A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1) (7 page)

B
y the time
dinner and clean up are done, I’ve worked myself into the kind of shit mood usually only shopping for clothes inspires. So I explode when Scarlett comes into the kitchen where I’m helping Claire and Mrs. St Julien put away serving dishes and says, “Bea, Angela Fisher is asking to see you. Something about a bottle of Prosecco?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Doesn’t that woman have anything better to do?”

“Whoa. I’m kidding.” Scarlett crosses the floor and peers down at me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about her, of all people.”

“No. You shouldn’t.” I rattle the bowls I’m stacking for emphasis.

Scarlett puts her hand on my arm. It’s the same spot Jasper reached for earlier in the dining room, but my reaction is totally different. This time I yank my arm away. She takes the bowls out of my hands and, when I glare at her, says, “What’s wrong?”

Scarlett asks this in a way that makes me want to sit down and actually tell her.
Well, see, I had this little fling with your brother and I think he’s flirting with me, but I keep blowing it and I don’t know why.
Instead, I feel my eyes fill and shake my head, turning away.

“Oh my God, Bea, what’s wrong?” Claire asks.

“You were fab tonight, darling. Don’t let a witch like Angela Fisher upset you,” Mrs. St Julien says.

I shake my head again. “I’m tired. Sorry. I don’t mean to get upset. I’m not even that bothered by her. I swear.”

I don’t have to look at her to know Scarlett’s eyes are still trained on me, trying to decide what to believe. I won’t look at her for fear her gaze will pry the truth from me and make a bad night even worse. When she speaks, her voice is bright. “She’s not worth tears, that’s for sure. I say we make an Angela Fisher voodoo doll, just for kicks.”

This gets a smile out of me. Scarlett’s solution to people who piss her off is to make crude voodoo dolls and stick a pin straight through their eye. The dolls don’t work – at least not that I know of – but there’s no denying it’s therapeutic.

Claire laughs. “You still do that? God, I totally forgot about you and your voodoo.”

Mrs. St Julien says, “I’m almost tempted to join you.”

“You should,” Scarlett says. Then to me she says, “If you get a bottle of red from the bar, we’ll take it up to my room and see if we can make one that actually works.”

I smile for the first time in hours. “Did you actually bring your stuff with you?”

“I didn’t, but I have a stash here too.” Scarlett grins. “My first ever doll was inspired by a guest much like Angela Fisher, in fact.”

“Victoria Edmonson,” says Mrs. St Julien. “If ever there was a woman I wanted to push down the stairs, it was her.”

Scarlett puts on her best proper British accent. “Oh, Hannah, be a dear and bring my tea to my room at four o’clock. I expect one biscuit, not two, and please be sure to warm my teacup.”

Mrs. St Julien laughs, followed immediately by a grimace. “All that false politeness. I ran my arse off for that woman, and then she had the nerve to dispute her bill. I remember Paul couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t take any further bookings from her.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t here then,” Claire says. “I feel like I’ve been scarred badly enough by the Fishers to last a lifetime.”

“The Fishers aren’t so bad, aside from Angela,” Mrs. St Julien says. “Which is why we keep taking their bookings.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean we have to like her,” Scarlett says. Then she turns to me. “So? Wine, voodoo dolls, general merriment? Are you in?”

I nod because otherwise I’ll end up going back to my room and sulking. “Yep. I’ll get the wine and meet you upstairs.”

I turn out the door as Scarlett calls, “Get four glasses in case Mum fancies some, would you?”

I smile a little and try to imagine my mom making voodoo dolls with Scarlett and me. She’d be appalled, at least partly because her Southern manners don’t allow her to actually say she dislikes someone outright. She’d more likely narrow her eyes and clutch at her purse, but keep a smile on her face.

Being nice to someone you dislike doesn’t mean you’re fake. It means you’re mature enough to tolerate your dislike towards them.

I head into the bar as that gem of my mom’s hits home and I give myself a mental high five. Chalk one up for maturity on my part. I deserve a damn Oscar for the way I’ve dealt with Angela Fisher all night.

