by Jane Linfoot
Poppy squeezes me into a hug, then hands me a cupcake. I peel back the paper, and sink my teeth into the sponge. A second later I’m transported to my happy place as the strawberry icing melts onto my tongue. ‘Blissful,’ I mumble, and pop in a couple of strawberry slices too.
There’s a clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later Jess bursts in. ‘Not that bloody Face-place again? Don’t worry, Lily, you’ll soon feel better when you’ve had some fizz.’ As she pats me on the shoulder, squeezes down the side of the table, and pulls up a stool, she’s waving a bottle.
Poppy hands me another cupcake, and grabs the Prosecco. ‘Great, I’ll pop that in the fridge for later.’
As I take a huge bite of my next cupcake, I’m so glad this happened when I was here with the kind of friends who swoop in to help. Who understand the problems without long explanations. Who get that my heart feels like it’s been wrenched out of my chest and trampled on, even though it shouldn’t. As I look out of the tiny porthole window at the sun glistening on the water out in the bay, for a second it’s like this is where I belong. Which probably means I caught myself on a vulnerable day, given how badly I want to move on.
‘I’m supposed to be over Thom, I am over Thom.’ I’m wailing through the crumbs. ‘But some ridiculous part of me still minds that’s not me having a twelve-week scan. What the jeez is that about?’
There’s a low voice on the landing, and a knock on the open door. ‘Lily? Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt …’
Damn. Kip crashing into the teensy kitchen at any time would be unthinkable. Given Poppy’s here it’s worse still. But catching me in mid rant about Thom’s baby makes me want to expire on the spot.
I make my smile extra-large. ‘Perfect timing, Kip, as always. Welcome to the matchbox.’ If he heard my tirade, there’s nothing I can do, other than pretend he didn’t. Despite his eyes locking onto the cupcake plate, there’s no way I’m about to offer Poppy’s baking to the guy who’s sworn to take her and Rafe down. However desperate I am to take his mind off my expectant ex. ‘What the hell are you doing up here when you could be home playing swing ball?’
He pulls his hand out from behind his back. ‘Your bag? You left it in the Landy last night.’
How embarrassing is that? ‘Great. Thanks for bringing it back.’ I take my black clutch from him. I’m mortified that I hadn’t even noticed yet, given my phone was in my pocket. I’m aware I should be sounding more grateful. ‘And thanks for yesterday’s lift.’ With any luck that will flag it as being before midnight, for Poppy’s benefit.
He laughs. ‘You’re welcome. Although dawn drop offs are more Bart’s thing than mine.’
As she dives in, and snatches her opportunity with both hands, there’s a gleam in Jess’s eye. ‘And how is Uncle Bart this morning?’ Despite Bart rubbing her up like sandpaper on sunburn, judging by her purr, she’s raring for a re-match.
Kip pulls a face. ‘Surprisingly bouncy, all things considered. I just dropped him at the airport.’
Jess lets out a strangled moan. ‘He’s flying out so soon?’ To say she looks crestfallen is an understatement.
Kip’s shrug is apologetic. ‘You know Bart. He’s perpetually on his way to somewhere else.’
If Jess is opening and closing her mouth without sound, it’s probably because she’s too proud to chase this one.
I jump in to ask the question for her. ‘So when’s he expected back?’ Let’s face it, someone has to bring these Penryns to account.
Kip’s forehead wrinkles. ‘Actually he isn’t.’ Then his frown eases. ‘But these days he’s on a plane for any excuse. No doubt he’ll want to muscle in when we do the night photos by the lake.’
Jess picks him straight up. ‘We’ll get onto that immediately then. Won’t we, Lily?’ Her nostrils only flare and quiver like this when she’s nailing her most important deals.
‘Is later today okay to measure up and make notes, Kip?’ I’d hoped to put it off until next week, but given Jess’s forward thrust, that’s more than my life’s worth. ‘Thanks again for returning my bag. I’ll see you at the Manor later then.’
That’s meant to be his signal to leave, but he doesn’t move, because his gaze is still locked on the plate on the table. I cough. How else can I show him the door?
