by Jane Linfoot
And I can’t quite believe what he’s saying. Or that he’s so open, when it comes to stuff like this. ‘At least your claims of being able to see into my head are exaggerated,’ I say, as he revs the engine.
As he pulls back onto the lane, he turns to look at me again. ‘Just promise me you’ll be careful, Berry. You’re way too special to end up with the wrong guy.’
And for a split-second flash, I suddenly catch what the whole of the rest of the world see in his eyes. They’re kind of dark and deep, but unnervingly vulnerable. Both at the same time, that’s pretty unusual. The kind of cocoa colour that makes the pit of your stomach melt. If it’s on a chocolate cake, obviously. If I never got it before, it’s because I was never careless enough to properly look into them. I send a mental note to myself – definitely do not let this happen again. Hot syrup in your toes is no state to be in when you’re supposed to be getting out of the car approximately zero minutes from now and walking like a sensible person.
‘Hey, it’s the Manor. We’re here.’ I know I’m stating the obvious. Twice over. But there are some moments you can’t move on from fast enough. And this is one of them.
Chapter 23
Wednesday 13th December
At Rose Hill Manor: Magnetism and stunning views
I peer through the bare branches as we continue down the kind of tree-lined drive you get in films, and I can completely see why people choose to get married at the Manor. When I get as far as the part where I remember that in two days’ time I’ll be taking pictures of not one wedding here but two, for a second I forget to breathe. There’s just a glimpse of the lake, reflecting the grey clouds racing above, then a second later we come to the mellow stone house that’s large enough to cause my mouth to drop open. But somehow the irregular windows and a slate roof that’s still shining from the last rain shower make it warm and very welcoming. When I finally get my breath back enough to get some words out, it’s hard to know what to say.
‘It’s beautiful. But somehow it looks really different from the photos I’ve been looking at.’ Jules gave me access to his portfolio of Manor weddings so I could check out his favourite and signature views.
Rory laughs. ‘That’s because they were mostly taken either on sunny days or in deep snow.’ He’s picking up my confusion. ‘No need to look so surprised. Jules knows the value of a well briefed assistant. He sent those pictures to me too.’
I try not to feel put out by this as the tyres crunch through the gravel and we veer round to the front of the house. It’s not as if I want ownership of this stand-in photographer role. In fact, the more responsibility that lands on someone else the better. It’s just I’d rather it was anyone other than Rory I was sharing it with. Talking of whom, he’s just ignored all the car parking signs and pulled into a prime spot by the lovely wide front door, which is flanked by two elegantly narrow Christmas trees.
‘Shouldn’t we be round the side with the rest of the vehicles?’ I caught sight of them clustered down in the courtyard by the coach house as we swept in.
‘It might have escaped you, but we’ve got a baby on board, HB.’ He looks at me as if I’m mad not to get the significance as he jumps down from the car. ‘If that doesn’t entitle us to priority parking, nothing will. Seeing you’re staying at Jess’s, we’re practically friends and family anyway. Talking of which, how’s Uncle Bart’s proposal coming along?’ Ending his case with a complete flip of subject is what he does.
Given the whole of St Aidan’s following events in Klosters on a minute-by-minute basis, I’m not exactly breaking a confidence by updating him. ‘Jess came out of the balcony hot tub yesterday evening and found a six foot chocolate fountain installed by the fire. You know how amazing Swiss chocolate is?’ I break off to swallow my drool. ‘But despite dipping exotic fruit slices in it for an entire evening, she’s still ring free.’
Rory laughs. ‘If I know Bart, he’ll be making her work for her diamonds. That way she’ll appreciate it more when she finally gets them.’
This is the difference between lovely, anonymous London and St Aidan. I try not to shudder at the way everyone here not only has an opinion, but feels entirely free to express it. Instead I grab my bags as Rory goes into the back of the beer-mobile and unclips Teddie. ‘Not taking him inside in his seat?’
Rory gives a grin. ‘I’m actually finding, so long as there’s not too much screaming, a man with a baby in his arms gets a universally great reception. You know what I’m like. We might as well turn the negatives into positives.’ He slings the nappy bag over his shoulder, pulls Teddie onto his hip and strides the few yards towards the house.
