Page 43 of The Last Casterglass
Minutes later they were strolling down the Charles Bridge, admiring the stalls of Christmas trinkets, as twilight settled softly on the city. With its many spires and red-tiled roofs, it looked like something out of a fairy tale, cloaked in a soft, dreamy violet. A lamplighter was lighting the gas lamps along the bridge by hand, which Oliver told her was an age-old tradition in the city.
“Or so I read on the internet,” he admitted sheepishly, and she laughed.
“Let me guess. You saw a YouTube video.”
“Hey,” he replied with pretend severity. “Don’t knock it.”
They walked until it grew dark, and then went back to the hotel to change for dinner, which Oliver had reserved at a nearby restaurant. In the end, it wasn’t that awkward to change; Seph took her clothes into the bathroom, and came out in the same sweater dress she’d worn to that first party, borrowed from Olivia. Oliver’s eyes gleamed with admiration as she did a self-conscious twirl.
“I love that dress,” he told her, and she thrilled to his words, all the while wondering if something was actually happening between them, or if this was just a weird friend thing. Was romance unfurling like a flower between them, or was this trip her being firmly friend-zoned? She had no idea, couldn’t even guess, because she had so little experience with men, with romance, with dating.
But she hoped. Oh yes, she hoped.
Dinner was in a cosy little restaurant on a quiet, cobbled side street; they ate roast pheasant in wine and dumplings, washed down with a bottle of red so Seph’s head swam, in a pleasantly dizzy way, as they chatted and laughed in the candlelight.
“When will you ask your uncle about Pembury Farm?” she asked, emboldened by the wine. She propped her chin in her hand as she gazed at him across the table. “You must want to know one way or the other, whether you can keep it or not.”
“Ye-es,” Oliver replied slowly as he rotated his wine glass between his long, lean fingers. “I do, but I also don’t. Because if he tells me no, then that’s it, and I’m not sure I could stand it.”
“What do you think he’ll say? Really, deep down?”
Oliver hesitated and then gave her a bleak look that tore at her heart. “I think he’ll say no,” he admitted heavily. “In fact, I’m quite sure of it. There’s no real reason why he would give it to me, when he has a perfectly good son.”
“But you said Jack doesn’t want it—”
“No, but he wants the money. And I think my uncle is willing to give it to him. He’s taken him on holiday now, because he works so hard in the City. Maybe he’s telling him right now that he’s going to sell.”
“I’m sorry.” Impulsively—and perhaps because of the wine—Seph reached across the table and clasped Oliver’s hand with hers. She’d meant it be a quick, commiserating touch, nothing more, but he twined his fingers with hers in a way that felt shockingly, wonderfully intimate.
“Maybe it would be for the best,” he said slowly, his lowered gaze on their clasped hands. “All my life I’ve tried to be good enough for my uncle. Tried not to let all the little slights hurt, done my best to prove myself to him. Maybe I need to finish with that. Be my own man. Find my own way in the world, away from Pembury.”
“But Pembury is part of you.” She could hear both the longing and anguish in his voice, and it made her ache.
“Still, perhaps it shouldn’t be. You’ve been wanting to escape Casterglass. Maybe I need to escape Pembury.”
“I don’t know,” Seph replied slowly. “Yes, I’ve wanted to leave Casterglass, because I’ve never known anything else. It felt stifling, but it also felt safe. I think Pembury Farm is different for you. You’ve been away, and you’ve chosen to return. Maybe I would too, with Casterglass, if I’d been given the choice.”
“And maybe I won’t be given the choice,” Oliver replied, looking up with a crooked smile. “If my uncle decides to sell, I’ll have to do something different.”
“And what would that be?”
“I honestly don’t know. My whole life has been tied up with that house, but in the end that’s all it is. A house.” He hesitated, and then his fingers tightened a tiny bit on hers. “Althea suggested I keep working at Casterglass for a couple more years.”
“Oh?” Seph’s voice came out diffident, although she wasn’t sure why. Didn’t she want Oliver to stay at Casterglass, with her? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? And yet something about it gave her pause.
Oliver gave her a level look, clearly sensing her reticence. “How would you feel about that?”
“I…don’t know,” Seph admitted slowly. “Not about having you there, but being there myself.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re really thinking of leaving?”
“If I ever found the courage,” she replied, not realising until she’d said the words how much she meant them. “I don’t want to live in that poky and mean little cottage all on my own for the rest of my days.” Just the thought of it made a shudder go through her.
“Staying at Casterglass doesn’t have to mean that,” Oliver pointed out reasonably.
“I know, but…” Seph shook her head slowly. “Itwould, even if I didn’t live at that cottage. Maybe that doesn’t make sense,” she confessed in a rush, “but I feel like staying there will always be stifling. It’s the nature of the place—for me, anyway—and the life I’ve had there. If I want to be different, truly different, I have to leave.” She sat back in her seat, her hand still clasped with his, as the realisation thudded through her. “I didn’t fully know that until I said it,” she told him wonderingly. “But I know now that it’s true.”
“So you’ll leave Casterglass.” Oliver’s voice sounded heavy.