The Foretelling (Charlotte Bloom #1) (9 page)

As I anxiously awaited my arrival in Swansea, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Harry and everything I'd put him through. He was still going through the motions, living, somewhere, in the same predicament as me. He carried the same memories as I did. He was just as attached to me as I was to him. I wondered if he had anyone to talk to about all of this. He couldn’t talk to me, even if he tried. He had tried. He’d texted me after our talk, and I’d dumped my phone in a puddle in response. Maybe this whole thing really was my fault. Maybe I'd completely fucked up my marriage, and he'd called to reconcile. And now I was on a plane to Wales. I decided I would call him as soon as I was settled. Amara knew what I was up to, so, if nothing else, I found solace in the fact that she would pass the word along if he asked.

The captain announced that we would be landing soon, and I felt myself drift off into a half-asleep dreamland. Perhaps it was the wine, or just plain old mental exhaustion, but I started to think about the possibility of having children with Harry, and how it would’ve impacted our relationship. I’d been trying to become a mother for the past five months with no real introspection. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be a mother. It had been a mad dash to get pregnant to prove Lainey wrong, but it turned out, she'd been right. Where would we be now if I had gotten pregnant? I shuddered at that thought. We wouldn’t be happy. That was for sure.

We began to descend into Wales and, from the looks of the aerial views I had leaning over my seatmate, Wales had a lot of green, rolling hills and a long, dark-blue seashore with white sand. I could see wild forests too as I glanced down at the evergreen trees and the brown branches poking out. For the most part, it looked pretty rural. I had no idea where I was headed after the flight. I thought I’d probably just ask the taxi to take me to the closest hotel and regroup there. I didn’t have any expectations. I was just
going.

It was a bumpy landing, and the two gentlemen next to me discussed landing techniques the whole time we taxied to the gate. Maybe every rural Welsh farmer had his own plane. Again, the farmer from
Babe
came to mind.
That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.

I said goodbye to my seat companions, got off the plane, and looked around. Everyone looked fairly normal. What I presumed to be Welsh accents met my ears at every turn, not that I could differentiate between Welsh accents and English accents. I had a relatively painless and quick customs experience, went outside with my suitcase to the pickup area, and looked around. I didn’t see any taxis. As I waited, I sat down on my suitcase and pulled my jacket tighter. It was late afternoon here and the June air was chilly, even though it was technically summer starting next week. I looked around. There had to be a taxi at some point. This was an international airport.

Finally, I saw a black taxi turn the corner. The driver headed straight for me, but I still waved my arms at him just in case. Jet lag was starting to kick in, and all I wanted was a nice, warm bed and a 12-hour night of sleep. I saw the portly man get out. He grabbed my suitcase and hoisted it into the trunk. I got in the back, and he got in shortly after.

"Where ya going, dear?" The driver was old and stout, with small wisps of hair on his almost-bald head.

"The closest hotel. I don’t have any idea where to go."

"Ah, American, eh? I pegged you as Irish, ‘cause of your hair." He grinned.

"Nope. 100% American."

We sat there for a minute as I debated repeating my request. Maybe he hadn’t heard me.

"I’ll drive you to my nephew’s place. It’s a bed and breakfast just up the road a ways."

"That sounds perfect. Thank you so much."

"What brings you to Wales?" We drove off, getting on to some sort of main road.

I’d decided early on in my flight to try and be honest about my situation with anyone that asked. I felt guilty about lying to my seatmates. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed but still, saying you were fresh off of a plane because your husband had left you might put some people off. I didn’t want to send any
crazy lady
signals, so I decided to play it by ear with each person.

"It’s a long story."

"We’ve got time. I’m Tommy, by the way."

"Charlotte. Nice to meet you, Tommy." I cleared my throat. "My husband left me today."

Tommy let out a whoosh of air.

