Run Rosie Run (5 page)

‘You’re being ridiculous, Bronte. I’m not taking a salary for nothing.’

Temper flashed now in those green eyes as they glared into hers.

‘Do you think I would ever forget how you put your own life on hold when my parents died? When I lost my home? When Jonathan dumped me? When I discovered my father wasn’t my father? When Alexander and I were at each others throats?’

‘Anyone would do the same for their best friend.’

‘No! They most certainly would not. Jonathan didn’t even come to the funeral and we were engaged. I never had to ask. You were right there, the one constant I could count on.’

Feeling an utter fraud, guilt she was hurting her best friend smacked Rosie too hard as it scorched a hot path up her neck and over her face.

‘You have Nico and Luca and Sophia and Alexander. They’re your family.’

Bronte’s eyes were like lasers on hers.

‘Yes and you’re my family too. You always have been, surely you know that?’

She did know it.

Guilt settled like an oil slick in her stomach.

‘Jeez, Bronte, it’s not as if I’m going on a ship to Mars.’

But now Bronte’s eyes narrowed as they searched hers.

A deep unease uncoiled in Rosie’s gut.

‘You’re not telling me something. You’re hurting. Who hurt you?’

Well, she could hardly say,

‘I hurt myself. I’m mourning the loss of my dreams of your brother.’

But her friend wanted to offer her support.

She could see it in those big green eyes.

Eyes that reminded her too much of Alexander.

‘I’m fine. Just a little off centre.’

Now Bronte frowned, but her eyes were trained on Rosie’s face.

‘Working too hard will do that to a person.’

‘I need to keep busy.’

Silence.

‘And that says it all,’ Bronte said.

Oh God, Bronte had the bit between her teeth and she wouldn’t stop until she’d got to the bottom of the problem.

‘It’s just been a bit much recently. I’ve overdone things,’ Rosie told her the truth and wanted to add,
‘And I’ve been so terribly lonely.
’

‘Okay.’

Bronte’s smile arrived without conditions, filled to the brim with a love that soothed Rosie’s tortured soul.

‘It’s a man, isn’t it?’ Bronte asked softly.

Omigod.

And the words poured out of her mouth.

‘It’s over.’

What?

‘Who?’

Yes who Rosie?

‘No one you know and nothing happened.’

Her friend’s eyes went wide with a baffled hurt that made Rosie’s chest ache.

‘I don’t
believe
this. When did you get together? Why has no one mentioned him, seen him?’

Stop it now. Stop it, Rosie pleaded with herself. But no.

‘Er, he doesn’t know I have feelings for him.’

Those green eyes went too sharp now.

‘He’s married?’

‘No!’

‘Something must have happened if you’re hurting. Why the secrecy?’

Omigod.

The woman didn’t know when to quit.

This was so typical of Bronte and Alexander was just the same.

In a panic, Rosie let her vivid imagination run riot.

‘He keeps crazy hours. His job. A pilot. He’s an airline captain.’

‘You said it’s over. Something must have started if it’s over.

‘What I mean is my feelings for him are over. He’ll never be mine. I’m not his type. He likes... variety.’

Now Bronte’s eyes filled to the brim with sympathy and Rosie told herself she was an evil, wicked woman.

‘Is he in love with someone else?’ she asked softly.

Rosie shook her head.

‘Love has nothing to do with it.’

Now Bronte gave her a hug and drew back to look at her face.

‘You poor thing. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Yes, Rosie, why didn’t you tell your best friend?

As her friend kept stroking her arm, soothing her, Rosie felt sick.

‘I just need to deal with it in my own way, you know?’

Bronte nodded.

‘What’s he like?’

Yes, Rosie, what’s he like?

Desperate, hunting for a straw to clutch she found herself describing a person who didn’t exist.

‘He’s sort of hard to put into words. But I’d describe him as handsome. Actually he’s built. Tanned, blonde and with no ego. Perfect really except he’s a workaholic,’ she said and wondered how the hell she’d got herself into this mess.

Bronte shook her head.

‘What is it with some men? Is he attractive?’

Thinking of Alexander Rosie nodded.

‘Oh yeah, great dresser.’

