Ghosts of Winter (18 page)

“I suppose they’re more graceful,” I said, debating whether or not I agreed, “but castles have a certain drama about them.”

“I suppose I prefer beauty over drama,” Anna replied. Her reflective expression softened her face so much I could almost have been looking at a different woman. It was remarkable how expressive her face could be, and yet how impassive at other times. Anna confused me still, but it was an increasingly intoxicating brand of confusion. Abruptly she tensed and gathered herself, almost as if she realised she’d shown me her softer, more emotional side and wasn’t entirely comfortable with that. I frowned and was wondering what the best way to continue the conversation was, when her expression brightened dramatically, as though she’d forced herself to move on from whatever thought had troubled her temporarily.

“Come over here and see the view.” She tugged on the sleeve of my cardigan like an excited child might, before dropping her arm and walking in her usual straight-backed fashion towards the wall which ran between the castle entrance and the cathedral. I followed her, our route taking us through undisturbed snow, which slowed our progress.

When we reached the wall, I saw the meandering Wear below me and, to my right, the bridge from which I’d previously admired the castle and cathedral, across which tiny people bustled back and forth. The snowy rooftops and frozen trees opposite made this look more like some quaint Bavarian fairy-tale town than a northern British city. I leaned on the wall and sipped my rapidly cooling coffee. Anna drained the last of hers and crushed the cardboard cup in her fingers.

“You’re lucky to live here,” I told her. “Have you always lived here?”

“I’m from the south actually, West Sussex,” she said. “But I went to university here and I couldn’t bear to leave.”

 “I’m assuming you live in the city.”

“I live where the city meets the countryside. It’s a Georgian cottage I’ve been working on for the last three years.”

“You’ve renovated it?” I couldn’t help but notice the way she spoke about her home, and her renovation of it, as though it was a project she had undertaken alone. Where was the man or woman who had given her that ring in all of this? In prompting her to tell me about the cottage I hoped I might finally learn the truth. I knew I was desperately in need of the reality check.

“Yes,” she replied. “It wasn’t a ruin or anything, but it needed some serious work. All of the major stuff was done in the first year. I’m on to finishing touches now.” She made it sound very simple. And solitary.

“Sounds like the best part to me. I can’t wait to get to that stage with Winter.” I  wondered just how far into the future that point would be.

“Hopefully it won’t take you anywhere near three years.”

“Why has it taken you so long then?”

“It’s my hobby, I suppose. I could have spent a fortune and got it all done in about six months. But then what would I have done in my spare time?”

“I don’t know. Tae kwon do?”
Spent time with your husband or wife?
The question burned in my brain.

“I needed something to exercise my interest in buildings and my latent interior design skills as well as my body,” she replied seriously.

“Bet it’s cost some serious cash.”
And is all that money yours alone?

“It has. But then I’m a perfectionist. And”—she hesitated and shot me a knowing look verging on playful and very charming—“I know you’re dying to ask if I earn all of my money from being an architect.”

“Not dying exactly. Just curious.”
Are you about to tell me you’re married to a millionaire?

“Well, no, I don’t, though it does pay well. But my family have always been well-off, and I can’t quite bring myself to refuse the allowance they still pay me. My father is retired now, but he worked in investments and made a few very wise decisions. My mother’s a barrister. Really, by their standards, being an architect is quite a comedown.” She laughed gently, though I sensed a slight tension in her words. “I earn enough to live independently. I use the extra for my treats.”

“Bespoke suits and fast cars?”

“Among other things, clearly.”

That explained one mystery. Anna showed no evidence of bragging about her family’s wealth and was refreshingly honest about it. Resentment of her good fortune was impossible when she handled it so well. But it didn’t explain the wedding ring.

Anna took my empty cup from my hand and strode away the few steps to the nearest waste bin. She threw the cups away and returned to where I leaned on the wall. She mirrored my stance, resting her bent elbows on the cold stone. She stood close and her sleeve pressed slightly against mine. I froze, not willing to move, while wondering if I should inch away from her myself, for the sake of my own comfort. She was so near it was difficult to look into her face, and I glanced down instead at her left hand where it was folded over her other on the wall. I summoned all of my courage to ask the question that burned inside me.

“Does your husband enjoy renovating property too?”

She leaned back and looked keenly at me, apparently startled. I made myself keep looking into her eyes, watching her reactions. I saw the realisation dawn an instant later. “Do I seem like a married woman to you?” I couldn’t quite read her tone, but it sounded slightly sarcastic.

“That ring seems to be evidence enough.”

“It’s a piece of jewellery people read a certain significance into, that’s all.”

“You mean you’re not married?” My pulse thundered in my head, and I felt a little dizzy. Suddenly a ridiculous dream had become a possibility, and the reality of it was disconcerting.

“No, I’m not married. But I don’t appreciate the inappropriate attention of every single man I have to deal with. I wear the ring as another form of defence. I can always take it off if I want to create a different impression. It just makes life easier.”

Easier? I wondered why Anna needed the ring, why she found it so difficult to just be honest. She had to know the ring was a barrier to any thoughts of potential intimacy with her. What was she so afraid of? “But are you in a long term relationship?” I was determined to discover the whole truth now and sensed I knew the answer already. Anna seemed so solitary, precisely why it had been so easy to forget the ring over and over.

“No,” she said, smiling slowly. “And I’m not really into the idea of marriage either. My last girlfriend was, but it was just another thing we didn’t see eye-to-eye on.”

I blinked and my mouth was suddenly dry. “Girlfriend?” I raised my eyebrows meaningfully.

“That’s what I said.”

“So you did.”