Poppy’s lips are twitching. ‘Would you like some cupcakes, Kip? I could do you a takeaway box. I promise not to poison them.’
Kip brightens visibly, and he does one of those stomach wrenching swallows. ‘Great. Thanks.’ He tugs his fingers through his hair. ‘Oh, and there’s a marigold out too.’
Ten out of ten to Poppy for the takeaway suggestion. Moments afterwards, he’s trotting down the stairs with his boxful of goodies, and I’m turning on Poppy.
‘Apart from getting rid of him, what exactly are you playing at, gifting the opposition cupcakes?’
She wrinkles her nose. ‘He was practically drooling on the floor.’ Then she lets out a long sigh. ‘Okay, they were mostly for him bringing my bestie home safely at six in the morning.’
I’m straight onto her for that one. ‘Six? It was four at the latest.’
‘So he can’t be all bad.’ She sends me a super-significant nod, and grins. ‘I know he’s going all out to wreck our business. But if we fight head to head he’ll win every time, simply because of what’s there at the Manor. If Rafe and I are going to have any chance at all, we need a less direct approach.’
‘If we’re coming at this by stealth, cupcakes were a great start, Pops.’ I say, aware I’ve made a complete U-turn. ‘Yay, I’ll see what else I can come up with.’ Given we’ve decided on the non-fighting route, me punching her on the fist probably isn’t that appropriate. For now I’m trying to forget last night’s insight into why Kip is so driven. This morning for the first time I know so many more reasons he might be impossible to beat.
Jess is only seconds behind. ‘Me too. It’ll give me immense pleasure putting that jumped-up globe-trotting pretender in his place. Leave it with me.’ It doesn’t take a mind reader to know she’s talking about Uncle Bart. And somehow Jess’s intervention feels a lot more personal than just wedding wars. But we’ll see.
My immediate idea is to feed Kip so many cupcakes he can’t leave the office because he won’t fit through the door. Which may not be guaranteed to work, but whatever. At least we’ve got a new strategy. With luck, and a tonne of women’s wiles, we might just pull this off. Despite my niggling doubts, Daisy Hill Farm Weddings may yet come out on top.
Chapter 33
Monday, 10th July
At Rose Hill Manor: Shooting in the dark
It turns out that when Kip says illumination, he’s not just thinking big. He’s thinking enormous. Which is every bit in line with what’s at stake here for him. Jess’s eyes almost pop out of her head when she sees how much the first warehouse order comes to, and we’ve barely begun. Luckily he calls in some guys from the estate, who are so obliging they could almost be Chas’s firemen friends. They run around banging in poles, climb up and down ladders fixing cables and wires, and hump around lanterns and jars. Not to mention candles by the ton.
With Kip’s own personal surrogate emergency service on the job, progress is fast. As soon as I wave my arms, the job in my head is done. I explain about a meandering path down to the lake, with candle jars on sticks, and white bunting strung between, and next thing I know, it’s there. Ditto tall flat faced glass lanterns, up lighters for the box trees, jam jars bobbing on strings between branches in the bushes, and lanterns running along the length of the jetty, to make the most of night time reflections in the lake.
I’m pretty determined Kip’s not going to have anything like the illuminated tree at the farm. But in the end, I cave and do him his own version – believe me, the guy could whine for England. And after days of rushing around, a forecast for fine weather coincides with Jules the photographer having a free evening, so Kip decides we’re finally ready for some night photos.
For once it’s a relief to arrive at the Manor and not hear Kip’s death metal blaring out across the lake. As Kip jogs over I can’t help smiling because he’s changed out of his jeans and saggy T-shirt, into a crisp white shirt and very formal suit trousers.
‘So what do we do now?’ I ask, as he hands me a bottle of chilled vanilla coke.
He takes a swig of his own, and takes time to swallow. ‘We gasp at all the amazing lanterns as it gets dark. Jules and I worked out the best views. And once they’re done …’
As he pauses again, I can’t help finishing his sentence. ‘We get to go home?’ It’s a no brainer. I haven’t quite caught up after my practically sleepless night on the beach yet. My eyes are so tired, they’re scratching like they’re full of sand.