I’m opening and closing my mouth as I run to keep up. ‘You’re taking the changing stuff too?’
He glances over his shoulder. ‘Hell, yes. The more hands-on you look, the better the impact.’
As he opens the door for me, I wander into a fabulous high hallway with the kind of curving staircase I dream of walking down when I’m having a Cinderella moment. Not that I’ve had many of those in real life. When we went to Luc’s smart work’s balls, he’d always go on ahead of me to chat with his contacts. Any ‘entrances’ I made were more me creeping out of the lift on my own, trying not to get lost and accidentally crash into the kitchens. I was more concerned about checking I didn’t have my tulle petticoats tucked into my Brazilians than making a big impression.
‘Wow.’ Two paces into the hall I stop. The half decorated Christmas tree I’m staring up at has to be almost as big as the one at St Pancras. ‘Black and white too. That really works.’ I’m thinking out loud again. Despite my determination to avoid everything festive, I can’t help feeling a little rush of excitement. I’m looking up at two girls in dungarees on high step ladders, hanging baubles and striped bows in the upper branches. By the time I’ve finished my gasps of awe they’re already back at ground level, cooing over Teddie. I try to ignore the ‘told you so’ grin Rory is giving me over the top of their heads.
As the girls fuss Teddie, Rory plays along until he gets bored. Approximately ten seconds. Then he carries on talking to me. ‘So, lots of potential for shots on the stairs. And the brides both arriving together in the same horse drawn cart should be great too, even if there won’t be as much snow as there was in Jules’s shots of last year’s Christmas wedding.’ That was when Sera’s sister Alice got married in three foot snowdrifts the morning after a blizzard, and needless to say Jules’s pictures from that are amazing. ‘As for the black and white, they’re St Aidan rugby-team colours. Travis and Taylor both play for them. That’s how I know them.’
I’ve a vague recollection of Rory being as outstanding at sport as he was at everything else. Waving silverware over his head up on the school stage. Team captain, collecting trophies in assembly. Probably one more reason they forgave him for the rest. ‘Do you still play, then?’ I’m not sure I’ve heard him using rugby as an excuse to dump the kids.
For a second a shadow passes across his face, then he brightens again. ‘It’s been a while. I’m too busy topping up St Aidan’s alcohol supplies these days. Award winning Mad Elf doesn’t make itself, you know.’ Although, to be picky, there’s been precious little evidence of Rory spending time at the brewery these last two weeks, so there has to be a workforce doing it for him. He waves his free hand towards the landing. ‘Sophie and Saffy will get ready upstairs. Bridesmaids are in black, by the way, brides in white. Then they’ll make the hundred yard journey from the front door to the other side of the house with their dad, driven by Ken and Gary, pulled by Nuttie. There will be more fabulous photo opportunities for you there too.’
‘Great.’ I’m blinking at how well briefed he is and reminding myself to check out Jules’s vantage points when we go back outside. ‘Let’s hope Ken’s feeling less reckless than the day they gave me a lift in the cart, or the brides might end up in the lake.’
Rory ignores that comment and carries on. ‘The ceremonies are in the Winter Garden, which due to the shee
r number of guests is also going to be used as a bar area later.’ He smiles down at the girls as he practically has to wrench Teddie away. ‘If you’ll excuse us, we need to carry on with our tour.’
We make our way past stacks of chairs and piles of boxes waiting to be unpacked. As we reach some wonderfully airy rooms with French windows looking out across the lake, I can’t help comparing. ‘Not many living rooms are the size of Luc’s loft … but I reckon these are bigger.’
Rory frowns at me. ‘I thought we just agreed you were going to forget about Luc?’
‘What?’ Were we even in the same conversation back there? I’m about to ask where the hell he got that impression from when something beyond the torn checks of Rory’s threadbare shirt catches my eye. Through some open doors there’s a room that makes Luc’s flat look doll’s house- sized. ‘Flaming Ada, is that the …?’
Rory’s voice is calming. ‘Okay, Holly Berry, there’s no need to hyperventilate. It’s only a ballroom. With tables laid out to seat two hundred, for a five-course silver-service meal. And don’t worry, the Winter Garden is nothing like as huge.’
