“Good.”
Simone could sense her wife smiling and it brought her back to safer shores.
“Do you miss me?” asked Evette.
“Not so much.”
She was rewarded with Evette’s explosive laughter down the phone. “Cheeky mare!”
“Of course I miss you. You’re my best friend. And I’m horny. The bed here is massive, it feels like such a waste.”
“Well, we’ll just have to make up for lost time when you come home, won’t we?”
The smile in Evette’s voice had grown, and Simone could swear she felt the warmth of it down the phone. Hope bloomed in her chest for the first time in months. She wouldn’t have thought it this time last week, but it was good that she was here, it was what she needed. Will wonders never cease? she thought.
21
For fine dining and designer gin you went to the Stag and Hound, but for pub grub and dodgy jukebox tunes it was always the Rowan Tree Inn. The village had, as many had remarked before, the best of both worlds, and tonight the inn was a rowdy affair. Star caught Duncan smiling out of the corner of her eye.
“You’re mocking me.” She scowled. They were sitting in the booth farthest away from the busy bar.
“I promise I’m not. I’ve just never seen anyone make knitting look so complicated.”
“I’m a left-handed woman in a right-handed world. In medieval times, I’d have been considered a witch.”
“You are very bewitching.” Duncan slapped his hand to his forehead. “I can’t believe I just said that. Can we strike that from the record?”
“No,” she said. “It’s out there now. And besides, I like the idea of being bewitching. It makes a change from being scatterbrained or a loser. Oh man, I think I dropped a stitch.” She handed her first knitting attempt to Duncan.
“Yeah, you’ve dropped more than one stitch here,” he said, fixing it for her. “Why would anyone call you a loser?”
“Um, I have a habit of losing things: jobs, places to live, men . . .”
“Maybe you just haven’t found anything worth keeping yet.” He was looking at her with big brown eyes full of warmth, and she found it difficult to tear her gaze away.
He handed back the knitting, the dropped stitches now picked up. He’d had absolutely no qualms about teaching her to knit in the packed pub, which only made her admire him more. She had decided to start with a scarf, which was currently four inches long and growing steadily.
Earlier that day she’d paid a visit to the wool shop on the high street with him—many tongues had wagged—and under his supervision had chosen a multicolored double-knit yarn called “autumn woodland” and a set of needles.
Duncan was an excellent teacher all around; he’d shown endless patience and enthusiasm as he talked her through his processes for identifying Augustus’s antiques. She wondered what else he could teach her.
He was undeniably handsome, and so very smart. Even now, in his downtime, he was wearing a shirt with a round-neck knitted jumper over the top and dark blue jeans. She had never been attracted to someone so formally attired. But she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off Duncan; small wonder she kept dropping stiches.
Her brain only allowed her fantasies to drift for so long before it reminded her that she wasn’t good enough for the likes of Duncan. He was a kind man, and he was humoring her, as the client of his firm. This knowledge didn’t stop her wanting to kiss him, but it made sure she wouldn’t actually do it. Because why in the world would someone like Duncan look twice at someone like her? He had education coming out of his ears; she had none to speak of. No. He wouldn’t be interested in her, not for anything more than a quick roll in the hay at least, and she’d been that girl too many times in the past. She’d rather be his friend than a fling to pass the time until a more fitting option came his way.
“Is Sotheby’s happy with the reports you’ve sent back so far?” She decided that talking business was safer ground.
“They’re delighted. It’s really an honor to be able work on the North account.”
“It seems funny hearing you call it ‘the North account.’ To us it was Dad’s old junk shop.”
“Your father collected some of the finest junk I’ve ever seen.”
“I bet your family is proud of you.”
“My mum is, but to the rest of the family I’m just the baby brother. I’m the youngest of five and the only boy.”
“Wow, I bet you were well mollycoddled.”
He laughed. “Yeah, very much so. I am also the butt of all jokes. But I don’t mind, and I like being close to my nieces and nephews. It’s good practice for if I ever have kids of my own.”
“Is that something you’d like? To have a family?”
“I guess. Isn’t that what most people want?” he asked.
“I’m kind of ambivalent for myself,” she replied. “If it happens it’ll be great, and if it doesn’t that’s okay too. But I’ve donated my eggs before, to a fertility clinic, so that someone with a greater desire than me to have a child can have the option.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but somehow it felt right to do so.
“Wow, that’s . . . I’m a bit lost for words. That’s a very altruistic act.”
She felt herself blush at the praise but also like she didn’t really deserve it. “It sounds more noble than it is. It was more . . . I don’t know how to explain it. Have you ever just felt like something was the right thing to do? I had this strong sense of it, like I was moved to do it, so I did. I don’t know.” She hid her face behind her hair and picked at her nails, feeling exposed. “Maybe it’s because my own lines are so blurred on the subject, I felt like I needed to balance the universe somehow?”
Duncan looked thoughtful. “It seems like an unfair burden to carry simply because you have a uterus. Nobody judges a bloke who says he doesn’t want kids.”
She was liking Duncan more and more. “It wasn’t like that exactly; it was more like I was compelled by a higher force.” She laughed at herself. “Simone would have a field day if she heard me talking about ‘higher forces.’？”
“I think it’s easier for a man to be flippant about whether he wants kids or not because we don’t have to go through any physical life-changing or life-threatening events to get there. If I had to actually grow the child myself, I’m not sure I would. I definitely wouldn’t want to give birth.” He shuddered.
“That’s refreshingly honest.”
“You heard me say I’ve got four older sisters, right? They have been meticulous in detailing their experiences of pregnancy and childbirth—no hemorrhoid, tear, or stitch was too much information,” he said, smiling.
“I think that’s just put me off!” She grimaced. “My dad was a wandering spirit; I think maybe I’m destined to be like him.”
“But he did both, wandered and had children.”
“Not so as you’d know it.” She didn’t like the taste of bitter on her lips. Augustus didn’t deserve that from her.