by Jane Linfoot
Rafe and Poppy live in the side wing, but the main Georgian farmhouse is a rambling work-in-progress they’re just starting to use for weddings. So far they use the light airy reception rooms, and the orangery, but they’re working on a bridal suite and more of the upstairs bedrooms. Although it’s a similar age to Rose Hill Manor, the rooms here are much more intimate. They might not have the stately home grandeur, but they’re beautiful and more relaxed.
‘It’s lovely to be working with flowers again.’ As I slip three bunches into each long glass tub, adding water from a watering can as I go, I can’t help smiling because it feels so good. ‘I’m not so happy about growing them for my mum though.’
From the wicked glint in Poppy’s eyes, she’s not about to talk floristry. ‘Fred mentioned it when he dropped round to pick up his shirt. He’s hell bent on luring you into his greenhouse.’ It’s fine for her to laugh.
‘My mum is too.’ The corners of my mouth drop in horror that it’s gone further. ‘No way I’m falling for that. But I really need somewhere to start the seeds off.’
Poppy’s tone is teasing. ‘We haven’t got any weddings here until the refurbishment is finished upstairs. If you’re sure you don’t want an excuse to hang out at Fred’s house, you could always use the orangery?’
If my arms weren’t full with tulips, I’d hug her. ‘That would be so great. If I don’t get them started soon, they won’t grow in time. I’m not even sure I can do it at all.’
Poppy grins. ‘Don’t worry. Once you’ve got your plants going a lot of them will go on forever. We can make confetti every year with the left-over flowers.’
I let out a groan. ‘Hang on, I’m trying for a bunch, not a field full. And I haven’t even found a garden yet.’ That’s the thing with plants. They’re a lot more long term than I am. As soon as something better comes along, I’ll be on my way.
Poppy laughs. ‘Fred’ll find you a patch of soil at his place, even if it means digging up his lawn. Something tells me he’s very taken with you and determined to make you stay around. I mean, dropping by at this time of morning is keen.’ She nods at a figure passing the window.
‘You are joking?’ I’ve no idea why my stomach’s melted to liquid fudge. As for the panic gripping my chest, I shouldn’t even give a damn. It’s just no way was my bed-head pony tail meant for public viewing. ‘But why’s he so enthusiastic?’ It can’t be me. Looking down at my extra baggy working shirt, frankly I’d look more glam wearing a supermarket bag for life.
Poppy purses her lips as she considers. ‘Strictly between us, after spending so long in a relationship that didn’t work out, I think Fred feels time is running out. We all already know you’re great, so you’re like a fast-track safe bet.’ Her grin breaks free. ‘And, perish the thought, but given how banging you are, it’s not inconceivable he’s actually got the hots for you. The great part is, Rafe says you’re definitely the only woman on Fred’s horizon right now.’
Which isn’t good news at all, from where I’m standing. I slam down the flowers, and make a lunge for my watering can. ‘I’d better fetch some …’
But Poppy’s too quick for me. ‘I’ll get the water, Lily.’ She snatches the can out of my hand.
I’m hissing at her through gritted teeth. ‘I accidentally borrowed the guy’s shirt, that’s all; I didn’t sign up for coupledom. For jeez sake, stay here.’
‘Fred’s fun. And moving on is good too, I can definitely recommend it.’ She grins, and from the way she turns and walks out, she’s ignoring my plea.
As she skitters away a different scent engulfs the flowers I’m clutching. Clean man, with an extra-large helping of Paco Rabane. What’s softly subtle in a late-night pub comes across as overkill at eight in the morning.
‘Fred, what are you doing here?’ Swishing across the room, hands in the pockets of a Barbour isn’t the answer I’m looking for. Whatever they say about certain notes in men’s body spray making you more susceptible, I’m determined to fight it all the way.
The hair he pushes back is nut brown and silky clean. ‘You’re a hard one to track down.’ His mouth curves into a soft smile. ‘Now I’ve found you, how about a drink tonight? Dinner if you’d rather.’
If this is what he’s coming out with, I regret giving him an opening at all.
‘St Aidan, London, New York?’ He’s working those soft brown eyes to the max here. ‘It’s your choice, my tractor’s waiting.’