He waggles his bottle at me. ‘Wrong answer, Water Lily. As if.’ He seems to find that funny. ‘No, Bart’s flown in, and we’re going to do some extra special shots.’
It seems like no time since Bart was ‘flying out’. Although I’ve felt every second, because Jess has been uncharacteristically tetchy ever since. ‘Where’s he coming in from?’ It’s hard to keep track.
‘St Kitts this time.’ Kip shakes his head. ‘Commuting to the Caribbean’s not ideal. But he wanted to be here when we lit up the island.’
‘Why put lights out there?’ I may have asked this before. Stating the obvious, but it’s in the middle of the lake. And it’s not as if guests visit it.
‘The jetty’s just like the one on the shore here, but the angle’s much more photogenic.’ Kip gives a guilty frown. ‘When I mentioned it earlier you seemed reluctant to go. So I improvised. This way you only have to go there once.’
You can hardly blame me for being island-averse. My last visit was when I was eighteen and got stuck there with Quinn. I flick out my phone to take my mind off that, and find Immie on Instagram, cosying up to a Rottweiler. When I read the caption, I let out an accidental whoop.
‘And?’ Sometimes Kip’s so nosey.
My fault for screaming I suppose. Flashing my screen his way will be the fastest way to close him down. ‘Immie’s auditioning ring bearers. Slightly on the premature side, given she still hasn’t got rings. Or a dress come to that. So far we’ve had Henrietta the hen from the farm office, Snowball the pony, one of Rafe’s baby calves, Jet the dog, and the miniature Daxi from the Goose and Duck.’ With so many cute animal pictures, her follower numbers just made an exponential leap. And a great move, given Nicole’s seriously lagging. And this time Nicole can’t retaliate on the cuteness front, because she’s definitely not a pet person. I doubt she’d be seen within a mile of a calf, let alone kiss its nose.
Kip pulls his own phone out of his pocket. Luckily it’s wafer thin, given his smart trousers aren’t exactly a loose fit. ‘Some for you here, Water Lily. From the garden. The marigolds and the cornflowers have come into bloom, and the zinnias are electric.’
‘You took photos of the flowers?’ I scrunch up my nose, not quite understanding why. He’s more like a proud dad showing off his kids, than a disinterested house owner who shoved his garden onto a stranger. It’s true they’re coming out by the hour. When I peeped into there on my way here I could hardly believe how many more flowers there were than yesterday.
His lips twitch. ‘They’re perfect for the Rose Hill Manor Weddings blog.’ So Mr Do-it-all’s got one of those too. And that explains the picture-fest.
‘Wow, you’ve got every aspect covered now.’ No doubt he whipped it into shape in the spare seconds between lantern lighting and rowing personnel across to stage-set his fake jetty shots.
Despite his smug smile, he shrugs. ‘If you’re doing a job there’s no point stopping half way.’ Although that’s really not in the usual Penryn spirit of exerting the least effort possible, and trading off the backs of other people. ‘I had to get the outside up and running in time for tonight’s visit from the award assessors.’
My jaw drops so far, my chin’s practically grading the gravel on the path. Then when Jules comes sweeping past, clicking his camera, I pick it up quickly. No way can I risk getting snapped with saggy jowls. Especially if the assessors are on their way. And crap to how that came out of nowhere, too.
Kip carries on seamlessly. ‘Bart’s meeting them in town first for a spot of hospitality, and bringing them out after dinner.’ He can’t hide how triumphant his grin is. ‘Charm offensives are his speciality.’ Although isn’t wining and dining them dangerously close to bribery? Just saying.
I’m choking into my tissue with the shock. Jess, for one, would hardly agree Bart is big on the charm part. ‘So what am I here for?’ It suddenly strikes me that his casual ‘Why not drop by and see the candles alight while you’re checking the garden?’ invitation is nothing of the kind. This is Team Penryn precision planning.
Kip looks at me. ‘As our in-house stylist, you’re here to add gravitas to our case with the assessors. Obviously.’
What a load of bull. ‘Wonderful choice of weighty intellect there, Kip.’ I try to keep my eyes from hitting the sky. With my five GCSE’s and a BTech, I barely know what the word means. I can’t decide if it’s good they’re clutching at straws, or bad they’re pulling every trick in the book.
