Summer Strawberries at Swallowtail Bay

by Katie Ginger

  But here John was at 8.30 a.m., in the loft, having only eaten half a slice of buttered toast – he hadn’t even had a chance to put marmalade on it – examining the inside of the roof with a torch. Spying the patch of wet, he ran his fingers over it. It was indeed another leak. Luckily, he’d brought a bucket up with him and placed it where the water was. At least it was a slow leak and the weather reports predicted sunny skies and hosepipe bans so there shouldn’t be any more rain for a while. Now all he had to do was go outside and have a look at the roof. If his luck held, it would just be a loose tile or something he could fix himself rather than having to hire someone in. Hiring someone cost money and after dipping into the profits from his own business, even those funds were running low.

  With a heavy sigh, John made his way back to the loft hatch. If this food festival was as successful as he hoped it would be, it might just supply enough money to repair some things and pay a few of those bills he was too afraid to open. Silly really. No grown man should be afraid of a small manilla envelope. Although it was the bright red letters spelling out final demand that scared him most. If the food festival was successful, he reminded himself. It wasn’t a given. Though with Hetty Colman running the show, he was sure she’d do a good job. Whether it would be enough was another matter. For some strange, nebulous reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, she kept appearing in his brain when he was awake as well as half asleep, and their conversations would replay time and again.

  In a moment of lost concentration John stumbled. His foot landed on the edge of a beam and his ankle turned, sending him crashing to the right. Immediately he dropped the torch, and just about managed to brush the roof joist with his fingertips, slowing his fall, but as his feet tried to plant themselves, one went through the ceiling of the upstairs landing and he crashed half onto the beam on his bum.

  ‘Arrgh!’ he shouted as he landed with one leg tucked behind him, the other sticking out through the gap in the ceiling. Tiny beams of light shot up from the hole into the dark and dusty attic and annoyance tightened his features. ‘Damn it,’ he blustered. He wasn’t hurt physically, but his pride was more than a little bruised. He’d never live this down if Felix saw him in this state – one foot sticking out of the ceiling. Having to tell him later, when he asked why there was a size-eleven boot hole above his head, was going to be bad enough. John hoped he hadn’t destroyed any of the crown moulding that had somehow remained intact despite the rest of the house falling to bits.

  A wave of heat ran over the back of John’s neck and he rolled his eyes. He had to get himself out of this mess and quickly before any more of the ceiling gave way and he went through the lot. Finding the beam with his hands, he lifted himself up and managed to rest his bum on the edge. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and he’d bruised his coccyx. John ran a hand down his beard, composing himself. Dust and debris were stuck to his fingers and he could smell the grime on them.

  ‘John?’ said his mother, her voice wafting up through the loft hatch. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Mother,’ he said, repressing a sigh, as if it wasn’t perfectly obvious what had happened.

  ‘Oh, were you looking for the leak? Did you find it? Or were you doing something else? I did mention it to you, didn’t I? I’m sure I did at breakfast. Or did I tell Felix on the telephone last night? Sometimes I forget which one of you I’ve told about what. There’s always something going wrong with this house.’

  John threw his hands in the air in exasperation and then, wobbling, grabbed hold of the beam again before he could topple forwards and make the size-eleven hole a damn sight bigger. Had Lucinda not noticed a foot sticking out above her head? Had she not noticed that there were bits of plaster scattered all over the old worn carpet under her slippered feet? Did she not remember asking John to have a look at where the annoying leak was coming from only half an hour before? Just as he was about to give a rather sarcastic reply, through the gap he saw her step over the debris on the carpet and her kind voice wafted back up through the loft hatch. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, John?’

  At this there was no way he could repress the laughter that gurgled inside him. Her comment instantly lifted his mood and he was able to see the funny side.

  ‘What are you laughing at up there? Have you found the old photo albums from when you were little? I’m sure there’s one of Felix holding a hosepipe with no underpants on.’

