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Chapter 02
The postman was young and fresh-faced so Amelia-Rose's pulse calmed and she continued her task.
But the postman wasn't making his way down the stone path to the small wooden door of the cottage with its old brass knocker and broken bell. Instead, he stepped clumsily over the narrow bed of red poppies onto the lawn and trudged towards her. She eyed him anxiously as he approached.
"Good morning Madam, a lovely day, I'm sure." His voice was surprisingly deep, almost rasping, for a man so young. He stood before her now holding out a letter.
Amelia-Rose smiled cautiously and pushed a wisp of dark hair hurriedly behind her ear. Her blue eyes sparkled briefly as she felt the friendliness of his approach. It had been several days since she'd spoken to anyone.
But then her eyes clouded again as the emotions inside her she was determined to control threatened to overflow and choke her reply. The bitterness she felt to all men at the moment colored her response.
"Do you normally trample over flower beds to deliver mail to your customers?" Her voice was sharp. His approach was friendly but the roguish glint she saw in his eye and his smile had made her feel defensive.
"It depends on who is receiving the mail - some addressees are more interesting than others."
"So you climbed over my flower bed and walked across my lawn, because you consider that I am ... " she paused, "... 'an interesting addressee'..."
She had a quiet voice that many men found attractive. She was trying to be formal and sarcastic but this bumbling young man didn't seem much of a threat and she couldn't bring herself to be rude on such a lovely day.
"I don't think I've ever been 'an interesting addressee' before."
She smiled grimly and took the letter from him. It looked boring, probably a bank statement. It would join the others unopened in the Welsh Dresser of her tiny hall, waiting for the day when she could face opening them. She stuffed it quickly into the pocket of her apron, noticed his eyes followed her hand and turned abruptly to continue pegging the wedding dress to the clothesline.
After a couple of minutes, the postman was still standing there. His smile seemed increasingly nervous.
He was staring at her with a strange intensity. It made her want to blush and made her nervous too. Her plain yellow T-shirt and green skirt hadn't been worn to be admired and anyway he was at least ten years her junior.
Also, he was a mere postman - a far cry from her ex-husband and the high-powered executive friends he'd brought back from work to their comfortable north London home. Her ex-husband and his friends' jobs in the City had brought them rewards and reputations of which this boy could only dream.
"I see that you are not wearing a wedding ring." He pushed a lock of brown hair away from his forehead. It was a nervous gesture and he looked embarrassed.
Without thinking, Amelia-Rose rubbed her ring finger. It felt strange not to feel the tiny band of gold that had meant so much. A surge of pain welled up inside. What right had this man to be bothering her? She'd come to this corner of the West Country to escape, to gain some respite from the emotional problems men created and perhaps to rediscover herself as a person in her own right - a person that didn't need a man.
Now she was beginning to suspect that this 'postman' was interested in more that just delivering her mail.
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