The way Kip’s straight on my case, he might be a mind reader. ‘Jess demanded a huge fee for you to show up this evening. So I’d think twice before you get into that little pink car of yours and Gucci off up the road.’
Dammit. So much for a fast getaway. ‘Fine.’ I grin through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll bite my tongue and visualise the deposit for my dream flat instead.’
Now it’s Kip’s turn to look disgusted. He’s still shaking his head when we see headlights coming in the distance, behind the wall to the lane. Before we know it, there are voices coming through the house. From the snatches of conversation, Uncle Bart’s in full flow, explaining the inside tour’s for another day. As they wander out the strings of lights above are being pulled into arcs by the evening breeze. And there’s another familiar voice.
‘Jess, you’re here too?’ As she wafts into view I take in the floatiest silk shirt I’ve ever seen her in. So this has to be some important operation.
Bart beams. ‘All our big guns are with us this evening, Lily. Rose Hill Manor’s wedding team is out in force.’
I’m waiting for Jess to leap in, put him right, strangle him, and maybe push him in the lake while she’s at it. But instead she lets out a purr that’s big enough to have come from a tiger.
‘Absolutely. Brides by the Sea couldn’t be happier to be on board.’ She leans over and flicks an invisible speck off Bart’s collarless cheesecloth shirt. ‘Is it time for the boats?’ Someone should tell her. The word hypocrite springs to mind. Or turncoat. Last time they talked nautically, she called him Captain Pugwash. This time she’s eyeing him like he’s Johnny Depp on the dessert menu. And before you pull me up on that, I’m not overstating the drool.
It’s almost dark as we make our way down to the shore. But the loops of white bunting flapping in the breeze, and the hanging candles, guide us down the field towards the jetty, where the reflections of the lanterns are shining in the glossy black water of the lake.
‘Lovely.’ The two assessors are murmuring as we walk. ‘Completely spectacular.’
When we get there, there are three boats waiting, complete with an oarsman for Jules and the assessors. Which leaves Bart to row Jess, and me with Kip. If I didn’t know how far it was from bitter experience, I’d probably opt to swim.
I have to say rowing out to the island at Rose Hill Manor wasn’t what I’d planned on doing again ever. Especially not with a damned Penryn brother. But at least the inkiness of the night st
ops the sense of déjà vu as I scramble down, and wobble onto the plank seat. And Kip’s boat handling skills are as good as you’d expect for a guy who spent every summer on the water here as a kid.
We’re half way across, rowing towards the jetty lights with long smooth strokes, when the soft splash of the oars stops, and I sense Kip sitting up in the shadows opposite me.
‘Is the cabin still on the island then?’ The silence seems the ideal time to drop in my question. Not that I’d have brought it up if we weren’t on our way. But now we are, it’s better to ’fess up in advance that I’ve been here before, rather than in front of an audience. It was a true Swallows and Amazon’s retreat back then. A picturesque wooden building, and a veranda with a view across the water. If I hadn’t been trapped there, I might have wanted to stay forever.
‘It’s still the same, only a bit more faded.’ He hesitates. ‘You came out here with Quinn, didn’t you? Getting stranded on the island was that bad boy’s signature chat up tactic. You were the only one of his captives to swim away, though.’ He’s so matter of fact, talking as if it were ten days ago, not ten years or more.
‘You remember?’ Damn. And all this time I thought I’d got away with anonymity.
His voice is strangely soft in the darkness. ‘As if I’d forget. I was the one who hauled you out when you nearly drowned. Although you were probably too far gone to notice.’
‘I wasn’t that bad.’ It’s a token protest. In the seconds before those strong hands wrenched me onto the beach, I felt like I’d swallowed so much of the lake, I wasn’t going to make it back to shore. ‘With six of you, I never knew who actually came in for me. Apart from knowing for sure it wasn’t Quinn.’ But maybe if Kip was the brother who rescued me, that explains why he seemed so horribly familiar when he pulled me out of the pond at the Sams’ wedding party. Thankfully it’s dark enough to hide that I’m withering with embarrassment at the other end of the boat.