It makes me put on a big smile for Will, who’s still behind the bar pulling pints for some of the Fisher gentlemen. “Hi. I’d like a bottle of red and four glasses, if I could, please?”

Will nods. “Sure thing. Who’s drinking?”

“Scarlett, Claire, and me. Maybe Hannah.” Mrs. St Julien’s first name sounds weird coming from my mouth, but not impossible, which feels a lot like progress.

“Malbec then. Hannah’s favorite. Claire’s too,” Will says.

My ears perk up. Will knows Claire’s favorite wine? Surely that’s a good sign? “Sounds perfect.”

“You want me to open it?” Will asks.

“No. The last thing I need is to be carrying an open bottle of wine up those stairs.” I wonder if there’s a way to steer the conversation back to Claire, but I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound completely obvious. So I lean over the bar and, keeping my voice low, say, “Good luck with these guys.”

Will grins and says, “They’ll be fine. They’re just blowing off some steam.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” I say, brandishing the bottle of wine.

Will’s laugh follows me out of the bar until I reach the stairs leading up to the family apartment. I didn’t see Jasper in the bar and I’m really hoping to avoid him upstairs, too. Not because our interactions since my failed attempt at flirting were awkward, but because they were nonexistent and I don’t want to face another blow off tonight or worse, a stilted conversation in front of Scarlett.

The powers that be must have decided I’ve paid in full waiting on Angela Fisher tonight because I don’t pass anyone on my way upstairs and, even once I enter the family apartment, the rooms are blessedly empty. I slip my shoes off inside the door and pad through the living room and down the small hallway to Scarlett’s room. She and Claire aren’t here yet, so I plonk down on her bed, lying back on the pile of white eyelet pillows.

Scarlett’s room here is very different from her room in our Atlanta apartment. Here, everything is white and airy with hints of pale blue. There are a few photos tacked up around the edge of her mirror, but there’s no art apart from a drawing of a bird beside a lake. It’s one of Scarlett’s; her signature is visible in the bottom corner. But it’s so different from what she draws now, it makes me wonder what changed and why. I asked her when I first came up here yesterday, but she didn’t answer, even though I know she heard me, so I let it go.

I close my eyes and when I hear voices in the living room, I’m not sure if a few minutes have passed or an hour. Either way, I’m groggy, not waking fully until Scarlett and Claire barge in laughing.

“Are you sleeping?” Scarlett asks, standing over me with her hands on her hips.

“I guess.” I push myself up until I’m more vertical. “What took you guys so long?”

“We had to rescue Will,” Scarlett says. “One of the guys started talking trash on his football team, so Claire and I got Jasper to take over before there was a brawl.”

“Jasper’s a Liverpool fan, but he’s not rabid about it like Will is,” Claire says. “We sent Will to cool off in the cabin. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I say, shaking my head.

“And Claire, being the love she is, is giving him some breathing room, but she’s going to check on him momentarily,” says Scarlett. “So it’s only you and me for voodoo tonight, I’m afraid.”

I sit up straighter and raise my eyebrows. Claire hasn’t said a word about any feelings for Will and I don’t know her well enough to ask. But I’m relaxed enough to tease and say, “Do you want to leave a sock on the door handle or something if I’m not supposed to come in?”

“If you’re not supposed…” Claire’s face reddens. “Will and me? Oh, I don’t think we’ll be… I mean, we’re not…”

Scarlett laughs. “Yet. Bea can stay here anyway.”

“Honestly, it’s not like that,” Claire says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She looks so uncomfortable, I have to say, “I’m teasing. Really. Go and have fun, and if I end up crashing here it’s because Scarlett’s bed has claimed me as one of its own and refuses to let go.”

Claire laughs, but it’s still strained. “After today, I think it’s a definite possibility. Especially after you have a little of that red wine.”

I reach for the bottle I put on the bedside table. “Speaking of, the sooner we crack this open, the sooner I can go back to sleep.”

“Uh, uh. We have an Angela Fisher voodoo doll to make first,” Scarlett says.

“And on that note, I’m off,” Claire says. She shuffles her feet and looks at me. “Please don’t worry about coming back. Really.”

