I perform a cheery ta-dah with my hands in the direction of the glamping sign up ahead.
There’s silence from the birthday boy as he stares at the sign.
I take a breath and launch in. ‘It looks absolutely gorgeous on the website. Honestly, I think you’re going to love it. The tents – er, the dwellings – have got a proper loo and a kitchen and everything. Even a log-burning stove! And we can always head to the supermarket and splash out on a good bottle of champagne.’
Champagne actually gives me indigestion but anything to put a smile on Toby’s face.
Toby turns the car slowly into the parking area for Clemmy’s Lakeside Glamping, switches off the engine and nods at a small but perfectly formed house nearby. ‘Nice architecture.’
I nod in agreement. It’s in the same style as the Log Fire Cabin that we just passed but on a smaller scale. This one is called, not very imaginatively, ‘Lakeside View’.
Toby looks over the expanse of grass towards the lake, at the elegant structures with their exotic air of a Bedouin tent. He nods slowly, gazing around him, and my heart lifts a little.
Perhaps it’s going to be fine, after all.
Toby swings round. ‘What about Wi-Fi? I must have Wi-Fi.’
I nod and he visibly relaxes. ‘Thank God. I don’t mind where I stay as long as I can keep in touch with the office.’
He sees my crestfallen face and adds hurriedly, ‘Not that this isn’t … great!’
A tall girl in jeans and T-shirt with chestnut red hair and a curvy figure is walking towards us.
‘This is my old friend, Clemmy,’ I tell Toby, my heart lifting at her warm smile of welcome. ‘Let’s go and say hello.’
‘Oh, Daisy,’ she says. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your mum.’ She draws me into a big hug, squeezing me tight, and I cling on to her, my eyes suddenly wet with tears. ‘Auntie Joan is devastated. But she’s so looking forward to seeing you.’ She smiles across at Toby. ‘Both of you.’
After the introductions, Clemmy walks us over to our tent, which turns out to be even more beautiful than I imagined it would be.
Even Toby seems impressed.
‘This is amazing,’ he says, looking around him. ‘I can’t believe the level of style and comfort you’ve achieved here.’ He wanders over to the wood-burning stove and runs a finger over the top of it, absent-mindedly checking for dust. (He blames dust mites for his highly sensitive nasal passages.)
Clemmy beams. ‘I’m so glad you like it. I wanted to get the feel of a really first-rate hotel?’ She looks a little anxiously at Toby when she says this, as if she senses it’s him she needs to impress.
He tips his head on one side and frowns, as if to say, I’m not sure you’ve quite achieved that.
To make up for his lack of fulsome praise, I start going totally overboard, praising the floral-patterned quilt on the bed, which tones so beautifully with the drapes – because they are drapes, not just ordinary curtains. Generous swathes of lilac fabric sweep to the floor in the bedroom, which has walls of soft grey and lots of squishy cushions providing splashes of summery fuchsia pink and pale green. I can see similarly lush drapes in the living room area, although there the colour scheme is a more neutral mix of cream and mushroom, the roomy sofa providing a colour pop of deep turquoise.
The same area contains two chairs and the little table with its pretty jug of flowers, just like in the picture on the website.
Clemmy shows us how the log burner works and says there’s a plentiful supply of logs and a wheelbarrow in the shed by the Log Fire Cabin. Then she gives us the run-down on the little kitchen area and the toilet and shower cubicle.
No bath for Toby, obviously. But the shower looks perfectly functional!
Clemmy has left a big basket of goodies for us on the little counter top in the kitchen – and I breathe a sigh of relief to see chocolates and a bottle of champagne sticking out of the top of it.
‘I’ve got some basic foodstuffs at the house if you don’t want to go food shopping now,’ says Clemmy. ‘Nothing more exotic than baked beans, though, I’m afraid.’
‘I’ve brought some homemade moussaka,’ I tell her. ‘And I think I spotted a little microwave?’
She smiles. ‘You did indeed. That’ll be lovely. And it’s such a lovely night for eating al fresco.’
‘Al fresco?’ Toby swings round.
‘Outside?’ I explain helpfully.
He frowns. ‘I know what al fresco means. I’m just not sure it’s a good idea. Bugs are absolutely rife near water. I’m not sure I fancy ingesting midges with my moussaka.’ He shoots me a worried glance. ‘You did pack the insect repellent, didn’t you?’
I assure him I did, and Clemmy says, ‘They can be a bit pesky, the midges, but usually only when it’s been raining. And we’ve had the most glorious dry spell lately.’
‘We can always eat in,’ I say cheerfully, to allay Toby’s worries of being eaten alive.
‘Or we can go out for dinner.’ Toby’s eyes light up. ‘There looks to be a rather fine eating establishment just along there, by the lake.’
‘Yes, the Starlight Hotel,’ says Clemmy. ‘It’s fabulous in every way. Very elegant. But – um – rather expensive?’
We glance over and Toby nods approvingly. ‘Excellent.’
Clemmy smiles. ‘I can phone and make a booking for you if you like?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll sort it,’ says Toby.
