Page 33 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
Vicky couldn’t imagine that Jeremy would be interested in the contents of those old trunks, but her sister was already dragging him up the stairs.
“I’ll put the lunch on then . . .”
At least it would give her a few minutes alone to think. Although she wasn’t sure that she wanted to think. Thinking might lead her to a conclusion she wasn’t quite ready to face just yet.
Because when Jeremy had walked into the cottage she hadn’t felt a thing — or rather, instead of the electric tingle she felt around Tom Cullen she had felt a thud like a cold lead weight.
Which was a bit scary.
She had lain awake for hours last night, her mind churning with the dilemma that she had posed for herself in the pub. Her heart was nudging her to find a way to stay here, but her head was reminding her to be sensible. After all, it would be a huge decision to overturn her whole life in one go.
But if she felt so uninspired by the future mapped out in front of her now, when she was supposed to be looking forward eagerly to her wedding, how would she feel five years, ten years down the line?
To distract herself from that uncomfortable train of thought, she bustled around the kitchen, preparing lunch. She made a Mediterranean chickpea salad — she used canned chickpeas andbottled vinaigrette, but Jeremy wouldn’t know the difference if she tucked the evidence well out of sight in the bin.
She cut up a couple of bread rolls and left them to warm in the oven while she mixed the garlic butter. The other two seemed to be taking a long time upstairs — a glance at the clock on the wall told her they’d been gone for more than twenty minutes. Jeremy must have been more interested in the costumes than she had expected.
She was thinking about going to call them when she finally heard their footsteps coming down the stairs.
Jayde breezed into the room, her eyes bright. “Mmm — something smells good. I love garlic bread.”
It looked as if she’d been trying on some of the costumes — her hair was ruffled and her T-shirt was caught up in the back of her jeans.
“Come and sit down.” Vicky set the bowl of salad on the table and took the rolls from the oven. “Help yourselves.” She sat down and picked up her fork. “So what did you think of that stuff?”
“Very... interesting.” Jeremy reached across and took a roll.
“I wonder where she got them from?” Jayde mused, carefully sorting out the ingredients in her salad to choose which ones were okay with whatever diet she was on today.
Jeremy shrugged in casual dismissal. “She probably picked them up in a sale of old theatrical costumes.”
“You don’t think it’s possible that they were hers?” Vicky suggested tentatively. “That she was actually a dancer?”
“It’s possible,” he conceded loftily. “There were lots of those kinds of exotic cabarets in the forties and fifties.”
“Like the Moulin Rouge?”
“Oh, yes — there would no doubt have been copycats. Here in London as well as Paris. But don’t get carried away thinking your aunt danced at the Moulin Rouge — that’s most unlikely.”
“Yes — I suppose so...” Why did he always have to pour cold water on her dreams?
Lunch was enlivened by Jayde’s chatter about one of her favourite celebrities who had been in the news. To Vicky’s relief, Jeremy restrained his usual impatience with her, even responding with a show of interest.
When they had finished, Jayde rose from the table and began gathering up the plates. “I’ll do the washing-up.”
Vicky glanced up, startled at her sister’s unexpected offer. What about her precious nails?
Jayde’s smile was dazzlingly bright. “You need to get down to the party.”
Jeremy shot a questioning glance from one to the other. “Party? What party?”
“Oh...” Jayde bit her lip, her impression of feeling guilty almost convincing. “I assumed you’d told him. Sorry.”
“What party?” Jeremy repeated sharply.
Vicky sighed. “I promised to help out my friend Debbie. She and her mum run a café down by the seafront. She’s got a kids’ birthday party this afternoon, but her mum’s been poorly and is under doctor’s orders to stay in bed. Debbie couldn’t get anyone else in to help, and she can’t manage on her own.”
“But why does that fall on you?”