Somehow now he’s in front of me, my melty insides have set like treacle toffee. Let’s face it, I’m not my mum. I don’t fall into bed with the first person who tells me how to use a cross trainer. Even if I was looking for a guy, there’s no point starting anything here, when I’ll be gone before I know it.
I clear my throat, to make sure my voice is going to work. ‘I’m going to have to take a rain check on that.’ I cringe because I hate the phrase, but just this once it’s suitably innocuous as a knock back. ‘I’ve actually got a rule not to go out with guys until I’ve known them at least six months. It saves me a lot of problems in the long run.’ It’s a brain wave that’s just hit me, and I’m liking how plausible it sounds.
Fred grins as he counts on his fingers. ‘So I’ll have to wait until August 14th for an “official” date? Fair enough, I can work with that. We’ll see each other around in the meantime.’
I’m feeling proud of myself for that coup, and move on swiftly with the excuses. ‘We’re throwing a last-minute wedding fair together for the Manor, working round the clock to make it happen. So I won’t be around much.’ No need to feel guilty either when it’s the truth.
‘What’s this? Defecting to the opposition?’ He gives me a playful nudge, prompting another power-packed waft of body spray.
If he knew how uncomfortable I am with this, he wouldn’t be pushing it. ‘Sometimes there’s no choice. And hopefully we’ll spin it so Rafe and Poppy come out ahead in the long run.’ Who knows, if the Manor goes up to full price, there could be a lot of priced-out customers happy to book at the farm instead. I’m hoping that it works that way, rather than the other.
‘Don’t worry.’ Fred sends me a wink. ‘We’ll do coffee at mine when you come to see about your seeds. I told Poppy and your mum. Nothing official. Just as friends. But the glazed section off my living room’s all yours.’
Since when did a greenhouse down the garden become a conservatory annexed to his sofa? Talk about lucky escapes. I’m taking a deep breath, bracing myself to reply, when Poppy breezes back in, and hands me back the watering can with exactly the same amount of water in as before.
‘Actually, Lily’s going to use the orangery here for her seeds. She can call in every day on her way to the Manor.’
Good thing she was listening in the hall then. That’s a true friend for you. Making sure she didn’t get in the way of romance, but on hand to come to my rescue.
‘Very convenient.’ My smile hides that my heart’s sunk. Surely I won’t really need to visit the Manor that often?
Fred’s beaming. ‘That’s great, I’ll still see you here, Lily. I’m doing the renovations upstairs.’
I’m frowning. ‘But I thought you were a farmer, helping with Rafe’s barn conversion?’
Poppy laughs. ‘It’s diversification. When he’s not ploughing, he does property development and heads up a building team. That swanky quayside development in St Aidan is Fred’s too.’
Seems like I have some catching up to do. ‘So what about the logs?’
Now it’s Fred’s turn to laugh. ‘Being a lumberjack’s my way of keeping fit.’ As he stretches his arms, and his T-shirt lifts there’s the teensiest flash of tanned six pack.
Not that I’m not impressed, but I think we’ll move this on before he reveals any more.
‘Well, I’m almost done here.’ I get hold of the steps, hoping that will be the cue for him to leave.
But instead of leaving he jumps forward. ‘Those ladders have to be way too heavy for a slip of a girl like yo
u. I’ll handle this, it’s a man job …’
Okay, it’s my fault I don’t react more quickly. If I’m honest, I’m spending a moment revelling. No-one ever called me small before. As for the weight, sure, the step ladders are tall, but they’re aluminium, and it’s just a matter of knowing how to handle them. Dropping them, grabbing them close to the centre, and taking corners carefully works a treat.
As for Fred, when I come back to reality, he’s not doing any of the above. He’s charging across the room, with the steps at full height. Higher even, because being extra manly here, he’s hoisted them up on his shoulder.
Poppy and I both yell the same words at the same time. ‘St-o-p Fred! Stop!’
But he doesn’t. If anything, he goes faster. Charging straight towards the flowers suspended above his head.
As the steps hit the batten of dangling carnations the crack echoes off the walls. Then the whole caboodle comes crashing down. Onto the steps, onto Fred, onto the top table.
‘Crap …’ Poppy and I are muttering under our breath. ‘What an arsehole …’
‘Oooops.’ Fred’s biting his lip, staring in disbelief, flowers sticking out around his head in all directions. ‘Jeez, that wasn’t supposed to happen.’
I jump forwards. ‘Are you okay? Did you bump your head?’
