Free Two Loves by Sian James Page B

say, Rosamund thought. She’s probably fretted about Anthony for fifty years and she’s not likely to stop now.
    â€˜All his life’s work,’ Molly said, opening out her hands as though setting it free.
    â€˜It won’t affect it,’ Rosamund said. ‘People expect poets to be passionate. They’re judged more leniently than other people.’
    â€˜Perhaps his indiscretions, his divorce, his third marriage at the age of seventy-something, yes. But not pornography. That’s not for poets. That won’t be excused. Well, I’m too old to fight on his behalf, but you’re not.’
    Rosamund chewed her lip and looked about her, trying to think of something to say, something non-committal, non-combatitive. ‘What a beautiful conservatory,’ she said at last. ‘What wonderful flowers.’ The French doors were open to a tumult of pink and cream and the conservatory itself had groups of glazed dark blue flowerpots containing shrubs and climbing plants, many with strange, exotic, trumpet-shaped flowers.
    â€˜I water them all myself every morning,’ Molly said.
    â€˜Gosh.’
    â€˜Lorna does the garden, but I have a man who comes on a Tuesday afternoon to cut the lawns. A frightful expense. Frightful.’ For a second Rosamund glimpsed the hard eyes and pursed lips of a formidable woman. Then the mask was in place again. ‘Are you fond of gardens?’
    â€˜Very. But mine is quite informal – a wild garden, I suppose. But it suits us.’
    â€˜How is your little son?’
    Rosamund felt her heart lurching. The last thing she’d expected was to have Molly treat her as family. ‘Very well, thank you. Joshua. He’s almost ten now. How old are your grandchildren?’
    â€˜Seventeen and fifteen. But I rarely see them. They live in France, you know. I suppose you heard that Alex and Selena are divorced?’
    â€˜No, I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry.’
    â€˜Oh, Alex had a very bad time. A total breakdown.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Rosamund murmured again. There was a short silence.
    â€˜I’d like to meet your son.’
    Oh my God, Rosamund thought. Just what is going on? This is the crabby and intransigent ex-wife – rich, spoilt and determined on her own way. Why is she being so bloody nice to me?
    â€˜I went to see Erica Underhill yesterday,’ she said, to turn the conversation away from Joss.
    â€˜Thank you,’ Molly whispered, relaxing her shoulders as though all her problems were now over.
    Lorna Drew brought in the coffee, Molly managing to indicate that they shouldn’t go on talking in front of her. ‘Lorna is my cousin and companion,’ she told Rosamund.
    â€˜Also housekeeper, cook and gardener,’ Lorna said briskly, pouring out the coffee. ‘But I have a little flat at the top of the house where I can escape to when things get too tough.’ She gave Rosamund a bright smile, as though to mitigate the complaint in her words.
    â€˜Hers even after my death,’ Molly said.
    â€˜If I live that long,’ Lorna replied. There was a great deal of tension between them.
    â€˜She’s twelve years younger than I am and strong as an ox.’
    â€˜Did you know Anthony?’ Rosamund asked Lorna.
    â€˜Oh, yes. For many years. I used to be the secretary at a girls’ boarding school in Folkestone, and Molly and Anthony would look me up on their trips back and forth from France. Sometimes during the holidays they left Alex with me. Have you met Alex?’
    â€˜Yes. But not for some years.’
    â€˜Have another scone,’ Molly said.
    â€˜Thank you. They’re delicious.’
    The conversation flagged. Rosamund could suddenly hear the bees in the garden, traffic in the distance.
    â€˜Oh Lorna, would you phone Cécile’s about my new jacket?’ Molly asked, then, ‘They said they’d have it in at the beginning of the week. No,