The Runaway Bridesmaid by Daisy James

Author:Daisy James [James, Daisy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781474045025
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2015-12-16T13:00:00+00:00

Rosie studied her wrinkled hands and her fingernails, her cuticles outlined with circles of stubborn soil and smiled. It had felt good to get her hands dirty. The physical exercise and intense concentration along with her meeting with Ollie had ensured her mind had not lingered once on the torrent of misfortune that had befallen her fate; her internal dialogue for once was silent, almost meditative.

Maybe her aunt had a point. Maybe Thornleigh Lodge could heal her wounds again.

Chapter Eighteen

Rosie awoke to the May sky producing a cascade of rivulets down the window pane and a rhythmic concerto on the thatched roof. But she was paralysed. Her limbs refused to respond to her brain’s insistent requests to move. She rolled onto her right side and her neck and shoulders screamed their objection.

Realisation dawned as she hobbled like an old crone to the bathroom. She negotiated the stairs as a novice mountaineer would, sideways, clinging onto the banister as every stretched muscle complained of its extreme treatment during the horticultural workout the previous day.

She set the kettle to boil and went to survey the damage in the hallway mirror. Apart from her golden hair – more haystack than slick-back – she wondered if she was becoming a younger version of her aunt. I really must go shopping for clothes, she thought. What did she have to wear on her date with Austin? Her choice was her DKNY jeans, fresh from a day in the garden, or the black Armani suit she had worn for her aunt’s funeral. Of course, there was always something vintage from her aunt’s wardrobe. Lauren would positively encourage that avenue of sartorial elegance – but she didn’t have the eye her friend had, nor her gift with accessories.

No gardening today. Thank God. The bulbous grey clouds spilled their contents determinedly, inundating the garden with random puddles, their surface reflecting the leaves and branches and the silver sky backdrop. Each leaf of the rhododendron bush and the magnolia tree had been decorated with a slick aquatic sheen. She knew mud was beneficial for the skin, but she didn’t need to take a bath in it. The sky as far as the horizon was laden with an iron-heavy mist and the oppressive meteorological pressure had dulled her spirits, so the decision was made that today she would tackle the unpalatable task of sorting through her aunt’s personal possessions.

As the ceaseless drizzle continued, Rosie spent the morning in Bernice’s rose-chintz bedroom. The downpour matched her emotions as she recalled how her aunt had seemed so vibrant and alive when Rosie was a child, full of energy and passion for her children’s book illustrations and her garden. When she glanced through the rain Rosie knew her aunt’s spirit lingered on amongst the laburnum arbour.

Rummaging deep into her aunt’s huge oak wardrobe, she came across several floral printed silk Jean Muir tea dresses. She emailed photographs to Lauren for her opinion on whether to donate to the local thrift shop or haul them back to the US for Lauren’s delectation.

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