"S’ the perfect place to relax," he said, gesturing to the Welsh countryside. "We have everything. Horseback riding, beaches, shopping, you name it. I reckon you’ll enjoy your stay at Parc-Le-Bouveret."

"Parc-Le-Bouveret? Is that the name of the bed and breakfast?"

"Yes, ma’am. Nice place."

"As long as it has a bed, it will be fine."

We drove along a two-lane highway along small seaside villages to my right and forest to my left. The juxtaposition was jarring, yet beautiful. Eventually, we turned left onto a road thick with trees. Shortly after, we turned left again, going up a narrow driveway. The road had turned to dirt and I couldn’t really see our surroundings due to the cloud of dust that followed us. Suddenly, the taxi lurched to a stop, and as the dust settled I saw that we were in a clearing in the woods and a gigantic mansion stood in front of us. Now,
this
would do. This would do just fine.

A sprawling green lawn awaited me as I got out of the taxi. I paid Tommy, who helped me with my suitcase. It was almost dusk, so the whole grey house was blanketed in a pink-orange hue. The large windows were reflecting the magnificent colors. The house itself was built out of stone, and it was a fairly large house for a bed and breakfast. The more my eyes rolled over the details, the more I visualized the next few days. This place would be perfect. It was rural, yet close to Swansea. There seemed to be a lot of land in the surrounding areas, which would be perfect for my morning strolls along the beach. I could visualize everything now.

A horse neighed a few feet to my left, which startled me, making me jump two feet into the air as I approached the mansion. Of course there would be horses. I felt like I was in Old Britain, where people wore corsets and rode horses everywhere. A middle-aged man in a driving cap, jeans, a parka, and a red nose came to greet me. He had thinning brown hair, and I could see a small resemblance between him and Tommy. This must be the nephew. A woman followed him hurriedly, shouting at the man and waving her arms.

"We have a guest! George, we have a guest!"

I assumed they didn’t get many last-minute guests.

"Welcome to Parc-Le-Bouveret House. My name is George and I’m the head of the house." The man held out his hand, and when I went to shake it, he bent down and kissed it instead. I had a feeling this was going to be a great trip.

"Thank you. It looks absolutely lovely." I waved at Tommy as he got back into his cab to leave.

"This is my wife, Helen, and she’ll be around when I’m not, or sometimes we’re here together. We live just a short walk away."

"Fortunately, and unfortunately," Helen sniggered. She was short and thin, dressed in chinos and a cardigan. She had short blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

George took my suitcase and the three of us walked up to the front of the house. Helen held the door open for me, and I was greeted by fellow travelers who were lounging in the common area just next to the check-in desk. The place was seemingly built of wood. Aging wooden walls, wooden tables, and wooden accents gave it a ‘hunting lodge’ vibe. A looming, marbled fireplace and a couple of leather Chesterfield couches made up the common room, and tall, red velvet curtains were pulled to the side of the tall windows.

"This is our common room, which as you can see is used often. Our guests meet up here in the morning for the horse rides, to play games, and lounge by the fire, which isn’t going at the moment because it’s fairly warm today." Helen waved hello to the other guests in the common area and showed me to the check-in desk just outside the common room. I shivered; the last breath of cool air from outside whooshed by my skin as the door shut behind us. If this was warm for Wales, I was in for a rude awakening.

"Our hot breakfast is complimentary and we do take custom orders, so just be sure to let us know the night before. Breakfast starts at 8 a.m., and ends at 10 a.m. If you want a hot dinner, it’s a small fee, but we do have a full menu that you can choose from. We source everything locally and everything is organic. Our beef is grass-fed. We try to do traditional British and Welsh food, so that’s always fun. Our recipes actually come from the original house cooks who worked for the Vivian family. They resided here from 1800 to 1927. We eat in the dining room, which has been preserved since it was built sometime in the early 1800s. It’s one of the oldest parts of the house." She looked around and went behind the desk. She handed me a small brochure, which I then put in my purse. She took out an aging binder and began to leaf through the papers contained inside.