“I’ll be back unless I’ve had enough wine to ignore Scarlett’s snoring.”

Claire laughs and shuts the door behind her as she walks out. Scarlett shimmies her skirt over her hips and peels her tights off before flopping down on her bed beside me. “Better. God, tonight was murder.”

“Well, luckily not, but I felt like I came close a few times. It’s a good thing there wasn’t any meat on the menu requiring actual knives.”

“You with the steak knives and Angela Fisher in the dining room? Sounds like a game of Cluedo.” Scarlett smiles, but then her face turns serious. “I’m sorry your first few days have been so manic. I feel like you’ve been thrown in to the deep end a bit.”

“No, it’s not your fault. Tonight I was feeling incompetent. You know how that bugs me.”

“I know, but you’re doing fab. You know that, right?” Scarlett asks. Her expression is so earnest I feel like I’ll end up in tears if I don’t break the tension, recounting all the ways Angela Fisher was a bitch tonight. Even though I know damn well Angela Fisher isn’t the thing bothering me.

Well, not the only thing.

But it’s the easier thing to talk about, by a landslide. “I’ll get the hang of it, don’t worry. Angela Fisher is like one of those parents who come in at the start of every school year saying, ‘Just so you understand, little Johnny is gifted and I need to know how you’re going to cultivate his brilliance.’ When, in reality, little Johnny is dealing his ADD meds and Snapchatting pics of his privates while Mommy Dearest is too busy fucking her husband’s business partner to notice.”

Scarlett whoops with laughter. “There’s the Bea Gillespie I know and love.”

“I like to call it like I see it.” I grin, but let it fade. “In all seriousness, I don’t want to be a detriment. I mean, I know Angela Fisher’s horrible, but she’s paying your parents a shit ton of money for this weekend and I don’t want to blow it so badly she demands a refund or something.”

Scarlett furrows her brow. “Why would she do that? From everything I hear, you had a blip or two, but you’re doing fab. Jasper said you were ace.”

“Jasper bailed me out by pulling the American card.” I roll my eyes.

“What’s wrong with that? You are American, right?”

“It’s the principle of the thing. I don’t want to need bailing out.”

“From Jaz? Or in general?”

“Both.” I’m still reclining on the pillows, but my shoulders tense. A little truth can only be a good thing, but it still makes me anxious.

Scarlett sits up, crossing her legs on the bed. “Well, it feeds Jaz’s white knight complex, but it’s probably good for him to practice empathy every now and then.”

“He’s not so bad.” I keep my tone light, but warning bells ring in my head. Defending Jasper is the right thing to do because he helped me out tonight, but Scarlett will find it weird if I defend him too much.

“He’s not,” Scarlett agrees. “Until he is. You watch. Tomorrow he’ll be a total plonker and all of my current goodwill will, poof, disappear.”

“You’ve said a million times that you don’t get along, but then it seems sometimes like you do?” I’m totally fishing now.

“We do.” Scarlett shakes her head. “Until he does something dickheaded. Which, with Jasper, is a matter of when, not if.”

“I know I don’t have a sibling, but isn’t occasional dickhead behavior part of the deal?” I’m on treacherous ground here, I know, but Scarlett’s being open enough I feel like I can ask without her questioning my motives. Because if I could understand the root of Scarlett’s animosity, maybe I could break it down. Like a math problem with multiple operations. But with two people I care about.

Scarlett sighs. “I’m glad he’s being nice to you, but I’ve had a lifetime of Jaz being a total arse when he wants to be, yet God forbid anyone ever calls him on it.”

“Why not?”

“For starters? Because he’s at Cambridge and he’s brilliant and he got the highest marks in his year. Brilliance trumps benevolence every time.” Scarlett jumps up. “And seriously, why the hell are we talking about my brother? We have a bottle of wine and some voodoo to get to, which is a much better pursuit all around.”

Because it’s better to avoid the real issue than to confront it?

The words pop into my head and make it all the way to my mouth before I bite them back, bringing my molars down on my tongue hard. Just as quickly, though, I ease up. I’m not brave enough to press Scarlett on her issues and, for better or worse, we both know it.