  ‘No, I haven’t found those yet, Mother,’ he replied, his voice light and chuckling. But he might have a sneaky look for them just to get back at Felix for always being such a bossy big brother. ‘Tea would be wonderful though, please. Just give me five minutes to get myself out of this hole.’ Literally and metaphorically, he thought.

  ‘Right you are, dear,’ Lucinda said and she padded away, back down the stairs.

  With a small shake of the head, John wiggled his foot out and, carefully balancing, stood on the sturdy roof beam to make his way to the loft hatch. He felt like one of those Olympic gymnasts on the balance beam and had a newfound admiration for them. His ankle twinged a little as he put his weight on it; he’d have to check it out when he got down, sure that it was swelling. His feet found the comfort and security of the ladder, and he exhaled a long happy breath.

  As he stepped off the final rung, from the corner of his eye he saw the landing window and found himself walking towards it. He never took the time anymore to enjoy the house’s vantage point from the top of the hill. The sea was calm again after last night’s rain, but seagulls were flying over, hoping to find something on the beach left there by the tide. He wished he wasn’t so torn between hating his home and loving it. It was rather tiring.

  ‘Morning, boss,’ came a chirpy voice from behind him. He turned and saw Jaz looking pretty in skinny black trousers, brogues and a crisp white shirt. She had her hair down today and he noticed that her skin had tanned in the sun. The work diary was tucked in the crook of her arm and she was ready for the day, armed with black and red biros and a highlighter. A confused look shot across her face and her eyes scanned his body, resting on his trouser leg, still rucked up and covered in dust. A graze had appeared on his shin and little dots of red blood were pooling on the surface. He brushed himself clean and rolled his trouser leg down.

  ‘Busy already?’ Jaz asked in a cheeky voice.

  ‘Not really. Just thought I’d start the day with a morning constitutional in the attic.’

  She followed his gaze upwards. ‘What were you looking for up there? I thought you said it was full of rubbish.’

  ‘A leak.’

  ‘Another one?’ He nodded, resting his hands in his jeans pockets. ‘And did you find it?’

  ‘Yes. And I’ve put a bucket under it. Though I’ve created an even bigger problem now.’

  She tipped her head in silent sarcasm. ‘You could have just used the loft ladder you know. Trying to come through the ceiling is just lazy.’

  John managed a small smile. ‘Thanks for the advice. I might take it next time.’ He scrubbed his hand over his short hair to remove the dust still clinging to him.

  As he remembered his mother’s reaction from a few moments before his smile grew wider. Lost in thought, he was taken aback when Jaz stepped closer, her body almost pressing against his. She reached up and picked a small piece of plaster from his beard, her eyes lingering on his. A massive warning light came on in his head and he immediately stepped back. As he did, a wave of pink rose up Jaz’s face. What was that? She’d never stood so close to him before. Unsure what had just happened, he said, ‘Come on, let’s have a cup of tea. I’ve been promised one already.’

  Jaz’s eyes were now fixed on the carpet as she adjusted the grip on the diary in her arms. John hoped against hope she’d been picking the dust from his beard in a sisterly fashion. ‘Who’s promised you that?’ she asked, her tone light but her cheeks still colouring as they walked together down the grand curving staircase.

  ‘Mother did. What’s on for today?’
He wanted to bring the conversation round to business matters as soon as possible. ‘I know I’ve got a couple of calls this morning, and there’s an item I want to bid on at that auction in Halebury this afternoon, but I’ll phone that in.’

  ‘Are you sure? I don’t mind nipping out and making sure the car’s got petrol if you wanted to go. It might do you good to get away from here for a bit.’

  John gave her a sideways glance. She normally preferred him to be in the office rather than out of it so he could sign letters and things. Jaz never encouraged him to be away for entire afternoons. ‘No, it’s fine. I’d rather be here. I’ve got a lot of emails to answer anyway, and I thought I’d take a look around the fields, just to make sure they’ll be fine for this food festival.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ John glanced at Jaz again, unused to her odd tone. She must just still be embarrassed about the beard thing.

