Chapter 12

The lovely woman lingers in the doorway. “Good morning, Mitch,” booms James from his place by the stove. “Come join us for breakfast. Charlotte, pull up a chair for your mother.”

She’s made some attempt to repair the damage to her face, but even under her make-up, her face is bruised. But the worst of the swelling has gone down overnight and she can open both eyes.

She moves gracefully, seating herself next to Charlotte. The two, seemingly unconsciously, reach for each other, touching fingertips.

“Good morning, Jenny.”

“Good morning… Mom.” Charlotte speaks the word self-consciously. Her head drops. “Mom.” She rolls it around her mouth, like an unfamiliar flavour. Mitch’s fingers tighten around hers.

“Sleep well?” I ask.

“Some,” she admits. “You know how it is. When it’s not your own bed.”

James interrupts. “Please think of it as your own bed. You are welcome here. This is your home for as long as you wish it.”

“Thank you.” She ducks her head in a gesture so like that of her daughter’s of a few moments ago, it’s like watching mirrors.

I slide the toast-rack across the table, then the coffee pot. “Help yourself. There’s more coming.”

She takes a couple of slices, buttering them lightly, sipping at milky coffee.

Light eater…

Looks after her figure…

And I smile inwardly.

Wait for it…

James’ dark gaze flashes to mine. He’s sucking in a smile.

Thinking the same as I am…

Charlotte reaches for toast, engulfing one slice in three bites as she butters another. James moves in with a serving dish warm from the oven: bacon, sausage, black pudding, tomatoes, mushrooms and eggs, then serves a bit of each onto a plate, passing it to Mitch.

Charlotte’s eyes light as she divvies up her own food. Her plate vanishes under the pile of food, just a corner remaining clear. “Is there…?” She turns towards the stove…

“Coming up,” says James, frying pan in hand, as he slides slices of fried bread onto her plate.

Mitch follows Charlotte’s movements, fascination writ large as she watches her daughter demolish the plate of food then serve herself seconds. “Do you always eat like that?”

Charlotte nods enthusiastically. “My Mas… James is a very good cook.”

“Yes, he is.” Mitch nibbles at a bit of egg. “But don’t you put on weight?”

“I keep busy.”

Mitch’s stare is just a smidge from rudeness. Abruptly, she double-takes, peering in. “Is that..?”

Charlotte’s swallows a mouthful of bacon. Her hand rises to the butterfly dangling at her throat. “Yes, it is. It's yours.”

Mitch reaches out, brushing fingertips over silver metal. “Where on Earth did you find it?”

“Klempner gave it to me.”

Mitch sits back, absorbing the words. “You don't call him father?”

Charlotte puts her knife down, pokes a mushroom around her plate with the fork. “I've not gotten used to the idea yet. For a long time, I thought Frank was my father.” Mitch opens her eyes wide, shaking her head.

Charlotte touches the butterfly again. “It’s yours. Do you want it back?”

“No.” Mitch’s face is calm but violence lurks in her words. “Frank gave it to me. I don’t want anything of his. If you like it, you keep it.”

Charlotte drops back to her food, pushes the mushroom through a puddle of brown sauce, then abandons it, to nibble at a bit of bread.

Mitch watches her daughter then in a bright voice, “It’s a lovely house you have here.”

“All his own work,” says James with a small smile.

I find I want to impress this woman…

Charlotte’s mother…

I want her to like me, to approve of me. “Mitch, after breakfast, let me give you the guided tour. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

“The tour?”

“The house, gardens and the rest. If you’re staying with us for a while, you’d better know your way around.” A thought occurs. “How do you want me to introduce you? Mitch? Shelley? Mrs Conners?”

“Not Conners.” She digs in with her knife, committing violence on a blameless tomato. “I'm divorcing the bastard as soon as I can. I’ll not be using his name again.”

James sips coffee. “You're sure of that?”