A
fter another round
with the Fishers at Sunday brunch, I watch them haul their suitcases through the lobby with such relief, I’m surprised I don’t cheer. I actually feel my shoulders loosen as the door shuts behind Angela Fisher. If I never see her again, it will be too soon.

“Amen,” says Scarlett. “Made it through without killing anyone.”

I laugh. “I can’t even tell you how happy I am to see her go.”

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “You might wish she was still here once we start the housekeeping. You do the sheets and I’ll do the hoovering?”

I shrug and follow Scarlett to the stairs. All I really want to do is go back to the cabin and lie down, but that’s not an option, so sheets it is.

Hauling bedding down from one of the turret rooms is exactly as awful as Scarlett said it would be, too. The pile of sheets is awkward and the stairs too narrow and winding to see in front of me, so I feel like I’m going to fall with every step. By the time I make it to the room where I need to drop the linens for collection and pick up a new set to make up the beds, I’m sweating buckets. Because not only am I carrying a heavy pile of laundry, blankets included, the temperature has suddenly spiked, and I don’t care what BBC Weather says, there’s no way it’s only seventy-six degrees.

I walk into the storage room and drop my pile on the floor, pushing my sweaty hair away from my face. “Okay, that’s hard work.”

Claire, who was on her way out the door already when I got up this morning, says, “We don’t have anyone up there again until Wednesday if you want to hold off. It’s supposed to be cooler by then too.”

“Honestly, Bea, don’t worry,” says Hannah. “Or at least have a cup of tea first.”

I smile a little. “I’ll have a glass of water; it’s too hot for tea for me.”

“Perish the thought.” Hannah grins and drops the stack of damp towels she’s been counting into the pile on the floor. “Lou has some fresh strawberries. Maybe we can dig up a meringue somewhere.”

“And cream,” says Claire. “Strawberries and cream are to die for.”

I shake my head. “Scarlett tried to sell me on that a couple of years ago. I wasn’t a fan.” Especially after I did the math on the calorie count. Heavy cream is fifty-one calories per tablespoon. Per tablespoon! And Scarlett poured it like it was skim milk.

“Oh, Bea,” says Hannah, laughing. “We need to convert you right now.”

“You mustn’t have had real English cream,” says Claire. “It makes all the difference.”

“If you say so.” I shrug. “I’ll try a bite, but don’t be surprised if I don’t love it.”

“That’s it. All further making of beds must be put on hold,” says Hannah. “To the kitchens.”

Claire and I laugh, and as Hannah reaches for the door, it flies open. Jasper’s arms are full of bedding and, like me, he looks bedraggled and sweaty. His Star Wars T-shirt definitely looks worse for the wear and he wears the same mud-streaked plaid shorts he had on the other day, which makes me wrinkle my nose. I’ve inherited my mom’s belief of always wearing clean clothes, even if you’re doing a filthy task, and I’m about to make a joke asking exactly how dirty the guest rooms are when Jasper drops his pile on the floor and lets out an exasperated huff.

“Darling, you’re right on time. We’re going to introduce Bea to proper strawberries and cream,” says Hannah.

“What about the rooms?” asks Jasper. His tone is hard to read, but his eyes narrow and his mouth is a thin line.

“They can wait a bit. We don’t have a full house again until Wednesday,” says Hannah.

“I’ll do it now,” says Jasper. “I have other things I want to get done.”

“Oh, come on. Have a break. It’s hot and it would be nice.” Hannah’s tone is cajoling, but Jasper’s having none of it.

“I really don’t want strawberries and cream, Mum.”

Claire looks like she’s bracing herself for something and I feel my knees clench too. Hannah, though, looks and sounds completely oblivious. “Well, join us for a cup of tea then.”

“I have other things I need to do. You seem to forget I’m supposed to be working on my dissertation and pulling a journal article out of thin air, but I’ve done bugger all on it since I’ve been here because I’ve been entertaining the Fisher brats, helping with dinner service, or playing chamber maid. So forgive me if I don’t want to draw this out any more than I have to.” Jasper’s hands have found their way to the back of his neck and he’s drawn himself up to his full height.

