Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

the spare-room doorway. She’d forgotten that the carpet was green in there, a light shade, like lichen creeping over a tree. She’d been working for an hour and she’d cleared a space that not even Smudge could sleep in. She was acres away from finding the box. A bottle cork sat next to her, the one item she’d decided to get rid of. She chucked it back into the room. It wasn’t worth bothering with. Amy leaned back against her piles and closed her eyes.

That ring.

Maybe she didn’t need to find the diary that was in her box.

Memories drifted back to her like waves lapping at her feet. She remembered the first time she’d spotted the ring in the window of the small antiques shop. The shop was in what was the centre of town, before the modern high street had been created to service the new flats and houses. The old town centre was a bus ride from her family home, but seemed a world away. Cobbled and crumbling, it was built around a meandering river inhabited by swans.

Of course that area would house that shop, and of course that shop would house her perfect ring. She remembered the window display still, the ring nestled between a peacock brooch and some beads cut from Venetian glass. Every time she’d walked past that shop she’d looked to see it sitting there, as if it were waiting for her. She’d know it anywhere. Even sitting in the nettles in her back garden, years later.

How had it got there? Amy asked herself the question again. It seemed impossible. Tim wouldn’t just have abandoned it in her garden, not back then, and not after all this time.

But there it was, and now it was sitting in her living room next to Scarlett, who would guard it faithfully.

The ring changed everything.

Amy hadn’t believed it when they’d disappeared. She had searched and searched for her lifelong best friend and boyfriend of ten years, convinced something terrible had happened to them. They wouldn’t betray her.

But eventually she’d been worn down. No clues, no leads, and nothing but pitying looks from everyone she’d asked. Even the police believed they had run away to be together. Eventually Amy had accepted that as truth. She couldn’t face anyone from her past; she couldn’t bear to see the people who’d known the three of them together. They must all think she was so stupid not to have seen what was going on.

And now the ring. The ring from Tim. The ring that told her he loved her.

Except he wasn’t here. What had happened?

She pulled out recipe books from the clutter in front of her, chucking them behind her into the hallway haphazardly. She pulled out another box and pushed it out of the room without even pausing to see what was inside.

She was making headway. She’d find something. A clue. Something she’d missed in the haze of grief and anger all those years ago.

Behind the box was a large wide-necked vase, made from beautiful cut crystal. Inside it lazed a china carriage clock. The clock ticked at her. It was one of the few that still worked, and had lovely little honeysuckle blossoms painted on it. Really it should be somewhere she could see it more often. The vase too; it was the perfect size to house roses cut from the garden. Or honeysuckle, she thought. Then she could put the vase with the honeysuckle next to the carriage clock and have a little honeysuckle corner in the living room. The birds would appreciate that. She pulled at the vase but it was stuck; more boxes were wedged on top. She tugged harder, thinking again of honeysuckle corner. Scarlett was particularly partial to the scent of that gorgeous flower.

The corner of a box was wedged just inside the vase, causing the jam. Amy pushed it up, but it was heavier than she thought. Using a bit of force, she shunted it up with the base of her hand and the vase came free at last.

The boxes swayed. Amy hurried to steady them, but it was too late.

She felt a hard, sharp stab of pain right by her eye.

Then nothing.

*

‘What happened to your face?’ asked Rachel, falling into step next to Amy.

Damn, thought Amy. Tuesday morning and she’d mistimed leaving her house and now she’d be stuck with her neighbour Rachel on her walk to the station. Perhaps on the train too, if she couldn’t shake her, all the way to London Bridge. She considered feigning having forgotten something and going back inside, but she was already heading for the last train that would get her to the office in time. She hated being late even more than she disliked Rachel’s company. All she really wanted to do was think about her ring and what it meant, ideally with an ice pack on her injury.

‘I walked into a door,’ she lied.

‘It’s a big bruise,’ said Rachel.

‘It was a big door,’ replied Amy.

Suddenly Rachel’s hand was on her arm and Amy was pulled to a halt. ‘You can talk to me, you know,’ said Rachel, in an urgent whisper.

‘Hurry up, we’ll miss the train,’ said Amy. Rachel was getting weirder, she thought. Amy shook off her hand and started off again at a brisker pace. Rachel’s shorter legs meant that every third step turned into a funny little half-skip to keep up as she bobbed along beside her.

‘I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,’ said Rachel, a little breathless already.

‘I’m not,’ said Amy, wondering where that had come from. Then she realised what Rachel was getting at. Talk about jumping to conclusions. She couldn’t help but laugh: those TV soaps had finally addled Rachel’s mind. ‘I’m not,’ she said again.

‘It’s not funny,’ snapped Rachel. ‘I’m just trying to help. I worry about you.’

Amy spotted a bright flash of colour on the ground and her heart leapt. She bent to pick it up. ‘I’ve never seen you smoke,’ said Rachel, watching her.

‘I don’t,’