"We don’t have a computer yet, so I still have to do this by hand." She went through each page, muttering, until she excitedly withdrew a piece of paper and held it out to me. "Ah. Here it is. This is our single ensuite room. Took me awhile to find… we normally get couples here so it was all the way in the back of the binder!" She chuckled, and I tried to smile, but it just turned into a weak, lopsided smirk.
Great.

"I’ll take it."

I was eager to get into my room and take a hot shower. Dinner would be at 7 p.m. That was perfect. It gave me time to decompress a bit. Helen finished up the paperwork, which consisted of an old manual credit card imprinter, something I hadn’t seen since I was a kid. I looked around the common room to see what the other guests were like.

I saw a young couple, both with brown hair, cuddling and kissing on one of the Chesterfields. Another older couple sat across from them playing what looked to be Scrabble, and a family of four lounged on the floor in front of the fireplace, reading. Obviously, relaxation was a central theme here.

"Alright, Charlotte, here is your key. Your room is just around the corner there, on the right side of the stairs and down the hallway a bit. Oh, and before I forget," she went back to her binder and pulled out a long piece of paper that had been folded in half, "here is the menu for dinner in case you want to look it over. You can order at the table, but I find guests like to know what we'll be serving ahead of time." She smiled warmly and waved goodbye as I hoisted my suitcase to my room. "Did you need help with that?" she shouted as I walked down the hall.

"No, thank you. I’ve got it. Thank you."
I’ve got it.

The room was small but comfortable, with red carpet and leather furniture. The bed had a raw wooden frame, and the mattress was fitted with white sheets and a fluffy white comforter. A fur blanket sat at the end, folded perfectly. I set my suitcase down and went over to the blanket, petting it softly. It was real fur. There was no TV – hence the games in the common room – and the bathroom had a claw foot tub. Luxurious, white bath towels were folded on a small stool near the bathtub. The window in my room looked out onto the stables, and I noticed it was almost dark outside.

I closed the curtains and undressed. I started filling up the bath: a little too hot, just the way I liked it. I put on the white cotton robe that hung on the hook behind the bathroom door, and slipped my feet into the cotton slippers that lay poised on the stone floor. I'd thought fleetingly about calling Amara or Harry, but I couldn’t spoil this feeling. I felt so comfortable and taken care of. Nestled here, in the plush robe, in this quaint lodge in Wales… I hadn’t realized it before, but this was exactly the kind of place I needed to be. Paris or Rome would’ve been distracting. This was the place to do some thinking, and to find my happiness again.

Helen felt like a mother to me already. I didn’t speak to my real mother (or father, for that matter) as often as I’d wanted, and they had no idea I was in Wales, so I would have to call them at some point to let them know too. I cringed at the thought of them calling the house while Anna was there, and her telling them that Harry and I had separated and she was living in my house, free of charge. My parents would have a field day.

I stepped into the too-hot bath and inched into the scalding water slowly, as the heat was almost unbearable.
Almost.
I lathered my body with soap and shampooed my hair, slowly and sensually, taking my time. By the time my cheeks were red and my fingers pruned, it was time to get out to go to dinner. I dried off and brushed my hair, but I made the mistake of stepping into the warm robe that had been sitting on the towel heater. The warmth made me want to cozy up and go to sleep right at that moment. The familiar feeling of complete fatigue overtook me and I decided to lie down on the bed and close my eyes for just a second before changing for dinner.

***

I awoke with a start, not knowing where I was or what time it was. Things slowly started to come into focus, and I remembered where I was. I quickly checked the clock: 8:15 p.m.
Shit, shit, shit.
I was over an hour late for dinner. I hoped it wasn’t too big of a deal, but still, I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t know if dinner was a casual come-when-you-can, or if it was a formal sit-down affair. I hoped it wasn’t the latter. More importantly, I was ravenous and I wanted to be sure I got something to eat.