Hannah’s face remains impassive, but her voice is hard. “I didn’t realize we were inconveniencing you…”

“This whole summer is an inconvenience. I said when I came home, I’d help when I could, but the assumption seems to be I’ll help, full stop.” Jasper’s gaze swivels to me. “I thought the point of Scarlett bringing a friend home was so she’d pick up the slack.”

Ouch.

“Bea has been here for less than a week,” Hannah says, and this time she does raise her voice. “And she’s taken on everything that’s been asked of her. Unlike some people.”

I wish the floor would swallow me up. Immediately. Judging from the expression on her face, Claire feels the same. I’m pretty sure, aside from lobbing me back and forth in the argument like I’m a tennis ball, they’ve both forgotten I’m here.

“Of course she has.” Jasper’s face closes up like shutters in a rainstorm. “I’d expect no less of one of Scarlett’s perfect friends.”

Perfect? No one’s ever called me perfect before, but given the way Jasper just spit the word out like it was sour milk, it sure as hell wasn’t a compliment.

“Jasper,” Hannah starts.

But he’s gone out the door I’m pretty sure he’d slam if he could. I look at the plain wooden door, studying its single brass hook, perfectly centered, like it’s the most interesting thing on the planet. Anything to avoid looking at Claire or, worse, Hannah.

Hannah lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Bea. Needless to say, none of that was about you, but I must apologize for my son’s rudeness.”

“He’s under a lot of stress,” Claire says. She steps in front of me until I have to look at her. “Cambridge is a pressure cooker and the journal article is a big opportunity. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so shitty and will feel awful when he cools down.”

“Will he?” I ask. I want to give Jasper the benefit of the doubt, but that was uncalled for.

“I’ll speak to him,” says Hannah.

She takes a breath, but I fill it. “Please don’t. I’d rather speak to him myself.”

“Oh.” Hannah straightens. “Of course. Yes, of course.”

I close my eyes. No one is more surprised by my offer than I am, but damn Jasper for making me explain this to Scarlett’s mother and a girl I barely know. “Before I came here, I was engaged to a PE teacher at my school, but I broke it off in May, right before school ended. He wasn’t a bad guy. I mean, in lots of ways he was great.” I take a deep breath to push the resentment rising in my throat back down to the pit of my stomach. “But I let him take over, well, pretty much everything and by the end I kind of didn’t recognize myself, you know? And I never called him on any of it.”

There’s total silence for a good twenty seconds. Then Claire says, “It must be hard, but good for you for recognizing it. Not that it’s good you had to go through a broken engagement to get to this point, I mean. But that you realize it is great.”

It doesn’t feel great. It feels as lame now as it did the day I admitted it to myself. But I don’t want to stand here in a linen closet explaining my relationship with Theo and why it makes me so determined to call Jasper on his crappy comment, so I offer a weak smile and say, “I know Jasper’s just mad, frustrated, whatever. But it sets a precedent, you know? And I’d rather he knows it’s not okay to take out his frustration on me.”

“Well, I think it’s admirable,” says Hannah. “I’d wait for Jasper to calm down enough to actually hear you, which could take a little while. And in the meantime, we still have strawberries and cream to see to.”

Right. This all started over something I don’t want anyway. Speaking of learning to be forthright. I shake my head. “I think I’m going to pass. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. But, Bea, I hope Jasper hasn’t ruined your day,” says Hannah.

Has he ruined my day? No, but he’s not the only one who needs to calm down. I force myself to laugh a little, if only to smooth the worry lines in Hannah’s forehead. “I’m pretty sure that was Angela Fisher, but Jasper was the icing on the cake. I’d kind of like to go for a run if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” says Hannah. “But it’s awfully hot.”

This time when I smile, it’s genuine. “You forget where I live in real life. This is practically cold for Atlanta.”

“True enough,” says Hannah. She looks like she’s going to try to convince me one more time, but then she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and says, “Well, enjoy and if you fancy dinner later, I’m making fajitas in the apartment.”

I nod as Claire says, “Do you want some company at all?”

