by Emma Davies
She handed it back so that Flora could take a closer look, noticing as she did so that her prints were still hanging on the wall. Daisy had misremembered a few of the details from the one she’d tried to copy, but it was pretty close, and would certainly serve to illustrate her design. She was so busy studying the print that it was a few seconds before she realised Flora had fallen silent and was staring at her. She smiled nervously.
‘I had no idea that it would ever look anything like this,’ said Flora. ‘I’m not sure I can take it all in actually. It’s incredible…’ She broke off, eyeing the bag that was at Daisy’s feet. ‘And I absolutely have to see what you’ve made for Grace…’
‘It’s not finished, but…’ Daisy laid her sketchbook on the table and turned the pages until she found the design she wanted. Then she took the little bee from the pouch and placed it down on the edge of the paper. ‘It’s probably self-explanatory,’ she said.
For the second time that day, her work was subject to scrutiny and Daisy sat waiting anxiously for Flora’s verdict. Amos’s words had been lovely, but Flora was a proper artist and she might view things differently, with a more critical eye perhaps. Daisy could see that Flora was weighing up what to say when the door at the far end of the room burst open and Amos appeared with Ned in tow. He had obviously been telling Ned about Grace’s present because the two of them strode down the length of the room and, before she knew it, Daisy had three people crowding around her, all staring at her designs ready to pass judgement. She didn’t think she’d ever been more nervous in her life.
Flora’s finger was tracing the outline sketch of another element that Daisy had drawn. ‘Dewdrops on the grass…’ she said softly, almost reverentially. ‘And the moon…’ She looked up at Ned and Amos and then slowly back to Daisy. ‘I honestly don’t know what to say.’
Ned grinned. ‘Blimey, that’s a first!’
Flora poked his arm.
‘And she hasn’t even shown you the print thing yet,’ said Amos. And before Daisy could stop him he crossed to the far wall and took down one of Flora’s pictures, bringing it back to the table. Then he sat down and looked pointedly at Daisy, a wide grin on his face.
‘I know you feel awkward about this,’ he said. ‘But you have no reason to. Talent like yours deserves to be shouted from the rooftops and if you won’t do it, then I’m afraid I’m just going to have to.’ He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Take a deep breath, Daisy, and tell Flora all about it.’
And so she did.
18
Monday 16th December
Nine shopping days until Christmas
Daisy had scarcely been able to think straight since she had got home. Everything seemed to have become so complicated, and she could feel the pressure around her building. Like a storm that needed to burst, leaving everything clean and fresh in its wake.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Wear something warm, Kit had said, but preferably several thinner layers rather than one big one. But how did you do that when you wanted to look nice? It was something that had been troubling her since Friday night. Her wardrobe was just not cut out for choice and, besides, she was keen to try out some of the ideas that Monique had given her. So, armed with these thoughts, Daisy had toured the charity shops and the vintage market stalls and was now trying to choose between a cherry-red cashmere jumper, which she had almost fainted over finding, and a draped cream-coloured top, which was very romantic but probably not that practical.
The jumper won and, with freshly curled hair, clean jeans and boots, Daisy thought she looked okay. At the last minute she slipped a white tee shirt under the jumper, remembering Kit’s advice about layers, and went downstairs to wait for him to arrive. She stood in front of her work table, tracing a light finger around the circlet of ivy leaves that lay there. And then on an impulse she picked it up and fastened it around her neck. The metal was cool against her skin, its weight unfamiliar, but it nestled there, following the dips and rises of her collarbone. When she moved, it moved and, fascinated by the way it felt, she crossed to the mirror in the hallway.
She could remember the last time she wore a necklace of her own all too vividly, and since then she had never worn one, the shock of the memories it brought too overwhelming, but perhaps today… The subtle light in the hallway brought a gentle gleam to the metal, dancing as she moved. It was so beautiful, perhaps if she just… but the voice in her head was getting louder and louder, the words bringing a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp as a sudden knock at the door made her jump and, flustered, she pulled at it. Kit mustn’t see this; if he did she would have to explain and how could she possibly tell him now? It was wrong, she should never have put the necklace on. Rushing back into the other room, she fiddled with the clasp again, anxiety making her rough, and to her horror it came away in her hands. She had broken it.
Another knock sounded and she dropped the necklace on the table with a sob, dashing at her eyes and the tears that filled them. Kit was waiting, but how could she go anywhere now? Daisy took a deep breath and willed herself calm, just like she had so many other times in the past. She was good at putting on a brave face. She sniffed, swallowed and pulled her jumper straight.
‘Come in!’ she said, opening the door wider and beckoning Kit into the hallway.
He smiled at her in greeting but then a momentary flash of concern crossed his face. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’ She sniffed again. ‘Sorry, I was just putting some mascara on and I stuck it in my eye. I’m hopeless sometimes.’ She dropped her head slightly so that Kit wouldn’t be able to see that she wasn’t wearing any.
‘Right, I’ll get my coat, shall I?’ she said. He was now looking past her and eyeing up the door to her sitting room, but there was no way she was letting him in there. She smiled and stood her ground, forcing him to stand back slightly so she could reach the row of hooks.
