The Chocolate Collection. Trisha Ashley
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Название: The Chocolate Collection
Автор: Trisha Ashley
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9780008142568
isbn:
And at least I wouldn’t have to keep a lookout for Raffy that morning when I was out, because I knew he would be at Winter’s End. I’d seen him pass the window very early with his dog the previous day and again that day (surreptitiously, from behind the curtain, though he never even glanced at Angel Cottage), so it seemed set to become a regular habit.
That afternoon David was picking me up to go to look at a selection of country cottages, so with a bit of luck I wouldn’t even be in the same building when Raffy came to see Grumps, either.
On the way back from the post office I called in to see Felix, as usual, but then almost immediately wished I hadn’t, since all he could do was sing Raffy’s praises.
They were such opposites that it hadn’t occurred to me until then that they would get on so well, but by the time I’d listened to him waffling on about how you wouldn’t think Raffy had ever been famous because he was so ordinary (is he blind?) and how he felt he’d known him for ever, and how friendly he was, it was enough to make my coffee curdle.
Even more than Poppy, he thought I should have long recovered from my bit of history with Raffy and moved on, especially since he must have changed radically before being ordained.
If anyone else mentioned the words ‘forgive and forget’ to me after that, I swore I’d deck them. Reason and common sense be damned: I just couldn’t snap my fingers and say, ‘OK, let’s forget it!’ when even the very mention of his name made me go all bitter and twisted inside. And yes, I did know that was negative and damaging and I’d feel so much better if I let it go, but I just couldn’t do it.
I was also starting to feel very aggrieved about Poppy and Felix’s lack of empathy. These were my friends, and whether I was in the wrong or the right, they should be on my side and not be the devil’s advocate, even if he is cunningly disguised in a surplice. And I was still not convinced there wasn’t a Lucifer lurking inside there!
So I said one or two sharp things to Felix, who commented as I left that he’d never seen me quite like this, though he didn’t qualify exactly what he meant by ‘this’. But whatever it was, perhaps it would have started to make him think twice about my suitability as the right person to sink into middle age with, which would be a damn good thing.
Now I just needed to get him to switch his focus to Poppy instead, and vice versa. I wondered what she’d done with that love potion she got from Hebe Winter. Not that I believed in them, of course, any more than the power of Grumps’ magic; but still, if I could manage to get hold of it, there would be no harm in giving it a try, would there?
Raffy must have gone to see Grumps immediately after lunch, much earlier than I’d expected, because there was a knock on my door ages before David was due to pick me up and there he was, standing two steps down on the pavement and disconcertingly eye to eye.
The expression on his pale, chiselled features was guarded, though I noted that he seemed remarkably undisturbed considering where he’d just come from: but then, I already knew he was made of much less yielding stuff than Mr Merryman.
My automatic reaction was to slam the door in his face, except that he foiled that by leaning on it.
‘Chloe, can I come in? I think we need to talk.’
‘I don’t need a visit, thanks. I’m not one of your parishioners!’
‘No, I think I’ve already grasped the message that the Lyons aren’t churchgoers from your grandfather. But I would like to talk to you – please?’
If I hadn’t just at that point inconveniently remembered what the Angel cards said that morning and hesitated, then I’m sure he wouldn’t have managed to insinuate himself over the threshold. But somehow there he was, standing in the middle of the workshop and looking around him in an interested sort of way.
‘It smells delicious in here,’ he said appreciatively, ‘but I hope I’m not disturbing your work?’
‘No, I don’t make chocolate every day, and actually, I’m going out shortly.’
‘Oh? Then I won’t keep you long,’ he said, but he still didn’t seem in a hurry to come to the point of the visit. I had plenty of time to notice the changes in him: the fine lines on his pale, translucent skin, the resolute set of his mouth and square chin. Boy to man: the past and present Raffys seemed to coalesce into one before my eyes.
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