“No, it’s okay. I think a few slow miles with some Abba blasting will do me a world of good.”

After a few promises to come to dinner if I feel up to it, I head back to the cabin to change. Away from Claire and Hannah’s worried expressions, I give in to my own anger, flinging my T-shirt across my bedroom, yanking on my sports bra and a tank top, and tying my hair up in a ponytail tight enough to guarantee not a single strand will escape, even if I sprint.

Not that I will. By the end of the driveway, I’m sweating enough to wish I brought a towel, if only to have something to wipe my face with other than my damp tank top. If I checked my heart rate, I’m pretty sure it would be through the roof and I force myself to slow down as I turn left on the main road.

If you can call it that. The road in front of the castle is barely wide enough for two cars to pass. Scarlett says it’s a B road, whatever that means. All I know is the pub is a mile down and two miles further is the village. When I was changing, I thought I’d run to the village, but now I’m not so sure, even with a dose of “Dancing Queen” blasting through my headphones.

Once I find my pace, though, I see the pub to the left and my legs feel like they’ve got at least a few more miles in them, so I continue on toward the village. The road is deserted, although I pass a couple on horseback going the other way and they give me a wave. With every step, I feel my frustration recede a bit more and by the time I turn around on the edge of the village, I even find myself mentally thanking Theo for teaching me about pace, breathing, and what he used to call maximum result.

“You need to think of it like a math problem,” he said.

“Running is not a math problem.” My hostility toward running had been pretty epic that day. Outwardly, I blamed the ninety-five degree temps. Inwardly, it was all Theo.

“Seriously. Think about algebra. There’s more than one way to solve for X, right?”

“Sort of. I mean, there’s only one right way, but there are varying ways to come up with the right answer,” I said.

I played right into his hand with that one, judging by the grin on his face. “Exactly. You can dilly-dally around and somehow still find the right answer, but it helps if you understand how to do it properly. Same with running. You can run with bad form, poor nutrition, the wrong equipment, and still get a run in, but you won’t be getting the maximum result.”

“What if I don’t care about the maximum result?”

“You should. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

What’s the point, indeed? Now, as I glide over the country road, I’m grateful. Defending Theo to Scarlett is practically a reflex, but this is one of the first times since we broke up I’ve thought well of him.

Which is not entirely his fault. He was consistent from day one; I was the one who changed, who wanted more spontaneity, less…less perfection.

The echo of my laugh in my headphones surprises me. I might be the only woman in the world who complains about her ex-boyfriend being too perfect. Even if that’s why I first fell for him. I mean, who wouldn’t fall for a guy with a great physique, winning smile, and a stable job? There was a time when I looked at Scarlett and her string of artists, musicians, and fellow grad students and felt nothing but relief. I had Theo and a future all mapped out, and it felt good.

Until it started to feel like a gilded cage.

I round the final bend in the road and slow my pace. Another helpful hint from Theo: never skip the cool down. I set my sights on a tree, run to it, then slow some more, repeating until I reach the end of the driveway at a steady walk, where I stop, put my hands on my thighs, and let myself drop from the waist to stretch out my back. I’ll be sore tomorrow from the impact of running on the road and my back always seems to take the brunt of it.

When I straighten, I take two deep breaths in before starting back towards the castle. I’m about halfway down the driveway when I see Jasper jogging towards me. My heartbeat spikes like I’ve been sprinting until I see he’s got headphones and running shoes on himself. He’s fiddling with the music on his phone and doesn’t see me at first, but I freeze anyway. I don’t want to confront him now and call him on his bad behavior earlier, but there’s no way I can talk to him like nothing happened.

Turns out I don’t need to worry. He shoves his phone in the pocket of his shorts and lengthens his stride. When he finally looks up and sees me, a sharp nod of his head is the only acknowledgement I get as he passes, leaving me staring after him. My mouth hangs open and I shake my head as I turn around, hoping it will dislodge the thought echoing in my head. It’s so loud, I turn my music up in an attempt to erase it, but it doesn’t work. All I can think as the castle comes into sight is:
Theo would never act like that.