Chapter Eleven

It was now May and a week had passed since they’d all been down at Anchor House and Mum had dropped her extraordinary bombshell.

In the days that followed, Willow was bombarded with texts and emails from Martha. She refused to acknowledge any of them until her sister apologised for being rude to Rick. Which eventually she did. Her tone on the phone was grudging, but Willow, who really didn’t like conflict, accepted the apology with good grace. Rick had claimed he hadn’t been offended by what Martha had said to him, but he must have been. He’d been made to feel he didn’t belong. ‘How can I make it up to you?’ she’d asked several times.

His response was the same. ‘The only thing I want you to do is move in with me.’

It was so sweet how eager he was for her to do that; he couldn’t wait for Simon and Lucy to fly back home.

For the time being, and instead of staying the occasional night with her, Rick now spent most nights with her. He kept his clothes on the bed in the spare room and was fastidious about shutting the door to keep out Simon and Lucy’s cats.

This morning, and having walked to Victoria Park, Willow and Rick were enjoying a lazy al fresco Sunday brunch at her favourite café overlooking the lake. She had just asked Rick if he would come with her to what Martha was grandly calling a family conference that afternoon.

‘But I’m not family,’ he said, sipping his black coffee. ‘Martha won’t want me there. She’s made her views very clear on that score.’

‘But I want you there, with me.’

He shook his head. ‘Your sister has her agenda, family business is family business, and I have to respect that.’

‘Not many men would be so understanding,’ Willow said.

‘Hopefully your sister will think the same and award me a few brownie points. But you know, I’m not so sure it’s even a good idea for you to go. All Martha is likely to do is complain that your mother doesn’t know what she’s doing. I should like to know what gives Martha the right to be so high-handed.’

‘It’s just her over-the-top way of showing concern. She’s always been like it. It’s a character trait she inherited from our father.’

‘Whereas you,’ Rick said with a smile, ‘are more like your mother, I hope.’

Willow smiled back at him. ‘I am.’

‘So, like I say, why go to your sister’s and be harangued for the afternoon. What good will it do anyway?’

‘Well, it is quite important, isn’t it? It’s not every day your mother announces that an old friend has moved into the house next door and they’ve fallen in love. And Dad’s only been dead two years; it’s all a bit sudden. How would you feel if it was your mother?’

The smile gone from his face, Rick flinched.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Willow said, ‘that was insensitive of me.’ Rick never spoke about his parents, other than to say they were both dead. She often tried to get him to open up about them, but he never did.