Two hundred? Would that be guests? There’s a blue linen sofa in front of one of the French windows, and somehow I manage to stagger across and sink down onto it before my jelly legs give way completely.
When my voice comes out, it’s a rasp. ‘It’s so much bigger than the Lifeboat Station wedding. And that amazing Christmas tree is only the start. It’s all going to be so posh and proper … and mahoosive …’
As he stoops down and bumps the changing bag down next to me, Rory’s voice is low. ‘I know it’s big and I know it’s daunting. But look at it this way. You won’t be taking any more pictures than you took at the other wedding. There’s potential for fabulous shots wherever you are, here, in or out of the house. I’ll line everything up for you, tell you where to be and what to take. All you have to do is look through the viewfinder and click the button.’ The resonance of his voice is incredibly soothing. He’s almost talked me down here. ‘I know it’s a double wedding, but …’
‘Aaaaaaaarghhhhh!…’ My howl is because I’d momentarily managed to forget the worst part. And he just reminded me.
There’s a scuffling and a crowd of people with inquisitive looks on their faces arrives in the ballroom doorway. ‘Everything okay there?’
However wretched I feel, I’m determined that the wedding photographer having a meltdown at the Manor will not be what people are going to be discussing over their cottage pie, sugar snap peas and carrots when they go home this evening.
‘Absolutely fine.’ I’m lying and croaking at the same time. But the important thing is, I’m holding it together. ‘We’re just on our way out to get some air …’ I’m bobbing my head so hard at the French windows, trying to get Rory to take the hint, I feel like one of those nodding dogs.
At last he gets it. ‘Great. Next job, then.’ He sends a smile to the watching hoard. ‘We’ll get out of your way and check out the views of the lake from the terrace.’
There’s a pause, then a hesitant voice. ‘Is that a baby you’ve got there?’
Then another. ‘Are you a stay-at-home dad, then?’
Rory looks delighted they’ve noticed. ‘Obviously I’m not a complete stay-at-home person, because I’m out and about, aren’t I? And actually I’m the uncle.’ He’s so pleased, he’s almost simpering. ‘This is Teddie and if you’d like to meet him, he loves to say “hello”.’
If that was meant to be the signal for the crowd to storm forward, it worked. It’s more of a stampede than a rush. Don’t ask me why one pudgy baby is so much more interesting than setting out a stately home ballroom for a wedding, even if he is beaming around at everyone. Whatever, by the time we push through the doors and back into the cold afternoon, it’s a whole lot later. By this time I feel grim rather than desperate. And I’m seeing that what Rory says about the opportunity for fabulous pictures is as true as what he says about the baby thing.
The terrace has lanterns along the edge of the time-worn stone flags and hanging strings of bulbs defining the outdoor areas, which are going to be fabulous at night. I can see by looking in from the outside that the Winter Garden and ballroom have wonderful floor-to-ceiling windows, the stonework and doorways are lovely, there are gazebos in the distance, and woodland and the drive. And then there’s the backdrop of the lake, which makes me go wobbly all over again, but this time in a good way.
Rory’s blowing out his cheeks and pulling Teddie’s hood up to shelter him from the wind. ‘So would you like to try taking a few pictures?’
I pull a face. Somewhere so big, we can’t possibly cover every potential shot like we did at Port Giles. Somehow, even trying a few feels like it might jinx me for the real thing. It might be best to come at it completely fresh. ‘Thanks. But I think I’d rather just turn up on the day and go for it. So I’m pretty much done here.’
He nods. ‘I get that. At least you’ve got a feel for the place now. We can walk back round to the car the way the carriage is going to drive.’ There’s a smile playing around his lips. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be hurrying back because you heard Poppy’s got chocolate cake baking?’
I almost melt again. ‘She has?’ My mouth’s already watering. I haven’t actually eaten since my croissant-fest when I was getting ready for Marilyn, which feels like days ago now, even if it was only early this morning. ‘In that case, maybe we’d better hurry back.’
As we reach the car, Teddie is obviously missing his audience. When Rory slides him into the back of the car he starts to whinge. By the time Rory’s lining him up with his car seat, he’s screaming and kicking and holding his body rigid.
