Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I swallow. “But what if I say yes to Norfolk and then I can’t do it? What if I get there and something happens or I just can’t handle it and I need to come home?”
“Then you come home,” she says.
“Vincent’s going to think I’m a lunatic.”
“If he does, his opinion doesn’t matter. You should talk to him, though. Tell him how you feel. Tell him what you’re struggling with.”
I’m not sure about that. I confided bits and pieces to him about the importance of Crompton to me and why I’m so attached to it. I haven’t been quite as clear about the extent of my attachment. Namely, how I don’t like to leave. Ever.
“Trust him,” she urges. “If he’s half the man I think he is, he’ll be sympathetic.”
I know he’s a good man, but what I have to tell him will surely change how he sees me. He could be sympathetic, but want to rescind his invitation when he hears what I have to say. But since I can’t leave Crompton without talking through the variables in Norfolk, and since Vincent is the only one who can set my mind at ease…it looks like I’m in for a difficult conversation.
TWENTY-SIX
Vincent
She’s sitting on a blanket by the lake, facing the water. I can’t wait to hear what she’s thinking about. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t have all the distractions of London or New York, but a woman has never taken up so much of my brain as Kate does. We saw each other last night and it didn’t occur to me not to see her tonight. I’ve probably not spent as much time with any woman in such a short space of time as I have with her. And all I want is more.
She hears me coming and turns, giving me a huge, welcoming smile I can feel in my bones.
I bend and kiss her on the cheek.
“I brought a picnic,” she says. “It’s a lot less…amazing than last night, but I hope you haven’t eaten.”
I shake my head. “No, I finished a call, changed and came straight out. This is great.” I peer into the bag she’s brought and sit next to her.
“How are you?” I cup the back of her neck and lean over to kiss her again.
She smiles around the kiss like it makes her happy. I’m happy I’m making her happy.
When did I get so soppy?
We break our kiss and she looks around, presumably to check no one saw.
“First, ginger beer!” She holds up two glass bottles and a bottle opener. “You’re in charge of that.”
I take the bottles and pop off the tops while she unpacks the food. “It’s just some cheese and crackers and fruit.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s perfect. And sitting here…the view. You. Life is good.”
She smiles and pulls in a breath. “I want to talk about Norfolk.”
I hand her the bottle of ginger beer and her gaze sticks firmly to the bottle. “Okay.”
My mind starts to flood with possible things she wants to talk about and I push them all out and listen to her.
“I’ve told you a little about my mum. Well, even before she died, Crompton was my safe haven. Afterwards, it became a sort of life raft. It felt that so long as I was here, I’d be safe. Happy. I built my life around that. Around not leaving the place where I was happy.”
“That makes sense,” I say, smoothing my hand up her arm.
“I took it to an extreme. At first I only ventured into the village and that was fine, but about a year after Mum died, we went into Cambridge and Grandpa had his first stroke. Not the one that killed him, but he ended up in hospital. I didn’t leave the estate then for a long time.”
“I get that.”
“I went to school of course. First in the village and then when I was twelve, I moved to the high school about four miles away.” She pauses, obviously feeling uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but I want to hear everything you’ve got to say. Take all the time you need.”
She slides her fingers inside the cuff of my shirt and looks up at me. “Apart from school, I never went anywhere. When I was in sixth form, I saw a therapist. I wanted to go to university, but I wasn’t sure I could move away from Crompton. Still, I applied. I got in. And from somewhere I found the courage to go. And then during my first term, Grandpa had another stroke.” She swallows and glances down at the blanket. “That time he didn’t make it.”
I stroke her face, wishing I could take away her grief.
“Anyway, I dropped out of university and never went back. At that point my brain associated being away from Crompton with…pain. Disaster. Sadness. The wind changed and somewhere in there,” she taps her head, “I’ve convinced myself that if I leave, something bad will happen.”