‘Means nothing,’ Bronte said firmly. ‘It’s what’s underneath that counts. Took me long enough to work that out.’

‘Actually, what’s underneath is pretty amazing.’

Her friend grinned.

‘A gym bunny?’

‘Hmm.’

‘At least that’s something. Nothing worse than a paunch.’

But thinking now of how Alexander constantly stuck his nose in her business made Rosie’s tone sharp.

‘No man is perfect.’

Bronte gave her another hug.

‘If he can’t see what a wonderful, loving person you are then you’re better off without him.’

‘True.’ And it was indeed very true.

Rosie breathed a sigh of relief that the interrogation was over.

But Bronte wasn’t done yet.

‘What’s his name?’

Rosie’s mind went blank.

She blinked once, twice.

‘Simon,’ she said.

‘Simon who?’

Christ, the woman was like a dog with a bone.’

‘Not going there, Bronte. It’s over.’

Bronte gave her a hard look and Rosie knew that look.

Shitty, shit, shit.

And her mother’s voice bellowed in her ear,
‘Lies are contagious. You start with one and end up with a skewed sense of reality’

‘Okay, when do you want to leave?’

It wasn’t until the question was asked that Rosie realised she’d already made up her mind, sort of.

‘It’s my birthday in five weeks. How about after that? And do you think we could keep this just between us?’

Thrusting her feet into her clogs, Bronte nodded.

‘Okay. A birthday and goodbye party.’ She blew out a breath and turned to her. ‘Tomorrow, after work, we’re power hiking.’

Purely for form, Rosie pouted.

‘If I must.’

Bronte grinned, turned to leave then stopped and looked back.

‘By the way, has my brother upset you?’

The jolt in her heart and tummy had Rosie take a gulp of water.

‘No more than usual.’

‘That’s what I thought. Look on the bright side, he’ll be out of your hair soon.’

Later that afternoon Rosie sat on the couch in the office of Sweet Sensationss and tried not to look utterly shocked.

The woman who next to her looked nothing like the Janine she’d known. She was painfully thin. Her miles of luscious blonde hair was cut in a short crop which accentuated razor sharp cheekbones.

Where were the perfectly manicured nails, the make-up, the designer clothes?

Where was the sassy, confident pain in the ass?

Wearing skinny jeans that hung from her hips and a white vest Janine Faulkner sat breast feeding an infant with jet black curls.

The baby was ten weeks old and apparently had jaws of solid steel.

How could breasts so small hold that amount of milk?

Rosie winced as Janine popped a tight wet nipple from the tiny mouth and carefully placed the infant over a shoulder on which she’d placed a folded white terry cotton nappy. The baby burped right on cue and the unconditional love she saw in Janine’s eyes for her child made Rosie’s eyes sting.

Janine tucked her breast into her bra before popping out the left one and settling the baby to the nipple.

Bronte leaned her elbow on the desk resting her chin on her palm. Grinning she watched the baby latch on with a soft look in her eyes that said,
‘Aww.’

Rosie just had to ask, ‘Does it hurt?’

Janine’s big blue eyes danced into hers.

‘Not once the milk is flowing.’ Her voice was still deep and sultry but softer.

She couldn’t help it, Rosie reached over and ran a finger over the glossy curls,

‘She’s so beautiful. What’s her name?’

Janine stared down at her baby for an endless moment before answering.

‘Daisy Boo. I call her Boo.’

Rosie’s jaw dropped.

‘You did
not
call that innocent little baby, Boo?’

‘I did.’

Shaking her head Rosie met her eyes, stunned at the sheer mischief she saw there.

‘When did you develop a blissfully barmy sense of humour?’ she demanded to know.

Those blue eyes went dark and she spotted a flash of pain that was quickly hidden.

‘There are times when life throws us curves we’re not expecting. It either makes a person stronger or destroys. I decided on the former and made changes in my attitude to life and to myself.’

And what Rosie wondered was she supposed to say to that?

‘So you’re living at The Grange? All by yourself in that big house?’

Again those blue eyes went dark as Janine stroked a gentle finger down Boo’s velvet cheek.

