‘I don’t think you need any sprucing up.’
Sophie smiles. ‘Oh, do you have phone charger I could borrow? I’ve got an iPhone like yours and my battery’s run out.’
‘Sure. In the drawer by the sink. You’ll find one in there.’
Sophie watches him as he walks towards the porch, the dog at his heels. She is still smiling when the door slams.
***
Sophie rubs her bare arms and snuggles deeper into the sofa cushions. She glances over at the wood burner, but there’s no sign of the fire Sam had set that morning. She sniffs; the acrid, smoky smell of something burning hangs in the air.
Setting Sam’s laptop on the coffee table, she pads across the braided rug to the kitchen and pulls open the cupboard doors. She checks the plugs and the appliances, but there’s no sign of anything burning. Probably just some lingering smoke from the morning’s fire.
She heats up a mug of coffee in the microwave and meanders back into the living room. The picture of Sam, Winny and Becca catches her eye and she walks over to the table and picks it up. She’s nothing like Winny, with her slim, blonde beauty. She’d inherited her father’s brown hair and modest stature. But she did have the Burgess blue-grey eyes. They’re your best feature, her mother used to say. In fact, your only good feature, Sophie. Otherwise, you’re fairly ordinary, but beauty isn’t everything. It didn’t do your aunt any good. Look at the trouble she caused your grandfather.
Settling back on the sofa, she sets the laptop on her lap and rereads the document she’s been working on for Richard. In response to her morning email about the villagers’ unanimous vote not to sell, Richard had emailed her back to say the consortium were determined to “plough forward”. It’s nothing that adding a few more zeros won’t solve, he’d said. Everybody’s got their price. Everybody.
She glances at her watch, which is still on New York time. One fifty-five. Just in time for Richard’s two o’clock meeting with the consortium. He’s probably flapping around his office like the buzzard he’s starting to look like, cursing her for taking so long to send him her report. But it’s a delicate situation, what with her aunt and Sam being involved, and she’d wanted to get it right.
Taking a deep breath, she presses Send.
Chapter 68
Norwich – 3 September 1953
‘Oh, my God.’
George turns over in the bed. ‘What? What is it, darling?’
Groaning, Dottie throws off the bedcovers and clutches her belly. ‘Something’s wrong.’ She turns on her side and curls into a foetal position, panting between whimpers.
George tries to speak, but his eyes are locked on to the spreading red stain on the bed where Dottie has been lying. He stumbles out of the bed, knocking over the table lamp, which crashes to the floor, exploding