‘You might want your wellies,’ he said.
She looked down at her boots. ‘Oh. I rather thought… Why, are we walking?’
‘Only a tiny bit, but there’s still a little snow around. I’d hate for those to get ruined.’
The snow had all but melted out by the canal but, she sighed, wellies it was.
Five minutes later they were walking down her garden path and, as Kit went on ahead to open the gate, she realised she was studying him quite intently. For some reason it made her blush. The small hallway had been far too intimate a space to look at one another without embarrassment but she’d never realised before quite how long Kit’s legs were. Perhaps it was seeing him silhouetted in front of her, dark against the deepening blue of the night, that made him seem taller than usual. She cleared her throat and looked away.
His car was parked next to hers, in the spot she used just where the road to town rose over the canal bridge. He opened the door for her, apologising as he did so.
‘It’s very old, and what you might call functional, but I don’t use it much, so…’ He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. She climbed in, smiling at the contrast between Kit’s choice of transport and that of his brothers. Expensive, plush or sporty this was not. And it was freezing.
‘I think the heater might have packed up, too,’ added Kit, climbing in beside her. ‘Sorry, but we won’t be in it for long and when we get where we’re going, I promise it’s warm.’
‘So, where are we going? Somewhere in town?’
‘Not quite, but close. A little place I know.’ He grinned at her, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to tell her any more.
She did up her seat belt and smiled back. ‘Okay then, let’s go.’
Kit wasn’t kidding when he said it wasn’t far. He took a road away from the town, but they had only been driving a couple of minutes when he turned off the road onto a tiny track that Daisy didn’t remember seeing before. Even with his headlights on full beam, there wasn’t much to see; tall hedges rose on either side,
blocking the view. After another minute, Kit pulled up in front of a small gate and killed the engine. It was suddenly very dark.
She could hear the exhalation of breath as Kit grinned and the creak of his seat as he moved. ‘Can I just say that, whatever this looks like, I’m not an axe murderer.’
‘Ah, but you would say that, even if you were…’
‘Possibly true.’ He opened his door, flooding the interior of the car with light. ‘Want to risk it?’
She laughed. ‘Things can’t get much stranger than they’ve been the last few weeks,’ she replied. ‘I’ll risk it, if only because I have no idea where we are and I’m quite intrigued to find out.’
Daisy climbed from the car and followed Kit to where he came to rest by the gate. The night was like an impenetrable blanket, the moon completely hidden behind the clouds, but she could feel the stillness spreading out around her.
‘Would you like the torch? Or my arm?’ asked Kit. ‘It’s almost too dark tonight, even for me.’ He switched on a torch he was holding so that its light cast an eerie glow up over his face. ‘Although it’s not far, you’ll see the lights pretty soon.’
She took the torch, but switched it off again, linking her arm through his. ‘I like the dark,’ she said. ‘Just don’t lead me into a ditch.’
‘Fair enough.’
He opened the gate and she stepped through, sensing wide open space in front of her. There was something darker even than the sky massed some way ahead of her and, as her eyes gradually adjusted to the gloom, she began to make out the shape of a field, hedgerows leading away from her on both sides.
She squinted as they walked, striding out right into the centre of the field. There was something she couldn’t quite see yet, but there was a sense of purpose in the way Kit was moving so she knew they must be close.
It all unravelled in her head at the exact same moment she saw the first flash of light. As if her internal compass had suddenly tuned in to where they were. She realised that the road where she had got stuck in the snow must lie on the opposite side to the field, which would mean… And then there was another flash of light, and another, and she understood exactly where they were and where they were going.
She must have quickened her pace or tightened her grip on Kit’s arm because she heard him chuckle. ‘Worked it out, have you?’
She nodded. ‘But I still don’t…’ And then she stopped. ‘Oh, my God, Kit, you live there? That cabin in among the trees is yours?’ She slapped at his arm. ‘You sod, you could have said!’
‘And where would have been the fun in that?’ Kit replied.
‘I don’t believe it.’ And now that she could see the gap in the trees and the warm glow of the house beyond it, she dropped his arm and began to run, stumbling a little on the uneven surface, but not caring.
She skidded to a halt just at the perimeter of trees and sucked in a breath. Close up it was even more breathtaking. It was a traditional log cabin – a long low roofline behind, with an adjoining apex at the front providing a deep overhang around a porch area surrounded by railings. Twinkling lights were wrapped around the wooden uprights and along the top rail and slightly larger lights hung from the pitch of the roof. At the corners of the building the enormous logs which formed the cabin walls were laced together like clasped fingers, and on the left-hand side a huge tree was covered in coloured lanterns. The recessed windows glowed with warmth and she could smell the smoke from the chimney.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said again as Kit came to stand by her side. ‘I think this has to be the most magical building I’ve ever seen.’ She could hardly believe she was actually going to go inside. ‘How on earth did you get lucky enough to find this place?’ she asked.
‘I had it built,’ Kit replied, grinning. ‘Or rather, I built it…’
She stared at him. ‘But that must have taken… how do you even…?’ She stopped. ‘And this is going to sound incredibly stupid but, why would you even? I don’t mean why have a house like this, that’s blindingly obvious, but to build it yourself. There can’t be many people who would do that.’
