The Winter Folly by Lulu Taylor Page B

mood became heavy and no matter how
much she tried to bring peace and good humour to the situation, she couldn’t defuse the tension. They had never rowed, not seriously, but she had the sense that something was building and it
was beyond her control to stop it.
    The night before they left, John seemed keyed up in a way she’d never seen before and, on an impulse, she arranged for them both to have massages in the hotel spa to relax him. Afterwards,
back in the chalet as they prepared to go for dinner, she thought he seemed calmer, though his grey eyes were still flinty in the way that signalled he was not at ease. She kept up an easy chatter
to divert him while they got ready.
    ‘I can’t quite believe that on Monday I’ll be back in the office as usual,’ she said lightly, putting on her earrings in front of the mirror. The aquamarine in her
engagement ring looked even bluer against the tan she’d acquired, and her face was glowing with the effects of sunshine and seawater. She could see John behind her, leaning against the wall,
his hands thrust down low in his pockets. He looked strained. ‘It’s been so wonderful here, I haven’t given home a thought. Goodness knows what’s waiting for me when I get
back. My inbox will be a nightmare.’
    John glanced up at her reflection and their eyes met.
    Why is he so tense and unhappy?
The massage obviously hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped. She felt a rush of love and tenderness for him, wanting to take him in her arms
and soothe all the bad feelings away.
    He said, ‘It doesn’t matter really now, does it? You won’t be there for long. How long is your notice period? A month?’
    She pushed the back of her earring on and shook out her hair. It fell thick and fair over her shoulders. The sun had lightened it several shades, and her freckles had come out. ‘What do
you mean?’
    ‘You’ll be resigning when you get back, won’t you? I thought you might do it before we left but you had so much on with the wedding, I didn’t bring it up.’
    She stared at him, startled. They had talked only vaguely about what would happen when they returned but she had assumed that the arrangement they had before the wedding would go on for a while
longer: London in the week in her little flat, Fort Stirling at weekends and holidays, with John going back when there was an urgent need for him to be there. She’d grown accustomed to his
being able to do what he wanted, leaving his cousin in charge when necessary so that they could be together. When John had talked about how they would live at the house, she’d pictured them
there at some unspecified point in the future, when she felt ready to give up her London life or when circumstances decreed it. They’d agreed before the wedding that Delilah would come off
the Pill and they would let things take their course. She was thirty-four and ready for motherhood when it came, but she had the vague impression that it could take a few months for the
Pill’s effects to wear off and so didn’t expect to become pregnant immediately. She turned back from the mirror to face him and said slowly, ‘You mean – stop
working?’
    He frowned. ‘Well, how are you going to commute to London every day from Dorset? It’s not exactly practical, is it? Where else would you live but with me, for God’s
sake?’
    ‘But . . .’ She stared at him helplessly. It seemed obvious now he said it, but she hadn’t properly thought through the implications: that her career would need to be given up
at once. ‘Why didn’t you say something before now?’
    He laughed in a joyless way. ‘I’m sorry, darling, but I thought you understood. I come as a package with the house. I belong at Fort Stirling. That’s just the way it is. It was
lovely having time to ourselves but I can’t stay away indefinitely. It’s just not possible. That place is my life and my work. Besides, my father is there and he needs me.’
    ‘What about my