“I—” I began but he kept talking so I didn’t get any more out.

“I’ve been thinking and we need a break, both of us. So we’ll take it at Lavender House. And you’ll need to do things that are unpleasant, like go through Lydia’s belongings and you should have help when you do that. But we have a problem.”

I wasn’t exactly keeping up with him but I still managed to ask, “We do?”

“Yes. I told Daniel to cancel Paris and he looked into it but Amond got wind and got hold of Cecile. Reminded her of my contractual obligations. There’s an out in the contract but if Amond pushes it, which he inferred he would do, it could get unpleasant. She’s advised I don’t cancel but she’s looking into cancelling Sydney. As there’s more time for them to get another photographer, she thinks that can be accomplished as well as clearing my schedule after that. But that means I won’t be able to get to Magdalene for a few weeks.”

Cecile was Henry’s agent and had been with him for years. If she said Sydney was cancellable, it would be.

This made me feel better.

“That sounds like a better plan, Henry,” I told him.

“I’m not pleased it’ll be weeks until I can get there,” he disagreed.

“I’ll be all right,” I assured him.

“I know you will, sweetheart. I’m still not pleased.”

I said nothing mostly because I was relieved he was sounding like Henry again.

Then he stopped sounding like Henry when he went on, asking, “Right. Now, who’s Jake?”

I opened my mouth, shut it, opened it again and when I did, I reminded myself this was Henry.

So words finally came out.

“Jake and his children are close to Gran. My guess is he’s around our age, he has three kids, two teenagers, one young son and they spent a lot of time with Gran here at Lavender House. The kids, and I think Jake too, are missing her quite a bit and they, well…we’re establishing a connection because we all feel the same way.” I again lowered my voice when I finished, “And it feels nice, Henry. It feels very nice to be around people who cared so much about Gran.”

It seemed he only heard part of what I said because he asked, “And the connection you’re establishing with Jake?”

“What do you mean?”

“You had breakfast with him this morning,” he reminded me and I thought I understood what he was saying.

So I explained, “It isn’t like that. I’m not his, well… thing. He likes big hair and big”—I paused—“other stuff. And he’s really not my thing either.”

That last, I was beginning to fear, was a lie.

Still, I carried on.

“He owns the local strip club and boxing gym.”

Henry’s voice was no longer interrogatory but trembling with humor when he asked, “He owns what?”

I repeated myself.

He whistled before I heard him burst out laughing.

Still chuckling, he inquired, “Lydie spent time with the owner of the local gentlemen’s club?”

Something about the way he said this made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“He’s rough, Henry,” I said quietly. “But he’s very nice, he’s a good father and he loved Gran a great deal.”

Henry was silent.

I wasn’t.

“He’s treating me with care and kindness and I…well, his daughter is somewhat of a mess but his young son is quite adorable.” I drew in breath and concluded, “It’s nice to have them around.”

“Then I’m glad you’ve got them, honey. And you’ll have me too, as soon as I can get there.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me and said softly, “I’ll look forward to you getting here.”

“Now I’m going to let you go but I want you to remember to phone in.”

“I will, Henry.”

“Good, sweetheart. You take care and if you need me, don’t worry about the time difference. Call.”

Yes, Jake was wrong about Henry.

He cared and not just in an employer/employee way.

This was why I was smiling when I replied, “I will.”

“All right, Josephine, speak to you soon.”

“Yes, Henry, goodnight.”

“Good-bye, sweetheart.”

We rang off and I took a sip of my tea, my eyes moving out the window to see the mist was still shrouding the view, when the house phone rang.

I took the call, it was from Ruth Fletcher, the reverend’s wife, and after some (slightly annoying but she was trying to be polite) back and forth, we agreed they would come to Lavender House on Sunday night after evening services and I would cook for them (rather than the other way around).

I was heading back to my chair by the window, and my tea, when my mobile on the table beside the chair rang.

I looked at the screen and took the call.

“Amond,” I greeted.

“Beautiful, what the hell?”

Oh dear.

“Amond, please listen. Henry is just—”

“Don’t give a fuck about Henry. Know what he’s just. Anyone could do my shit as good as him, I’d let him do what he’s just gotta do seein’ as it’s for you. What I’m askin’ what the hell about is that you lost your Granny and you didn’t phone me?”

I blinked at the window as I asked, “Pardon?”

“Josephine, you’re my girl, you know you’re my girl even though you decided not to officially be my girl. You still know I give a shit, a massive shit when it comes to you. Cecile said this was your only livin’ relative, you’re tight, you lose her, you haul your sweet white ass to fuckin’ Maine and don’t tell your boy you lost your Granny?”

“I…uh—”

“And Henry lets it swing out there, you alone in fuckin’ Maine?”

“Henry had jobs,” I explained.

“I know, I’m one of ‘em. That’s still bullshit.”

My back went straight. “Amond, I’ll remind you, you just today wouldn’t let him out of one of those jobs.”

“That job wasn’t scheduled when your Granny just died either.”

This, I found with deep, somewhat annoying surprise, seemed to be a theme with the men in my life. Men, I’d add, that I didn’t even know were in my life.

“You need company?” he asked into my thoughts.

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

He wasn’t assured.

I knew this when he queried, “You sure?”

I softened my voice and said, “Yes, Amond. I’m sure. Gran had a lot of friends and they’re taking care of me. I’m not alone very often. It’s all fine. I promise.”

He hesitated a moment before he said, “Okay, girl.”

I took in another breath, let it go and told him, “It feels lovely that you care.”

“Josephine, every time I hit a red carpet, still think, whatever bitch I got on my arm, she’s not you. Class, straight up. Outside, ice cold. Shit-hot ice cold, but still ice cold. Inside, so fuckin’ warm…beautiful. You don’t give me that, I dig. That’s not in you. Don’t mean I still don’t wish I had it. It also don’t mean I can’t give you what I can give back. So you need anything, you call. I’m there. You hear me?”

And yet again, I was knocked on my ass.

Winded.

Because this was very nice, very sweet and very unexpected.

I knew he liked me. I knew he was attracted to me (that, during our night and even before, and if I was honest, also after, was absolutely not in question).

I just didn’t know how deep it ran.

Even winded, I replied, “I’m with you, Amond.”

“Right, your ass is back in LA, it’s also at my house. I’m cookin’ for you and listenin’ to you talk about your Granny.”

I smiled. “We’ll plan that.”

“Right, beautiful. Now lettin’ you go.”

“Thank you for calling, Amond.”

“You got it. Later, Josephine.”

I said my farewell and we disconnected.

I again felt warm.

I also felt strange. It wasn’t a bad strange. It also wasn’t a good one. It was like I was missing something, was supposed to remember something, but I couldn’t call it up.

I attempted to call it up, staring at the gray sea and sipping tea when the house phone rang again.

I sighed, put my tea down and went to get the phone.

“Lavender House,” I greeted.