  At times like this he wished he understood women better than he did. Some men had that gift, but it wasn’t a skill he’d been able to master. He and his last girlfriend had been together for two years but parted ways a year ago and to be perfectly honest, he’d been fine about it. She’d blamed the fact he was always working but had thrown in a parting shot that for someone who overthought everything, he could never understand her or how she felt. It was true he was a planner, someone who thought through all possibilities before deciding on a course of action and she’d found it boring. He supposed he’d never found someone he connected with enough to prioritise them over his business. Either way, the result was he’d spent so long concentrating on work, he hadn’t had time for relationships and then the house had taken over.

  It was all right for Felix. He’d met his wife at university, and they’d been together ever since, growing up together, tackling life’s obstacles side by side. Felix was the lucky one. He didn’t even realise how lucky he was. Having his own life meant he wasn’t here all the time to deal with the minutiae of problems the house brought with it. The responsibility fell to John who’d been tackling life alone for so long he had no idea how he’d fare in a serious relationship. And why was Hetty in his mind again? A picture of her smile filled his head, warming every cell in his body, but before he could think any more on it, Jaz opened the diary and carried on.

  ‘So, tea, then you’ve got …’ John nodded his understanding as she listed the morning’s tasks they’d already timetabled. Time to forget about this crumbling money-pit of a house and get on with his own job for a while.

  ***

  After spending such a long time ignoring her mum’s calls, it felt strange for Hetty to be eyeing her phone every two minutes, eager for her mum to ring. Yesterday, her mum had promised to ring straight after her appointment with the solicitor, but it was now well after lunch and Hetty was still to hear. She’d chosen not to chase. She’d been busy herself organising more things for the food festival and now she was on her way to the lower field to have a good look around.

  Though Hetty would normally do a detailed site visit first before organising an event, she was having to catch up on a few things. If she was honest, the real reason she hadn’t called her mum was fear of hearing how her dad was. He’d called last night when her mum had left to stay at Aunt Anne’s, completely beside himself. Hetty could hear the strain in his voice as he tried not to cry, incredulous that his wife had left him. It hadn’t seemed like her mum had told him the whole truth either. He’d made no mention of being accused of having an affair and Hetty was at a loss as to why her mum wouldn’t have brought it up. Comforting her dad had been a disconcerting change in roles. She’d been powerless to say anything that might actually help. All she could do was tell her dad that they needed to talk and that he had to give Mum time to figure things out. The two things seemed so utterly at odds for her dad, he’d rung off in a state of panic and confusion. Dealing with this was proving too painful and clouding her judgement. Her only option was to place all those feelings at the back of mind and tackle them later.

  Hopping over the turnstile in as graceful a fashion as she could manage in purple-spotted Wellington boots, she stared around her at the wide-open green space, determined to focus on this enormous task she’d set herself. The earth smelt damp from last night’s rain, but the strong sun had already dried most of it and the ground was surprisingly solid underfoot.

  The emails Hetty sent the other night to food shops in neighbouring villages had already been answered with mostly positive responses meaning nearly all the pitches were filled. It had given her confidence a huge boost and suppressed some of the niggling doubts that were starting to creep in. A couple of people had been humpy and blunt, saying it would be a waste of their time and it wasn’t going to be a success, but Hetty wasn’t going to listen to naysayers. When she felt something was right, she went for it and that’s what she was doing now. She took a great big breath of the fresh clean air and placed her hands on her hips.

  The grass had grown to knee-height in the lower field, and pretty flowers danced in the breeze all around her. Everywhere there were spots of red, yellow, blue and white. The warm summer air carried the gentle sound of birdsong and pale cream butterflies flitted here and there between the blooms. In contrast, speedy dragonflies in bright, jewelled colours darted about with urgency. The field would need a mow before the festival, which felt like a shame, but there was no way around it. It was certainly big enough to hold the food vendors who’d already signed up and she wanted to get more if she could.

