Free The Secrets Women Keep by Fanny Blake Page A

mother. Nothing. Not that she had had one to compare herself to. Her mother had lived a life at one remove from her children, often retiring to bed ‘tired and emotional’
after too much refreshment or when she was feeling under par. Nonetheless, when Jess got married, Rose had made herself a shortlist of don’ts as a reminder.
    Don’t nag.
    Don’t worry.
    Don’t interfere.
    Don’t moan.
    Don’t compare.
    Don’t be wise after the event.
    Don’t treat them like children.
    She suspected that she’d failed on all counts already.
    She tucked the phone into her apron pocket, and turned her attention to weighing out the flour to make Eve’s birthday brownies for that evening’s celebration. Every year Eve asked
her not to make a fuss, and every year Rose took no notice. Eve would be so let down if there weren’t a party, however low key. Besides, having something to do occupied her. Cooking was a
great soother of the soul. Breaking the eggs into the sugar, she balanced the bowl on a damp cloth to steady it and began to beat them with strong, regular strokes. Comforted by the rhythm, her
thoughts wandered back to Daniel and Terry.
    During all the years he’d looked after the hotel’s finances, nothing of Terry’s pragmatic attitude towards business had rubbed off on Daniel. Her husband’s
work–life balance was non-existent and always had been. Where Terry could delegate, Daniel hated handing over responsibility for anything, even to his brother-in-law or daughter, the two
people he probably trusted the most. As a result, he was on call twenty-four/seven. Rose was used to him disappearing to take care of whatever needed his attention and reappearing when things were
sorted. Her own involvement in the business had ended years ago, when she chose to be a full-time mum, and she was grateful that Daniel had embraced so wholeheartedly what her parents had left
them. But her recent discovery had thrown his absences into question. For the first time, her trust in him had been rocked.
    Rose’s only company was a tiny lizard poised motionless halfway up the wall by the door. She wrapped a couple of handfuls of walnuts in a tea towel and crushed them with the end of a
rolling pin. It was hot in the kitchen, despite the sun never penetrating the furthest reaches of the room. The shaft that did enter the doorway acted as a sundial. As it narrowed and slanted more
obliquely towards the dresser, she knew it must be nearing five o’clock. She wiped her face with the edge of her apron.
    Humming ‘I Vow to Thee My Country’ – one of her old school hymns – she eventually put the brownie mixture into the oven and began to clear up. She wasn’t religious,
despite her haphazard C of E upbringing, but there was something soothing about the music of her childhood that she returned to without thinking when she needed a little balm in her life.
    ‘What is this? A funeral or something?’
    Rose looked up at the sound of Anna’s voice. ‘Just singing to myself.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Anna came over to put her arm round Rose’s shoulders, licking the middle finger of her other hand and wiping her mother’s cheek.
‘You’ve got flour all over your face!’
    Her gesture revived times past when, to cries of protest, Rose would spit on the corner of a hankie to clean up the girls’ faces. She lifted a hand to her other cheek and gave it a swift
rub.
    ‘Look, I brought these. Will they make up for my being such a sulky bitch?’ Anna handed over a small candy-striped paper bag.
    As Rose opened the bag, she began to laugh. ‘They’re heaven! Where did you get them?’ In her hand lay ten cake candles: ten plump little pink wax bodies on sticks, five of them
buxom in salmon-pink basques, white stockings and suspenders and five of them in posing pouches, bow ties and cuffs.
    ‘One of those gift shops that are full of crap no one needs – except for these.’
    ‘Eve’s going to love them.’ Rose slipped them