‘Okay, I’ll leave you to settle in then. Give me a knock in the morning if you’d like breakfast,’ says Clemmy. ‘I live in the converted barn over there.’ She points to the chalet-style building we spotted earlier. She laughs. ‘Well, it was more of a big shed, really, but Jed, who owns the Log Fire Cabin, is an architect and he did an amazing conversion job on it for us. Jed is my fiancé’s brother.’
I smile. ‘How lovely. When’s the wedding?’
‘October. There’s still so much to organise, but we’ll get there.’ A dark shadow passes over her face. But next second she’s back into professional mode. ‘Jed’s fiancée, Poppy, has her own catering company, and she bakes fresh bread and pastries every morning, which I can highly recommend.’ Clemmy pats her rounded tummy ruefully. ‘Way too moreish. Come over any time after eight if you’d like to sample them.’
As soon as she’s gone, Toby picks up the jug of flowers from the table, dumps it on the bedside table and puts his laptop on the table instead. ‘Just need to check in. Won’t be a mo.’
My heart sinks but I smile and say, ‘Okay. I’ll go and freshen up while you’re busy. I really hope you like it here. It’s such a gorgeous lakeside setting, isn’t it?’
But he’s already peering anxiously at the screen and doesn’t appear to have heard me. So I go off to investigate the tiny bathroom, hoping Toby won’t be too long. I hope he manages to get us a table for dinner at the Starlight Hotel. It sounds utterly gorgeous. Possibly even more romantic than eating al fresco! And definitely no bugs.
My stomach is already rumbling like mad at the thought of Poppy’s freshly baked breakfast pastries …
*
‘Let’s just walk along to the hotel, Toby. It’s a lovely evening.’
I finally managed to prise Toby away from his laptop in order to get ready. While he was in the bathroom, I took the magazine with my prize-winning story in it out of my case and, with a little lurch of excitement, slid it onto Toby’s bedside table. Hopefully he’ll finally have time to read it this week!
Toby frowns. ‘I thought you were hungry,’
‘I am. But Clemmy said the hotel was only a ten-minute walk away, and I thought it might be nice to take a stroll along there by the lake. You know, get to know our surroundings a bit?’
‘Okay. Let’s go.’ He pockets his work phone and I know there’s no point objecting. The office comes before everything else for Toby – even relationships. That’s just the way he is, and I’ve always had a theory that there’s no point trying to change the person
you’re going out with. Sure, some of your own good habits will likely rub off on each other. But essentially, they’re not likely to undergo a great transformation, so you either accept them, warts and all, or you move on.
There’s no doubt that Toby and I are very different in some ways. But every time I imagine us going our separate ways, I think of just how much I would lose. Toby and his family have basically taken me in and provided the love and comfort I missed so badly when Mum died. I couldn’t leave Toby. And what about my friendship with Rosalind? How could we still meet up for coffee and a chat if I was no longer going out with her son?
I swallow hard. Toby and I get along fine together. Every relationship needs to be worked on. And this week, we’ll have the chance to do just that …
I tuck my hand in his arm and we start walking down the road to the hotel.
‘So, what do you think of glamping?’ I ask. ‘I know it’s not what you were expecting, but I think our tent is incredible.’
He smiles at me. ‘It’s certainly different. And I’m looking forward to finding out how springy that mattress is.’
‘Ooh, yes, me too.’ I give him a wicked grin and snuggle closer, laying my head briefly against his shoulder.
He nods. ‘Of course, I prefer a pocket-sprung, memory-foam hybrid mattress. As you know. But hell, I’m willing to try something different!’ He gives me a jolly wink.
This is promising, I think to myself. Toby actually seems quite relaxed now and he hasn’t checked his phone once since we left our tent. Admittedly, we’re only five minutes down the road, but even so …
Approaching the hotel entrance, I spot a ‘workmen’ sign just to the left, with a cordon in a ring around whatever they’ve been working on. Toby takes my hand and guides me firmly around the obstruction.
Then he suddenly stops and takes hold of my other hand as well. ‘Thank you, Daisy, for my birthday treat. I know I’ve been preoccupied with work today, but I promise I’ll make it up to you while we’re here.’
I smile shyly up at him. ‘You will?’
He nods and I stand on tiptoe to kiss him. His mouth tastes of fresh minty toothpaste and it’s lovely.
I slide my hands up around Toby’s neck as the kiss deepens and my head spins deliciously. This is what a romantic break should be like.
This, right here … kissing under the stars … just us and no one else to ruin the moment …
‘You’re blocking the way.’
I jump at the sound of a deep voice behind me.
Toby, too, is startled and springs back, colliding with the workmen’s barrier.
A tall, well-built man, wearing a backpack and hiking gear, strides past us and mounts the hotel steps, his long legs making easy work of them.
‘Hey, hang on, mate,’ protests Toby, and the man turns at the top of the steps.
‘Yes?’ he snarls, glowering at me for some reason and not Toby.
I swallow, staring up at his dark shock of hair and rough, unshaven face.
‘An “excuse me” would have been nice,’ I point out testily.