He’s disentangling himself, pulling stems out of his hair, doing a fine wounded puppy impression. ‘No, fine, great, not hurt at all.’ Except for his pride maybe. ‘Shit, I’m so sorry, I was only trying to help and I’ve wrecked it. Talk about demolition man.’ He said it.
From the way Poppy is shaking, I can see she’s holding in her laughter. ‘Maybe not so much of a guy’s job after all?’
He’s hanging on in there. ‘No, really, I insist. Let me put it up again.’
I cross the room, and get hold of the steps. ‘It’s okay, Fred, we’ll take it from here.’ I should never have let go in the first place. ‘Actually, we need to get on, there’s a wedding happening in here very soon.’
That shocks him into action. This one’s a church ceremony at two with the reception here afterwards, so there’s a few hours’ breathing space. But it’s a relief when he concedes defeat, and shakes the last of the pink petals out of his hair. As he backs out of the room Poppy and I are giving each other oh-my-god stares.
‘Is he accident prone?’ I ask, as I climb back up the steps to fix the damage. ‘The last time I saw him, he was clearing up a log spill.’ The batten fixing here was pretty robust, but it wasn’t strong enough to stand up to a hunky guy testing it to destruction.
Poppy’s shaking her head, and grinning. ‘Just exceptionally eager to impress you.’ She laughs, and raises an eyebrow. ‘At least he kept his clothes on this time.’
I just hope he’s more careful with her en-suite.
As for me, it looks like I’ve found an ideal place to start growing my seeds. I’ll just have to make sure Fred and his team of builders stay well away from them.
Chapter 13
Monday, 6th March
At Rose Hill Manor: Ice weasels and frozen trunks
‘I can’t put it off forever, and at least we’ve got a lovely day for it.’
Sorry. I’m talking to Gucci again. It’s Monday morning, and as we bump along the country lanes, heading for guess-where-we’d-rather-not-be-going, the early March sunshine is dazzling as it bounces off the fields. There are fluffy clouds racing across a sky so blue it could almost have come from a picture. Add in the sheep grazing down by the lake, and the morning’s so perfect I’m almost floating. But when I arrive and knock hard on the front door of Rose Hill Manor for a good two minutes, and there’s still no reply, I come back down to earth with a bump.
‘You can always count on a Penryn to wreck your day,’ I mutter. I’m at the point of thinking I should have found something more professional than a shopping bag with Frenchies on for my papers, and I’ve got to ‘d’ for diablo in my alphabet of curses, when a regular thumping breaks my train of thought. As it’s hell on earth finding a swear word beginning with ‘e’, I stop and listen. Bump, bump, bump. Still there. Tentatively, I wander around the end of the house, following the sound. And what do you know, there’s Kip, completely oblivious. Soaking up the rays. Bashing hell out of a swing ball.
Unreliable, lazy, unprofessional? All of the above. I rest my case.
I take a second to gulp at the sweat patches on his skimpy T-shirt. Then I re-set my expression to mildly exasperated, and wander onto the lawn. ‘Sorry to interrupt your work out, Kip, but it’s ten o’ clock.’
Although he frowns, he doesn’t miss a hit. ‘Great to see you too. And your point is?’ He still hasn’t taken his eye off the ball.
‘We’re supposed to be having a meeting.’ I have a sudden vision of his dates scrawled on scraps of paper. ‘If you’ve actually managed to write me in your appointments book that is?’
Ten hits later he catches the ball. ‘Obviously, I haven’t forgotten. I’m here aren’t I? I even brought you a bat.’ He dips down, and next thing, he’s holding it out to me. ‘Want a go? It’s way more fun with two.’
I send him a ‘what the eff?’ stare. ‘Absolutely not. I’m here to work.’ If it comes out stronger than I intended, it’s because I’m not just horrified. I’m appalled. My hand-eye coordination is fine so long as I’m doing pretty stuff with flowers. But if we’re talking slamming a moving object with a bat, I’ve got more chance of winning Strictly. Quite apart from the fact I’m being rushed off my proverbial feet. If he wants his damned wedding fair, someone’s got to put the work in, even if it isn’t him.
‘Your loss.’ He shrugs, and puts the bats together. ‘You need to loosen up Water Lily. Pretty much the only up-side of working at a wedding venue is there’s time to play.’
