The Rose Garden

The first thing I thought when I woke was, I wasn’t alone.

The tide was in, the wind was fair, and many of the fishing boats had gone to take advantage of the day, to ride the sea beneath a sun that warmed my shoulders even through the fabric of my shirt and felt like summer’s kiss upon my upturned face.

He shot me another glance while I was working. ‘You’re not a woman to complain, I’ll give you that.’ ‘And who would I complain to?’ ‘Fair enough.’

It was coming on to evening when I thought of it, and once I’d had the thought, it seemed so obvious to me where that place was, where I should take her. Where both of us, once, had belonged.

The constable cut in, ‘That is not Mrs. Butler.’ From his tone it seemed that the suggestion had offended him, and not for the first time I found myself wondering what his connection had been to Ann Butler.

Following Claire through the door to the kitchen I heard a knife’s blade striking on the cutting board and thought at first, Oh, Fergal’s cooking something, and for that brief moment following, while my mind adjusted to the modern room instead, I felt a bit off-balance. Out of step.

His face relaxed. ‘’Tis you I want.’ He trailed his fingers warmly down my cheek and brushed away the single tear that had escaped my lashes. ‘I care not on what terms.’

I stood a moment on the slipping pebbles and breathed in the sharp wet salty scents of sea and stone, and found I liked the feeling of the wind-flung mist against my face.

‘Wednesday. Then Felicity can come along.’ Mark seemed to find that odd. ‘Why would she want to?’ ‘You’re an idiot.’ ‘I’m what?’ He turned. ‘And why am I an idiot?’ I linked my arm through his and told him fondly, ‘You just are.’