Kit smiled. ‘I hope the answer to that question will become apparent when we go inside.’ He ushered her forward with his hand. ‘Shall we?’
The front door opened into a space the full height of the building, rising majestically above them and, as Daisy looked around her, she realised that the whole of the house was open to the roof; there were no ceilings to any of the rooms. Instead, intersecting the space, were walls, made from the same huge logs that formed the outside but these only rose to half height, creating rooms that had an incredibly cosy and intimate feel, while at the same time being light and airy. She moved through the space with her head craned upward to look at the intricacy of the wooden beams above and a growing sense of wonder deep inside her.
She followed Kit under an archway in the wall ahead of her, carved out of the solid logs so that as she passed through she could see the whole ends of the tree trunks that had made it. Her mouth dropped open as she looked around her in a daze. In front of her an enormous log burner was ablaze with dancing flames, and in one corner stood another Christmas tree, at least fifteen foot tall. She scarcely knew what to look at first.
The polished wood floor was partially covered with a huge creamy tufted rug and there were plants everywhere; on surfaces, lining shelves, and even overflowing from a series of pots sunk into a beam that was suspended from the ceiling. Everything was plain and simple in design, rustic some might call it, but the effect was stunning. And as she gazed in wonder at everything around her, Daisy realised with a sudden sharp insight that what she was looking at was Kit himself, his very essence shining through every single item in the room. She was beginning to understand.
She inspected the rug, then looked at a shelf and the objects upon it, the coffee table and the selection of books it held, until, finally, she turned back to Kit who had not said a word since they entered his house.
‘You made all this,’ she said. A statement not a question. ‘Everything here.’
A slow smile transformed Kit’s face. ‘I did,’ he replied. ‘Everything you see is either built from reclaimed materials, or recycled, repaired and given a new lease of life. The windows, floors, doors, everything, all the soft furnishings too. You can’t see it tonight, but I have a garden where I grow all my own vegetables, and slightly further afield is a borehole which supplies all my water, and a wind turbine which provides most of my electricity. I tread as lightly as I can.’
‘How long has it taken you?’
Kit grinned. ‘A long time. About seven years all told. I decided on my twenty-first birthday that I needed to do something with my life that I could be proud of.’
‘And this is it.’
‘Yes, this is it. Most of it anyway. I have a few other… things I support.’
Daisy searched his face, wondering not for the first time how she never knew these things about Kit. She looked at him, at his open expression, and realised that he wasn’t showing off, or being boastful of his achievements, he was simply happy to be living the kind of life that held meaning for him. And suddenly she understood perfectly where Kit’s quiet strength came from. He had no need to prove himself to anyone, everything he needed was right here.
‘How can you possibly bear to be at Buchanans?’ she asked.
‘Ah…’ He gave her a sheepish grin.
‘Do you know I used to think you were lazy, or that you just didn’t care, about anything much…’ She bit her lip. ‘I feel awful now, for even thinking those things.’
‘No, don’t feel awful. That was entirely my fault. I spent so long when I was younger feeling I had to justify my actions with everyone, particularly my family, that in the end I think I gave up bothering to explain. Of course what I should have been doing was looking for the right kind of people to explain it to, people who would understand because of who they are. Which is really why you’re here…’
Daisy coul
d feel a warmth rising up inside of her. ‘Oh, I see…’
Kit smiled. ‘I rather hoped you would. And in answer to your previous question, yes, my way of life is at complete odds with everything that Buchanans stands for and yet it would be hugely hypocritical for me to turn my back on it. My father started the business and the money I inherited when he died has allowed me to support certain things that would otherwise be beyond me. So, I have no wish to see the family business die out, but it’s a rather curious position to be in nonetheless.’
‘Then why go through with the whole competition?’
He was quiet for a few seconds, weighing up his response. ‘Because Buchanans doesn’t have to be the way it is now,’ he replied. ‘And I believe there’s a better way, but unless the business passes to me there will be nothing I can do about it. It’s an opportunity I don’t want to let slip by.’ He pursed his lips. ‘But I don’t really want to spend the evening talking about Buchanans, that’s not why I invited you here… And I believe I promised you dinner…’ He held out his hand. ‘Let me take your coat before you start to roast and you can explore while I get some drinks and dinner on the go.’
19
Monday 16th December
Nine shopping days until Christmas
Daisy was beginning to feel rather warm, whether from the heat of the delicious fire or Kit himself, she wasn’t sure. She shrugged off her outdoor things and handed them over, watching as he removed his coat. He was wearing a thick cable-knit jumper and it suited his slim frame. She realised suddenly that Kit was so much a part of this house that it was no wonder he looked slightly awkward outside of it.
He looked down at her feet, an amused expression on his face. ‘Feel free to keep the wellies on if you want, but if not, just sling them by the front door.’ There were archways on either side of the room and Kit pointed to his right. ‘The kitchen is that way, but feel free to have a wander, or just sit by the fire, whatever you prefer. Can I get you a glass of something? I’ve got some homemade mulled wine on the go, or something lighter maybe?’