‘Excuse me?’ Quite apart from the prickles on my neck at what he’s calling me, I can’t believe he’s taking the job so lightly. Or that he’s sounding so negative about it. As for working, there’s not much evidence of that on his part yet.
‘Keep your veil on. I mean playing between ceremonies, not during.’ As if that makes it any better. He’s making no attempt to hide his laugh either.
‘Elephant balls.’ Out of nowhere it pops into my head for ‘e’. It’s one of Immie’s curses, and it wasn’t meant to get anywhere near my mouth, let alone be blurted out, and echo across the grass. Although seeing Kip’s wide-eyed shock, I’m happy about the slip.
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ So he did hear. ‘And where do you stand on cursing in front of customers?’
As I fold my arms across my carrier bag, I’m kicking myself. A briefcase would look so much weightier. And not every question gets an answer, especially if it’s a Penryn asking.
‘Shall we make a start?’ As I march off towards the open French windows I catch sight of the muddy patches around the swing ball post. ‘And you do know you shouldn’t be tearing up the lawn here? It’s not an extreme mud run. You’re going to need this area in pristine condition for wedding photographs.’ I’m cringing at my snappy tone. When it comes to Kip, I sound like an irate head mistress every time. But it’s only because he’s constantly behaving like a naughty school boy. There’s fields and fields where he could play ball, but he just doesn’t join the dots enough to use them. And what makes me more irate still, is that I’m pushed into being the bad guy here. When he really should have worked it out for himself.
‘So, I’ll run you through where we’re up to,’ I say, as we wander into the house, and end up in the airy white and blue living area. As I pull the folder out of my bag and pass it over, I can’t help feeling slightly smug.
I take it from his grimace as he’s flicking through the sheets that he’s surprised.
‘So, the marquee on the lawn …?’ he says.
I nod, slightly taken aback that he’s already read enough to be homing in on individual items. ‘It might be a tipi. I’m waiting for confirmation.’ When we get back to doing things in the o
rder I planned, I’ll share that I’ve tracked down a hundred miles of liberty bunting to deck it out.
‘How exactly does people tramping around a tent on the lawn fit with the “pristine” you were talking about earlier?’ From his delighted grin, it’s obvious he’s playing for points here.
Forgetting the bunting, I draw in a breath and smile serenely. ‘You manage the location. Keeping it perfect is down to you.’ One all. And happily that part is nothing to do with me.
He’s straight back at me, with a bark. ‘And you’re managing this event, so I say that particular ball is in your court.’ His face cracks into a bemused smile. ‘Seriously though, how do you stop the mud? Because I don’t have the first idea.’
Oh, crap. This is not good news. It was better when we were fighting. I sniff. ‘I’m a wedding stylist, not a ground engineer. But as far as I know the tents have floors, and you put matting on the pathways.’
He coughs, and tilts his head on one side. ‘Except you aren’t actually a wedding stylist, are you?’ His words come slowly, as if he’s trying to screw the truth out of me. ‘Not according to what your mum said. In the office. On open day. And let’s face it, a mum should know.’ He raises his eyebrows triumphantly, and waits for my reply.
Bugger. I’m opening and closing my mouth, working out the best way to handle this. I have to hide how nervous I am about the styling. If I show any sign of weakness, he’ll eat me for breakfast. Although I need to stay away from the mum snipes, because as far as I remember, he lost his when he was young.
He jumps straight in to capitalise on the gaping space I leave. ‘Exactly how many country house weddings have you styled?’
Okay. Put like that, he’s got me. I have to hold my hands up. ‘Actually, none.’ The way his face instantly splits into a grin somehow makes me so annoyed, the cogs in my brain spring back into action. ‘But I was fully responsible for floral arrangements in ten hotels, on a daily basis, for every eventuality including weddings. Reception areas, conference suites, restaurants and close to two hundred bedrooms.’ I’m so furious he’s implying I’m as hopeless as him, I’m hopping up and down on his hand hewn Persian rug, hissing like a snake. ‘What’s more I worked in a wedding shop for years before that. Believe me, styling a wedding after that lot will be a piece of piss.’ Dammit. The second it’s out, I know I should have said ‘cake’ instead. What’s more, I know he’s got me. Serves me right for sounding over confident. Because truly, I’m a million miles away from that. But I’m not about to admit it to the likes of Kip.
