The Summer House by Marcia Willett

Author:Marcia Willett
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Relationships, Mystery, Family Saga, Fiction, Suspense, Adult
ISBN: 9781250030450
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2010-07-07T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Imogen wakened early. She lay quite still, listening for any sounds from Rosie, sharply aware of Jules lying curled in a ball and turned away from her. She had a longing to touch him on the shoulder; to feel his arms go round her and to inhale his sleepy night-time scent and feel the scrape of his early morning chin against her cheek. She hadn’t realized how indescribably lonely it would be to have that warm current of affection and companionship cut off from her; yet she knew that she was just as much to blame as he was. Neither of them was prepared to back down; to admit to pride and hurt.

Cautiously she turned her head to look at him; watching the rise and fall of his regular breathing. If he were to turn now, rolling sleepily on to his back, stretching an arm to gather her to his side, how would she react? Would she lie stiffly, as she had on the one or two occasions when he’d attempted a reconciliation, or would she relax against him? Im stared miserably at the ceiling again; she wanted things to be right but some tiny stubborn demon muscled within her, whispering that it wasn’t quite fair, that Jules was being selfish and inconsiderate, and that some notable gesture on his part – some acknowledgement of her unselfishness – was needed before she could agree to restore the equilibrium. So far, Jules had merely taken it for granted that they weren’t going to buy the Summer House and was showing no real remorse or understanding for her or how she might be feeling. Even last night when she’d told him about Matt buying it Jules hadn’t shown any emotion, or any indication that she might be finding it a bit hard to think of her brother owning the house she loved so much. No. He’d merely implied that everything was OK then, problem solved, and that she ought to be feeling delighted.

And then he’d said rather abruptly: ‘So are we going to look at Billy Webster’s barn, now, or what? Time’s beginning to run out, isn’t it? Or do you have any other ideas?’

There had been a coolness, almost an indifference, in his voice, as if it really didn’t matter much to him and although deep down she knew that it wasn’t true, yet she’d been incapable of steering the discussion into a course that might have led to initiating some warmth between them.

‘I suppose there’s no alternative,’ she’d said icily. ‘I’ll go and look at it tomorrow morning, then. I suppose you’ve already seen it. You’d better leave his telephone number.’

She’d seen his look of disappointment, known that he’d hoped that they’d go together to look at the barn, but he’d said nothing more and she’d got up from the table and banged about in the kitchen, clearing up the supper and feeling angry and frustrated. She’d known she was being unreasonable and expecting too much. After all, Jules had never been a particularly oversensitive man; he was down-to-earth, practical and quite tough.

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