Page 26 of Beyond Her Manner
“I guess at times you can be”—Bridget’s eyes flickered around the room, avoiding contact with Gillian’s—“a little insensitive to others.”
She was about to react, but noticing a hint of regret on Bridget’s face, she took a deep breath instead — only to hear Bridget continuing on.
“If you tried a different approach, you would get a different reaction. You tend to bulldoze and—”
Gillian raised her hand to stop her. “That’s enough honesty for today; thank you, Bridget.” She’d heard more than she needed. She wasn’t even sure why she was discussing it with her — perhaps hoping it would ease some of her guilt — but it wasn’t working. If anything, it only made her feel worse.
Bridget was right in one respect: If she and Viola were going to be neighbours, then they needed to find a way to get along. Despite her irritation at seeing the younger woman possess everything Gillian longed to reclaim, she felt an inexplicabledraw to her. With a curiosity she could barely admit to herself, she had started watching Viola’s performances on YouTube, finding herself completely immersed in them. She reasoned with herself, attributing her fascination to the captivating voice of the singer, who possessed a knack for drawing in her audience. Shaking thoughts of Viola away, she focused on her guest and their plans for this year’s flower show.
When they had finished their tea and laid out plans, Bridget excused herself. She was due to play bridge after lunch with Louisa and Elouise, a tradition the three of them and Gillian had in the past upheld every week. Since losing the manor, though, Gillian refused to host the game in her pokey lodge. There wasn’t enough space for a table, and she’d be damned if she was playing at the kitchen table. The fewer people who saw the less-than-ideal conditions of her current living situation, the better.
Even though Louisa and Elouise offered to host up at Kingsford House, Gillian couldn’t face the humiliation of playing in someone else’s home. She was a hostess; it was her role. She didn’t know how to be a guest. Bridget had informed her they made up a fourth by having Louisa persuade their cleaner to play, so she assumed she wasn’t even missed.
Feeling the need for a walk and fresh air to lift her mood, Gillian devoured a quick lunch and headed out. She allowed her feet to carry her wherever they pleased. If she happened to bump into Viola along the way, then so be it.
Her feet led her to what had become a familiar route through the village to the church and back to the bench overlooking the estate. A place that held memories of peace, and echoes of unresolved emotions. She sat, unsure exactly what she was doing there yet unable to resist the pull that drew her to it. Was part of her hoping to find Viola after all?
Viola stared out the kitchen window at Gillian Carmichael as the heat from her mug warmed her hands. It was the third afternoon in a row that she’d parked herself on the bench since their previous meeting.
Taking a sip of coffee, she contemplated whether she’d been too harsh in snapping at the woman when all she’d said was that she knew grief. Everyone dealt with it differently, so who was Viola to judge and measure that? It wasn’t comparable to her feelings of loss, nor should it be. People processed it in their own unique way.
Her phone vibrated on the worktop, interrupting her thoughts. The illuminated screen readCaroline. Viola picked up, grateful for the distraction.
“Sorry I haven’t checked in,” Caroline said immediately. “I’ve been up to my lady balls at work. How was the party? I’ll make the next one, I promise.”
Viola sighed. “Not sure there will be a next one.”
Caroline tetched. “That bad?”
“Let’s say it did little to lift my spirits.”
“Sorry to hear that. What are you up to today?”
“At this exact moment, I’m watching Gillian Carmichael sitting on a bench in my garden.”
A confused-sounding Caroline questioned her further. “Can she do that?”
“Technically, yes. As it’s on the public footpath that crosses my land, she has every right to sit there.”
Viola wondered if she only had a right to pass through her land and not sit there for hours.
“And why is she there?” Caroline asked.
“I’m trying to figure that out myself. Last time we spoke, she…” Viola trailed off, catching herself before admitting that Gillian had brought her to tears. That wasn’t entirely accurate, though; those tears had already been brimming before their conversation. All Gillian had done was give her a push over the edge. “We didn’t exactly see eye to eye,” she finished lamely.
Viola caught sight of the handkerchief Gillian gave her, now sitting on the worktop clean and folded, ready to be returned. She briefly contemplated stuffing it through Gillian’s letterbox and never speaking to her again.
“Maybe she wants to apologise?” Caroline suggested. “For whatever it was you didn’t see eye to eye on.”
“Mark her territory, more like,” Viola said, turning her attention back to Gillian, who hadn’t moved an inch since she’d appeared there half an hour ago.
“Afraid she’ll pee up the bench?”
Viola scrunched her face. “Eww.” Over Caroline’s laughter, she added, “You’re probably not wrong, though. I wouldn’t put it past her to mark everything she thought was hers. Which is basically anything that is now mine.”
“Then go and reclaim your bench.”
She thought back to the plaque she had seen on it and pulled her lips to one side. “I’m not sure it’s mine to reclaim.”
