The Bones of You by Debbie Howells Page B

thinking. “Unless . . . Do you think that maybe there was something between them?”
    “Rosie wouldn’t go for someone like him. Anyway, he’s too old.” Grace dismisses it with the air of someone who knows.
    “There aren’t rules, Grace. They could have been friends. And it might not be the first time he’s been here. Or maybe he wanted to be sure he’d be alone.”
     
    When Grace goes this time, it’s a bruise, as opposed to a ripped muscle, in part because it isn’t long until Christmas, but also my mind is elsewhere.
    The next day, I go to look for Alex. It’s already raining when I reach Dan’s nursery, icy needles rather than cats and dogs, but with a cold that’s no less penetrating.
    “You just can’t stay away, can you, Kate?” Dan quips.
    “Hi, Dan! I’ve come back for more of those tulip bulbs—if there are any left?”
    “Because it’s you, I’ll go and have a look.”
    Dan strides off, and I wander up and down the rows of plants, somewhat depleted since I was last here, searching for hidden gems I missed the first time round. It’s not long before I see Alex.
    “Hello again.”
    He glances at me, then looks away. “Hi.”
    And then I realize I haven’t really thought this through. How to say I saw him in the woods, or to ask about Rosie, without it sounding like I’m a nosy middle-aged woman with good intentions but who’s essentially prying? In the end, I decide it is what it is.
    “I thought you should know, I knew Rosie, too,” I tell him. “She used to like being with my horses.”
    He’s very still as he works out what I’m saying. That I’m a friend. Straightening up, he turns to face me. “She told me you were always kind to her. She felt safe with you.”
    Safe. A strange choice of word.
    He goes on, his eyes full of his pain. “You should have said the other day, when you were in.”
    “I know. I should have. But I hadn’t realized you were more than their gardener.” Feeling my way, watching his face, how his jaw tightens. “I saw you in the woods. I was riding there the other day with my daughter.”
    He shifts uncomfortably.
    “You and Rosie . . .” I hesitate, choose my words carefully, gently. “Was there something?”
    I see him clench his fists at his sides as he raises his eyes heavenward. When he looks at me again, they’re full of tears. “Yes. We were together. For a long time, no one knew. Then Joanna got suspicious, and, well, let’s just say she wasn’t taking any chances. Just the idea of her daughter with the hired help . . . Well, you can imagine, can’t you?”
    He speaks with so much bitterness, and while I don’t agree with her, I get it about Jo’s order of things. We’re all different, and it’s how her world is, with her cleaner, her gardener, even the teachers at school—all, quite firmly, good people she needs in her life, but on her terms.
    I’m also stunned that she didn’t tell me about Rosie and Alex. But confronted with his obvious distress, I forget that.
    “I’m so sorry.” I touch his arm very gently. “Sorry you’ve lost her. Sorry they treated you like that, too.”
    He stiffens, wrestling with himself. “I loved her. I can’t bear what happened. What kind of monster would do that? To someone like her . . .”
    “Have you talked to the police?” I ask.
    “They came to see me just after she was found. Asked me how long I’d worked there. Stuff like that.”
    “So they do know? About you and Rosie?”
    Alex stiffens. “I didn’t do anything wrong. There was no reason for them to know. Anyway, it wouldn’t do any good.”
    “What do you mean?”
    He hesitates; then, when he speaks, his face is flushed, and his words resonate with anger. “You really want to know? It’s people like those bloody Andersons. They love to blame other people, people like me, if they have the chance, because they’re better than I am. That’s what they think. . . .” He shakes his head. “The truth is, Neal’s a nasty