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As she climbed the steps from the Metro station, the cold, fresh air blew through the elaborate dark-green metal bars and under the glass ceiling. The station design was so iconic she had a picture of one in the living room of her apartment. She’d bought it shortly after moving in all those years ago, and though it had been fairly inexpensive, it was still one of her most prized possessions.
Her apartment in Saint Germain was in a typical eighteenth-century block with white shutters and decorative ironwork across the windows. On hot summer days she would cast the windows open and let the light flood her apartment. As she stepped inside the communal hallway, she gathered her post and made her way upstairs. An envelope postmarked from England caught her eye and her lungs turned to stone. It had a company name she didn’t recognise. Even worse, the town it came from was dangerously close to Meadowbank; the tiny village she’d grown up in with Great-Aunt Vera who had begrudgingly taken her in after her parents had died.
Curiosity almost forced her to open it there and then, but Amelia valued her privacy and continued upstairs. She pressed the key into the lock, hoping once more that Bastien had left by now. She really didn’t fancy talking to him. He’d try to convince her to spend the rest of the day with him and all she wanted was to nap on the sofa as the soft breeze blew over her.
With a gentle push, the door opened and all was quiet inside. No sounds of snoring, no sounds of movement, and sighing with relief, Amelia advanced down the hall and into the open-plan living room and kitchen, anchoring the milk jug under her arm so she could see the envelope again. It nestled among bills, inviting Amelia to ignore everything else and tear it open without any further delay.
‘Good morning, ma chérie.’
Glancing up, her eyes fell on Bastien, lying naked on her kitchen counter, one leg bent, the other outstretched and all of him on display. The copper milk jug fell from underneath her arm, landing on the floor with a deafening clatter. Bastien wobbled precariously and almost toppled forward onto the floor. His hand shot out, gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself. Amelia nearly dropped the pretty perfume bottle as well, but somehow managed to keep hold of it. She gazed around as if it might help her understand why he’d chosen the kitchen as the best location for his seduction.
‘Bastien!’ Her neck grew hot. ‘What are you … umm—’ So much for avoiding an embarrassing situation. Amelia decided the best thing was to pretend everything was perfectly normal, which was a bit of a stretch but doable if she kept her eyes only on his face. ‘Wh – what are you still doing here?’
‘I am waiting for you,’ he replied, regaining his balance and lowering his voice to nothing more than a seductive grumble. In the current circumstances, it didn’t really work. Bastien pinned her with his eyes, and his gaze never shifted. Of all the things she thought she might face if Bastien were still here this morning, she wasn’t quite prepared for him to be naked and spread-eagled in her kitchen, and she found herself momentarily lost for words.
Amelia placed the perfume bottle on the counter, thanking the Lord it was still intact. Unsure what else to say, she stammered, ‘I’m, umm, I’m a bit busy today, Bastien. Sorry.’
‘Too busy for love?’
The sound of the L word twice in one day stiffened her shoulders as another image of Adam shot into her brain. Bastien gave her puppy-dog eyes and Amelia’s headache intensified. How on earth was she supposed to remove him from her kitchen? It wasn’t like she could grab a fish slice and prise him off the counter. ‘Bastien, can you please put your pants on and maybe umm, get your bits off my worktop?’
He didn’t move. ‘Do I not tempt you? Come now.’ He held out his hand to her but all Amelia could do was rub her forehead.
‘Bastien, please, pants on.’
‘Let us spend the day together.’
Amelia sighed and pressed her hand harder onto her head. This was exactly why relationships weren’t a good idea. She should never have let her guard down and shared that second bottle of wine. ‘Bastien, you’re a very nice man and I had a great time last night, but I really can’t see you today. Please, I really need you to go.’
‘But—’
‘No, Bastien.’
Sheepishly, he moved. She guessed the kitchen counter had been too cold to sit on for long because his pants were lying on the floor by her feet. He must have decided to forgo them only at the very last moment for full-on seduction. At least he was committed. Amelia picked them up using the tips of her fingers and handed them to him as Bastien’s skin made a horrible squeaking sound as he pushed himself down from the counter. It looked like she’d be spending the afternoon disinfecting the kitchen before she cooked anything and seeing as his pants had been on the floor, she would have to wash that as well.
‘You really want me to go?’ Bastien tried one more time, attempting to impart some lust into his voice.
‘Yes, please. I’m sorry, but I really have work to do.’
‘But it is Saturday.’
The letter again caught her attention and curiosity built but as much as she wanted to know its contents, she couldn’t open it with Bastien around. Frowning as she placed the letters on the counter, she turned away from him and went to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, hoping he’d get the hint that it was time to leave. Océanè’s words that she was a cold woman echoed in her brain. She didn’t mean to be cold with Bastien, but how else was she to get this naked Frenchman out of her apartment? Without turning, she was aware of him heading off into the bedroom and a few moments later, he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and said goodbye.
The cold water slid down her throat and concern mixed with anticipation sent goose bumps over her skin. She didn’t normally get letters from England and the company name sounded unnervingly formal. After spraying and wiping down the counter, she sat on a stool and opened the post, starting with the bright white envelope postmarked from England.
As soon as she pulled out the thick white paper, her eyes began to scan the words. An unexpected wave of emotion hit her, and her body shook in response. For a moment, her breathing became hard and erratic and she willed herself to calm down. Great-Aunt Vera was dead and had left her Meadow Farm: the draughty old farmhouse they’d co-existed in for ten unsentimental and lonely years, as well as the land around it. You couldn’t even really call it living together because that implied a level of fondness that had never existed as far as her aunt was concerned.
Shaking her head at the memory, Amelia was glad she’d left for university and never returned. Vera hadn’t wanted her and if it hadn’t been for Adam, the only friend she had in the village, she’d have run away long before then. He’d talked her out of it so many times when Vera had told her off for doing nothing more than being a child. Vera had always made her feel so burdensome and ultimately forgettable.
A moment’s respite from such intense emotions came as she thought of Adam again. The youthful face she remembered once more pushed its way into her brain and she swallowed hard. She’d missed him immensely over the years but had never been brave enough to contact him. He’d been her first love and she regretted that she’d left without saying a proper goodbye but there was no possible way she could have stayed in that place forever. He’d have got over it by now, Amelia reminded herself. He’d have forgotten her quickly. He’d probably been happy to be rid of her.
Swallowing down her feelings, Amelia reread the letter. As shock subsided to be replaced by grief and guilt, Amelia took another drink of water. She hadn’t even known Vera was sick. Apart from exchanging Christmas and birthday cards, they didn’t speak at all and her most recent Christmas card hadn’t mentioned anything about declining health. Had it been sudden? The solicitor’s letter didn’t mention the cause of death.
Though she regretted how their relationship had ended up, unless someone knew Vera – knew how cold and hard she was, how unloving – people didn’t understand. Some people were naturally private, and it was a behaviour Amelia herself had learned, but Vera took it to a whole new level, hating everyone. Amelia buried the turmoil threatening to rise and overtake her under the knowledge that she’d made something of herself. She took a breath in, counted to eight and let it out slowly, counting again as she did so.
Despite everything, Vera had left her Meadow Farmhouse and according to the letter, she’d made Amelia the sole heir. Amelia had always found the village hard to handle. The concern when she’d arrived and the constant reminders of why she’d ended up there had been overwhelming. Meadowbank was one of those places where everyone knew everyone else’s business and, as she’d grown, she’d longed for somewhere impersonal where no one asked her questions or reminded her of the past.
Would Adam still be there? Would anyone even remember her?
After she’d left, Amelia had never planned on going back and yet now it seemed she had no choice. She had to return to Meadow Farmhouse.
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