  As the fields rolled away before her, she could see so much of Swallowtail Bay. To her left, at the other end of the arc of coastline was the Langdon Mansion Hotel. It too had been a stately home but had been refurbished into a five-star hotel. Hetty wondered why John hadn’t thought to do the same, but perhaps Thornhill Hall had been too expensive. In between the two stately homes that sat either end of the bay was a vast expanse of pebble beach, a faraway wiggly line of foam marking the sea’s edge like a child had drawn it with a piece of white chalk. It really was magnificent. And luckily, there were numerous bridleways across the fields that led into town, so people would be able to walk to the festival if they didn’t want to drive.

  Having researched whether to charge a fixed price per pitch, or charge a percentage of profits, Hetty had decided to go with the latter option. The gains stood to be bigger but as with most things it also carried a greater risk. As she was going to split the profits with Thornhill Hall, it was the best option for them both to make a decent amount of money. Right now, a profit was looking more likely than a loss, but there was a lot left to do and pay for, and every possibility of little to no profit if they didn’t attract lots of visitors all eager to spend money. Pulling the Ordnance Survey map from her back pocket, she checked her position and studied the great green fields surrounding her. ‘So, if this is the lower field,’ she said out loud to herself, ‘then that one must be the west field and this one is the north field—’

  ‘Wrong, I’m afraid.’

  Hetty spun to see John Thornhill striding towards her, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. A slight fizz in her stomach started at the sight of his broad chest clad in a khaki T-shirt. His eyes were sparkling as he approached, then he stopped behind her and looked over her shoulder to see the map. Immediately she could smell his aftershave again. She wasn’t usually one to like beards, but his was nicely trimmed over his cheeks and jaw. His sea-green eyes fixed on her and she reminded herself to breathe given that her lungs had temporarily forgotten what they were supposed to do.

  ‘It’s actually the middle field. The north field is more north, north-east and …’ He leaned over Hetty’s shoulder and pointed to the map, his body brushing hers. Her eyes focused on the strong muscles of his arm. She had to stop having a thing about arms, she decided, as every nerve in her body awoke at once. ‘There’s another field in between the north field and the middle field called the far-middle field. My forebears clearly decided having the names of the fields actually follow a compass would
be far too helpful and obvious.’

  ‘It would, wouldn’t it?’ Hetty replied with a smile, turning to face him. The colour of his eyes seemed to change with the weather. They’d warmed today, losing their stern, cold edge. As he backed away, they flicked down the length of her body stopping on her spotty Wellington boots.

  ‘Nice boots.’ The teasing note in his voice was a surprising hint of personality she hadn’t anticipated when she’d first met him at Thornhill Hall after the business forum. But over the day she’d spent with him visiting vendors, she’d seen it more and more.

  ‘Thank you. I thought it was going to be wetter after last night’s rain. What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you this afternoon.’

  ‘No reason why you shouldn’t, is there?’

  Confusion creased her brow. ‘When I called earlier this morning, your assistant said you were out all afternoon.’

  ‘Did she?’

  John’s face resumed its normal stern look, his eyes changing to a cold ice-blue and Hetty hoped she hadn’t landed the assistant in any trouble. Perhaps Miss Simmons had made a mistake. Then his expression softened as he stepped closer to her, side-stepping a molehill. ‘I had planned on attending an auction in Halebury but then I decided to call my bid in and stay here. I told Jaz this morning, but she must have forgotten.’

  Hetty’s trustworthy gut instinct sent a signal to her brain, not convinced it was a mistake at all. When she’d come to the house that first time, it was clear that Jaz felt threatened by her. To be honest, it was something Hetty was used to. Her extreme focus often intimidated people – men and women in equal measure. Jaz had done that thing Hetty had experienced time and again and learned to ignore; she’d run her eyes up and down the length of Hetty’s body. Hetty had also spied the puppy dog eyes Jaz gave John. She clearly harboured a secret crush on her handsome, mature boss. Though Hetty was also equally convinced he was too wrapped up in his business and family concerns to notice.