said sleeping with him wasn’t mandatory but she’d seen the way his eyes darkened every time they met hers. Darkened and smouldered and made her body feel as if she were sitting too close to a fire. Naked.
Maybe she should have discussed the terms with him. Sussed out some of the details before she flatly refused. The bills weren’t going away—they were mounting up like a croquembouche cake.
Tillie sat down, and after a moment, began tapping her fingers on the desk. ‘It’s no good looking at me like that. You could be the identical twin of the Hope Diamond and I still wouldn’t look at you.’
After another long moment, she gently nudged the box, moving it a millimetre away as if she were pushing away a crumb. The box was plush velvet. Rich velvet. Luxury jeweller’s velvet.
Hours had passed since Blake had given the ring to her, but she couldn’t help thinking about how that box had been in his trouser pocket right next to his...
Tillie snatched her hand back and tucked it in her lap, eyeballing the ring box as if it were a poisonous viper sitting on her desk. ‘Thought you had me there, didn’t you?’
Joanne came into the office. ‘Who on earth are you talking to?’ she said and then glanced at the ring on the desk, a smile breaking over her face. ‘Ah.’
‘What do you mean “ah”?’ Tillie said, scowling.
Joanne’s eyes were doing the tiara thing again. ‘You want to so bad.’
‘No, I don’t.’ Tillie folded her arms.
‘Not even a little peek?’ Joanne’s hand reached for the box.
‘Don’t touch it!’
Joanne’s eyebrows went up and her smile widened so far it nearly fell off her face. ‘I thought you were going to take it to Mrs Fisher’s?’
‘Changed my mind.’
‘Because Mrs Fisher is the village’s version of Facebook?’
‘Exactly.’
Joanne perched on the edge of the desk, her eyes on the ring. ‘I wonder if he paid a lot for it?’
‘I. Do. Not. Care.’
‘Maybe it’s not a real diamond,’ Joanne said in a musing tone. ‘Some of those zircon ones look pretty amazing. You’d never know it wasn’t the real thing.’
‘I hardly think Blake McClelland is the type of man to buy a girl a zircon instead of a diamond,’ Tillie said.
Joanne’s twinkling eyes met Tillie’s. ‘True.’
Tillie frowned. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘How am I looking at you?’ Joanne’s tone was so innocent it would have made an angel’s sound evil.
‘Don’t you have work to do?’ Tillie said with an I’m-your-boss arch of her brow.
Joanne’s cheeky smile didn’t back down. ‘Best not look at it, then. You might want to keep it.’ And giving a little finger wave, she left.
Tillie rolled her chair closer to the desk and picked up the ring box. She turned it over and over as if she were about to solve a Rubik’s Cube. What harm would one little peek do? No one would know she’d taken a look. She cautiously lifted the lid and then gasped. Inside was a stunning handcrafted ring that was set in a Gatsby era style. It wasn’t look-at-me huge but its finely crafted setting gave it an air of priceless beauty. There were a central diamond and two smaller ones either side of it, and a collection of tiny diamonds surrounding them. The sides of the ring were inset with more glittering tiny diamonds.
Tillie had seen some engagement rings in her time but none as beautiful as this. Hopelessly impractical, of course. She couldn’t imagine thrusting her hands into pastry while wearing it but, oh, how gorgeous was it?
You can’t keep it.
Right now Tillie didn’t want to listen to her conscience. She wanted to slip that ring over her finger and step out and parade it in the village to make sure everyone saw it winking there.
Take that, you cheating low-life ex. See what sort of calibre of man I can hook?
No one would be casting her pitying looks then. No one would be whispering behind their hands when she walked past them or into their shops, or asking each other sotto voce, ‘How do you think she’s holding up?’ and, ‘Doesn’t she look a little peaky to you?’ or, ‘I never thought Simon was right for her anyway.’
She took the ring out of the velvet-lined box and held it in the palm of her hand.
Go on. Put it on. See if it fits.
Tillie picked up the ring and, taking a deep breath, slipped it over her ring finger. It was a little snug but it fitted her finger better than the one Simon had ‘given’ her. She kept staring at the ring’s dazzling beauty, wondering how much it was worth. Wondering if she should take it off right this second before she got too attached to it. She had never worn anything so gorgeous. Her late mother hadn’t had much jewellery to speak of because she and Tillie’s dad were always so frugal over money in order to help others less fortunate. They hadn’t even bought an engagement ring but instead donated what they would have spent to their church’s missionary fund. Some of that social ethic had rubbed off on Tillie even though she didn’t even remember her mother because she’d died just hours after Tillie was born. But this was the sort of ring to be passed down generations from mothers to daughter to granddaughters and great-granddaughters.
Although Tillie had grown up in a loving home, largely due to her kind stepmother who was the antithesis of the wicked stepmother stereotype, she had still longed to belong to someone, to build a life together and raise a family. To have that special someone to be there for her, as her stepmother was there for her father, and Tillie’s mother before her. Prior to being jilted, she’d been a fully signed up member to the Love Makes the World Go Around Club.
Breaking up with Simon after so long together shattered her dream of happy ever after. She had been cast adrift like a tiny dinghy left bobbing alone in the ocean without a rudder or even an anchor. Three months on, it still felt a little odd to go out to dinner or visit the cinema on her own but she was determined to learn how to do it without feeling like a loser. It felt a little weird to be cooking a meal for one person but she was working on that, too—besides, she could do with a little less eating.
Now she was a fully paid up member of the Single and Loving It Club.
Well...maybe the Single and Still Getting Used to It Club was more appropriate.
But she would learn to love it even if it damn near killed her.
Tillie was about to take off the ring when her phone rang. She picked it up to see the number on the screen was the respite facility Mr Pendleton was staying in. ‘Hello?’
‘Tillie, it’s Claire Reed, one of the senior nurses on staff,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘I’m afraid Mr Pendleton’s had a nasty fall coming out of the bathroom earlier today. He’s okay now but he’s asking to see you. Can you come in when you get a chance?’
Tillie’s stomach pitched. Mr Pendleton was already so frail; another fall would set him back even further. ‘Oh, the poor darling. Of course, I’ll come in straight away—I was on my way in any case.’
She hung up from the call and went to snatch up her bag and cardigan off the back of the chair, but then she noticed the ring still on her finger. She went to pull it off but it refused to come back over her knuckle. Panic started beating in her chest as frantically as her food mixer whipping up egg whites for meringues.
She had to get it off!
She tugged it again, almost bruising her knuckle in the process. But the more she tugged, the more her knuckle swelled until the joint was almost as big as a Californian walnut. And throbbing painfully as if she had full-blown rheumatoid arthritis.
Tillie