“I never want to see him again. After what he did. All those years…” She puts down knife and fork. Her hand slips over Charlotte’s. “I thought Jenny was dead. I blamed myself. And all the time…”

“Dessert!” announces James.

“Dessert?” I blink. “For breakfast?”

Or was that a mood-breaker?

James’ expression is guileless. “Special occasion. Apple pancakes. Charlotte, could you fetch the syrup to the table, please.”

I underestimate you sometimes…

*****

I stand, resisting the blow-out on my belly. “Shall we go?” I gesture to the door, then trying not to be obvious about it, let out my belt a notch.

Too many pancakes…

Mitch rises. Charlotte too, but James snags her by the elbow. “Help me with the clearing up please, Charlotte.”

“But Mas…”

“You can load up the dishwasher.”

I lead Mitch out. She follows but twists back, looking to the house. “Where are we going?”

“To the hotel. It's just a short walk.”

“Hotel? James said something about that.”

“It’s a spa and leisure centre. You know, gym, pool, pamper days, beauty treatments.”

“It’s yours?”

“Yes, but not just mine. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the staff, then you can use any of the facilities you like.” I cast an eye over her; beautiful, but she looks so tired. “I’d say you could use some pampering.”

She shifts under my gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“You.” Her head inclines. “They used to say before you marry a woman, take a look at the mother.”

Her lips curve. “And?”

“And… it gives me a warm feeling for my life in twenty years' time.”

Her cheeks pink up. “Do you work here yourself?”

“Some. I’m a masseur and a sports trainer, but my work’s mainly organisational these days.”

As we stroll through the gardens to the back of the hotel, “You have so much,” she murmurs.

“We have, but we’ve all worked hard for it; me, James, Charlotte, in our different ways.”

She stiffens. “I'm not going to live on your charity.”

Like mother, like daughter…

“Who's asking you to? There’s always plenty to do around here. If it bothers you, you can help out here in the hotel until you decide what you want to do permanently.”

She brightens. “I’d love to. Doing what?”

“Oh, there's always use for a pair of hands. You could help on reception, serve in the restaurant. Or there’s the garden. Charlotte’s been doing work on growing our own vegetables for the kitchens. What are you good at?”

She looks blue. “Not much really. I never finished school.”

“But you ran your own business.”

“You know what I was selling.”

I stop, turn to face her, my arms folded. “It doesn’t matter what you were selling. From what I’ve seen of you, and from what I know of you, I’ll bet you weren’t just making ends meet from some back-alley?”

“No, I wasn’t…” She breathes deeply, her chest slowly rising and falling. “What do you mean… What you know of me?”

Is she ready for this?

In for a penny…

“What we’ve learned from Klempner. We’ve spoken with him several times. Whatever else can be said of his obsession with you, I don’t think he’s the kind of man to be attracted to the bottom of the barrel.”

She inhales again. “No. He had money, a lot of money. He could have chosen whatever… whoever… he wanted.”

“And yet, what he wanted was you.”

She turns pensive…

Time to change the subject…

“So, what can you do?”

A steely look creeps into her eye. Challenge almost. Her chin lifts. “I can paint. I’m a good decorator.”

Klempner said something about that…

“Great. I’m setting up a creche area. You could take it on as a project if you like.”

Her face lights up into the most brilliant smile I have yet seen from her. Inside me, something jolts.

Oh, my God…

Older by twenty years than the image carved into my brain, but Mitch’s hair is that same red as her daughter’s, with just a hint of gold intertwined with silver. Her eyes are the same deeply intense emerald, and her skin is like milk tinted with rose petals.

But more so even than her daughter, Mitch’s smile transforms her. Already a beautiful woman, smiling like that, she is spectacular. Charlotte’s smile can be feral; the smile of a cat or a wolf. Mitch smiles like a small child, her whole face lit from within.

The face that launched a thousand ships…

No wonder Klempner fell for her…

I hold out a hand, gesturing to the rear entrance. “Shall we?”

She flushes but heads for the door.

*****