‘I don’t have a lot of choice, Rosie. I’m waiting for my grandmother’s will to be finalised and then I’ll be in a better financial position. But the other reason I want a job is to connect with other women and have a conversation with another adult. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the chance you’re giving me.’

‘Your business experience is well documented and you’re a technical whiz on the computer.’

Anxious blue eyes met hers.

‘I won’t let you down.’

This was really weird, Rosie thought. She’d agreed to speak to Janine and had been looking forward to giving her a hard time for old times sake. But Bronte was right. There was a story here. Janine indeed looked as if she’d been to hell and back. Rosie wasn’t finding guilt a comfortable feeling. When had Janine been humble? When had Janine been
nice?

‘The Grange needs a lot of work. I drove by it a few weeks ago and the roof didn’t look in good repair,’ Rosie said now, concerned at the idea of Janine living alone so far out of town with a baby.

Janine nodded.

‘We’re living in the south wing. It’s going to take months of work to fix up the place. I’ve been thinking of turning it into two properties and renting one to give me a steady income. The rental market is high.’

Bronte nodded.

‘That’s a good idea.’

‘The property market’s flat at the moment, but there’s always a demand for a good family home to rent,’ Rosie said. After a quick nod to Bronte, she added, ‘When can you start?’

After Janine left, Bronte sat back in her chair and let out a long breath.

‘I’m worried about her.’

Rosie knew exactly how she felt.

‘I’d never have recognised her if I passed her in the street. What the hell happened?’

Bronte shook her head.

‘I don’t know the whole story. But after the whirlwind romance, the wedding and moving to the Middle East, things went bad in the relationship pretty fast.’

Rosie had met the late Connor Faulkner once and hadn’t been impressed. The man had been too good looking, too smooth and too cold for her taste.

For some reason she shivered.

‘She looks haunted.’

‘She looks as if she’s been badly hurt, Rosie.’

‘Why isn’t she living with her father?’

Bronte shook her head. ‘No idea. They don’t appear to be speaking.’

Rosie frowned, remembering how Janine’s father behaved whenever he’d visited her at boarding school.

‘Do you remember how he always used to dress her like a little doll? And call her ‘daddy’s Princess?’

‘And the way he inspected her room at bedtime to make sure all her toys were put away in the correct boxes? The man was a nightmare.’

‘Thank goodness her grandmother died and left her The Grange,’ Rosie said, then blinked a couple of times. ‘That didn’t come out right.’

Bronte just grinned.

‘I knew what you meant,’ she said and then stared hard at her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? I’m worried about you too, Miss Rosie.’

Rosie gave her big eyes.

‘Me? I’m fine. Never better.’

She’d lied.

And that was a first, Bronte reflected as she drove home.

After showering at Sweet Sensationss she’d changed from her chef whites into a strappy top and flirty mini skirt of ivory silk that was snug on the hips and flared around her thighs.

The air conditioning in the car was a blessed release, blowing cool air over her bare legs and arms, helping her think.

She knew Rosie inside out.

They never kept secrets. But she’d seen the hurt in her eyes when she’d spun her the line about
Simon.
If it wasn’t so serious, Bronte would have laughed in her face. The truth was that it
was
a man who was the problem and he’d hurt her.

Rosie did not want to leave Sweet Sensationss, Bronte would bet her life on it. Yes, she’d been working too hard. Probably to stop thinking about whoever had broken her heart. Well she could hardly blame Rosie for that since she’d done the same stupid thing herself.

Oh, her friend had tried to hide the fact she’d lied about his identity under her Oscar winning performance.

But Rosie Gordon would need to get up very early indeed to put one over on Bronte Ferranti.

So who the hell was he?

It had to be someone Bronte knew if Rosie couldn’t tell her about it.

Anxiety danced with fear in her gut.

Was he married or did he have a significant other in his life?

She understood Rosie’s need to move on, but it was Bronte’s duty as her best friend to get to the bottom of it. Someone had hurt her and that someone had better get ready for Bronte Ferranti to kick their ass.

Bronte entered The Dower House expecting to hear the sound of tired children preparing for bed.

The weather was playing havoc with her babies’ sleeping patterns the heat making it difficult for them to settle.