We were silent for a drawn-out moment, both staring at the river below. I had no doubt neither of us was really pondering the view. I knew what I was thinking, but what was going through her mind? Would a woman like Anna really have any interest in me? Could I even dare to hope? And what should I read into her views on marriage? Was she worried about commitment, or was it merely the formal institution of marriage she disliked? What could I learn about her from that slight glimpse into her thoughts and feelings?

“So,” I began, thinking one of us should say something, “what do you have against marriage?”

Anna’s shoulders tensed perceptibly, and a shadow came over her face. I wondered what the story of her last relationship had been to create such a reaction. “Oh, you know. It’s not so much marriage that I object to. It’s the idea of committing in any way to the wrong person,” she said dismissively. I sensed I wasn’t being told the whole truth.

“The commitment worries you?” I questioned.

“Promising yourself forever to someone you don’t know you definitely want to spend the rest of your life with worries me. I mean, how do you ever know for sure? People change. And I suppose I value my personal freedom too much to compromise it easily.” Elements of strain were showing in her expression now, and I decided it was better not to press too much. There was more to this story, but she wasn’t going to tell me.

“I suppose you might think differently if you found the right woman,” I suggested.

I knew she shot me a sideways glance, but I kept my eyes on the view. There was an awkward silence before she spoke again. When she did she startled me by asking, “So, you don’t have anyone special?”

My stomach lurched with a memory of Francesca. The only someone special I’d ever had. Our relationship had been rocky for years, the strain of my mother’s death and my sudden lack of interest in working had only finished it off. Still, it seemed strange to be talking about her to Anna as a thing of the past. Especially when I hoped Anna would be very present in my immediate future. “I had a girlfriend. We split up earlier this year.” Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. I supposed neither of us was really ready to share right at this moment.

“You’ve had quite a year then.” If she had unspoken questions, she gave no sign of them. I wondered just how interested in me she was.

“That I have. And still smiling.” I grinned to demonstrate and lighten the tone, hoping she didn’t perceive how often I faked that grin.

“I admire your strength, Ros,” she said quite seriously but in a rushed way, as though she was awkward saying it. I was flattered, taken aback by the compliment given so abruptly, and didn’t answer.

A not-quite-comfortable silence stretched between us. Eventually I turned my head and looked at her. In the same instant, she raised her eyes to mine. Suddenly there was no denying the understanding that passed between us. From hammering in my chest, my heart felt as though it stopped as I comprehended the intensity in those blue eyes. I tightened my lips as she took a breath and hers parted slightly. Still we gazed at each other, as though neither of us could quite believe it. I wanted her very badly, I couldn’t do anything but acknowledge it to myself. But was there any chance? It was virtually impossible to view myself as worthy of this beautiful, competent woman. As though she saw the moment of doubt in my eyes, she looked down at her watch.

“Gosh, look at the time! I have an appointment in fifteen minutes.” I wondered if she really did, but was sufficiently relieved to take the escape route she gave us both. We began to walk quickly in the direction of the road leading back down the hill and to her office. As we navigated the slippery cobbles of the street, the silence between us was so tense I just had to break it.

“Thank you for showing me the cathedral.”

“I’m sure you could have managed it on your own,” she replied, “but you’re welcome.” Her voice sounded tense, heavy with the things we hadn’t said.

“I couldn’t have gained so much architectural insight without you.” This conversation was hard and awkward, but silence would be worse at this stage.

“True.” We were quiet a little longer. Finally I glanced across at her. Noticing my attention, she looked back. I watched the tension melt from her expression as a smile she apparently could not suppress pulled at the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad I could help you with your architectural knowledge.” She raised an eyebrow, her tone mocking both of us and our new awkward reticence.

“It’s been interesting.” I spoke cautiously, unsure if either of us was actually going to acknowledge the new territory we were in. “I’ve certainly discovered some fascinating things. I’ve had a good time.”

“Me too,” she replied. Her words were insufficient but her expression was not. “We can maybe do it again sometime?”

“I’d like that very much.” I hoped she would understand how enthusiastic I felt.

“Good. I’ll call.” She looked reflective for a moment, and once more I wondered what was going on in that keen mind. And if I’d ever find a way to get her to tell me. Not that I was being especially eloquent myself right now. “Listen, I’m going to see about getting my contacts in order, so the work at Winter can start as soon as possible. Is that okay?” Apparently it was time to talk business again. Except we both knew the work on Winter would involve us working together and necessitate many more meetings and phone calls.

“Sounds perfect to me, thanks.” I couldn’t prevent my smile even while I tried to keep my words moderate and at least almost businesslike.

“I’ll call,” she repeated. That she’d felt the need to say it again thrilled me.

“When will I see you again?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll probably come to the house again next time.”

“Okay. Just let me know.” I found, rather than dreading another visit at Winter, I was already anticipating it with some pleasure, a fierce curiosity beginning to burn as I wondered what might happen between us over a few more encounters. We’d reached her office door now, and she stood awkwardly, as if wondering quite what parting words we should exchange.

“See you soon then.” Anna looked as though she was not entirely in control, as she had in the kitchens at Winter. I knew the feeling well.

“I’ll look forward to it,” I said. She turned and disappeared quickly through her door. To begin with, as I walked back towards my car, my heart was soaring at what I’d discovered about Anna today. But as I walked farther away from her, I felt the optimism slipping away. How could I, at this point in my life, with my emotions unpredictable and nothing more solid to hold on to than a ruin of a house, consider beginning a relationship at all? Was I really ready to move on in that way? Or was Anna just so captivating I’d lost all grip on reality? I felt nauseous because the chances of me really being able to make a relationship work, right at that moment, were thin to non-existent, however much I wished it was different.