In mid-struggle Rory suddenly stops and stares back at me over his shoulder. ‘Don’t have kids with Luc, Holly Berry, have them with me.’ He so knows how to wind me up. If this is his way of taking my mind off the wedding stress, it isn’t going to work. Nothing’s going to do that.
His comment’s not even worthy of a dismissive snort. ‘Eff off, Rory.’ I’m careful to avoid meeting his gaze directly.
He’s grinning now. ‘Our kids would be awesome. We could even train them so we didn’t have to put our knees in their stomachs to get their car seat straps done up.’ Somewhere along the line, with the whole baby-adoration thing, Rory’s definitely lost the plot.
‘Sorry to be the one to point this out, but seeing you don’t have relationships or girlfriends, you having kids won’t actually be happening.’ Which reminds me, I need to check out why that is at some point. Although definitely not now. Thank jeez I’m saved that one. However, I realise as I say it that Erin’s managed to have children all on her own. Who’s to say Rory couldn’t find a surrogate or even adopt at some point if he wanted to?
His bottom lip is close to jutting. ‘With the kids, though, I really don’t mean to be this shit. I thought it would be the one thing I could do. At this rate they’ll be home before Gracie’s even smiled.’ He couldn’t sound any more defeated.
He’s not wrong about the first bit, but at least I can offer some comfort on the Gracie front. ‘She nearly smiled when the big dwarf produced her snowman.’
‘Yes, but she didn’t really.’ He gives a sigh. ‘She doesn’t even like me. If she doesn’t have to hold my hand for health and safety reasons, she won’t come anywhere near me.’ The look on his face is so genuinely sad, my chest is contracting.
‘You could always get an Olaf costume?’ That’s a joke to cover up the awful sensation of wanting to reach out and pat him again. ‘But seriously, Gracie’s away from her mum and old enough to know it. She’s bound to be unsettled.’
‘It still makes me feel like a total failure.’ As he gets behind the wheel again, he couldn’t look more dejected.
‘I’m sorry if I was mean to you before. I just thought if you embraced the kids instead of fighting them, you’d all enjoy it more.’
He smiles wanly. ‘You’re right, though. I couldn’t be any more cr
ap at it. Every single thing they need it’s down to me to provide it. It’s way more full on than I ever imagined.’
It’s way easier to sympathise with him when he’s admitting he’s finding it tough, than when he’s acting like a know-it-all uncle-of-the-year. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s a lot to take on two kids when you have no experience. Whatever I say, I’m damned sure I couldn’t do it.’ I’m racking my brains for something positive to suggest. ‘Story-telling might help. I’ll look out for books when I go back to town. Or you might find some ideas on Google.’ This time my hands are wedged safely under my bum. And as we pull back out into the lane, I’m poised for his Supernanny snipes.
But he just gives a shrug and a sigh. ‘Maybe we’ll all feel better after cake in Poppy’s kitchen.’
And possibly for the first time ever, I agree with him.
Chapter 24
Wednesday 13th December
In Poppy’s kitchen at Daisy Hill farm: Sweet spots and roast potatoes
‘Someone’s been busy with the decorations. Did you ever see so many hearts in one place?’
Okay, I know the girl who’s banned herself from thinking about Christmas shouldn’t be enthusing. But seeing as I love Poppy so much, it’s hard not to. Since I was last in the kitchen at Daisy Hill Farm, a whole load of garlands have been strung around the walls, with so many wicker hearts and hessian bows it looks as though someone grabbed the Range’s entire seasonal stock.
Poppy laughs. ‘Rafe bought this lot to welcome me home last Christmas.’ We can take it from this he was ecstatic to see her come back then. But we all knew that already.
Immie’s looking proud and she high fives Gracie, who breaks off from her felt tips and colouring for just long enough to oblige. ‘Rafe, Gracie and I hung them up this afternoon while Pops was making the cakes for Sophie and Saffy. Seemed like a good idea to make the most of the quiet time before the pre-Christmas storm.’ If she’s referring to the next two weddings in terms of metaphorical bad weather, I’m with her on that.