But he just gives a snort of contempt and disappears into the hotel.
‘Ah, shit. Fucking shit,’ says Toby. And when I turn, he’s extracting one foot from some syrupy, just-laid cement.
‘Oh, God, your shoe!’ I wail, staring at the gunge that’s welded to it and feeling Toby’s pain. Toby prides himself on his quality shoes. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got some wipes in my handbag.’
Luckily, Toby always keeps a stash of baby wipes in the car in case of messy emergencies.
We manage to get him cleaned up fairly satisfactorily, but it’s put a definite dampener on the evening. This particular pair of shoes was handmade in Italy; Toby’s pride and joy. It would be like if someone threw my best handbag into the back of a bin lorry. It would never be the same after that. I totally get where poor Toby is coming from.
So basically, that rude stranger who pushed past us on the stairs has managed to ruin Toby’s night. Which obviously means I’m not exactly leaping about with joy, either. Still, it can only get better from here …
CHAPTER EIGHT
We haven’t booked and the restaurant is full.
All the waiter can suggest is that we have a drink in the bar and there will be a table for us at nine o’clock. Toby’s face falls and I decide not to point out that Clemmy offered to book us a table but he said he would sort it. Work, of course, got in the way …
Toby looks at his watch. ‘That’s nearly a two-hour wait. Is there anywhere else around here we can eat?’
I shake my head. ‘The nearest village, Appley Green, is ten miles away and I didn’t see a restaurant when we drove through earlier.’
‘Bloody countryside,’ mutters Toby, glaring down at his shoe, as if a rural cowpat was to blame, not wet cement. ‘At least in the city, everything’s just a phone call away.’
He sighs, looking thoroughly exhausted, and I take his hand and say softly, ‘Why don’t we just go back and microwave the moussaka I brought?’
He grimaces. ‘Don’t fancy it.’
‘Okay, well, we could get some basic stuff from Clemmy’s store cupboard, like she suggested?’
He frowns. ‘Beans on toast?’
I nod. ‘Beans, anyway. I’m not sure there’s a toaster.’
He flicks his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Great.’
Toby likes to sit down to a proper dinner – at least two courses – every night. So I can understand why a tin of beans isn’t exactly floating his boat. Especially when this is supposed to be his birthday week surprise!
He sees my face and shakes his head. ‘It’s not your fault. I’ve just had a piss-awful day, that’s all. And I was looking forward to a nice meal.’ He shrugs. ‘But hey, that’s life.’
He goes off to find the men’s toilets and I sink down onto a stylish burnt-orange sofa by the hotel’s reception desk.
What a nightmare!
It’s obvious Toby isn’t a huge fan of glamping or the countryside in general. We’ve spent all our time since we got together in the city. How was I to know Toby would be so ill at ease in the country?
Now that I think about it, the warnings were there for me to see. On the odd occasion I’ve suggested going for a hike and a meal in a country pub, Toby has always thought of an alternative. The showing of a foreign film he’s wanted to see for a while. Or a visit to a museum. Actually, most of the time, our evenings are spent with him catching up on work while I cook dinner. Two courses at least. Obviously.
Apparently, I’ve failed utterly with the glamping …
Tears spring up from nowhere. I feel so defeated.
A woman bustles into reception from somewhere within the hotel. She’s wearing a smart black suit that skims her generous curves and her blonde hair is scraped back in a severe bun. She glances at me over her dark-framed spectacles and I quickly blink to despatch the tears.
‘Can I help you, Madam?’ she asks.
I struggle up from my slouched position and force a smile. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
She gives me a thin smile, then approaches the girl behind the reception desk and they have a murmured conversation about a hotel guest needing special pillows. I notice she’s wearing a badge with ‘Manager’ on it.
On her way past me, she stops and murmurs, ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you need?’
I heave a sigh. ‘A table in the restaurant? So my boyfriend can have the birthday he deserves?’ I shrug and smile, as if to say: It’s no big deal.
‘Are we full?’
I nod. ‘But really, it’s fine. It’s our fault for not booking a table.’ I must look really downhearted because her face relaxes into a sympathetic smile, her head tipped to one side.
‘Is it a special birthday?’
I tell her it’s his thirtieth and she thinks for a second.
‘Let me see what I can do.’ She bustles off, her patent leather court shoes squeaking slightly on the plush carpet.
&nb
sp; She returns less than a minute later. ‘Table for two at eight suit you?’
My heart lifts. ‘Yes, that’s brilliant. Thank you so much. Toby will be delighted.’
She nods and smiles. ‘Good. Well, enjoy!’ And then she’s gone.
Anxious to deliver the good news to Toby – no baked beans for us tonight! – I wander over to the men’s toilets and lurk outside for a minute. What’s he doing in there?
After another minute, I’m getting impatient. Perhaps I could just go in.
These are obviously posh loos so there’ll just be cubicles in there. No urinal thingy.
Slowly, I push open the door a crack. Hesitantly, I call out Toby’s name.
I hear a grunt so I push the door wider. Sure enough, cubicles only. And very posh, with hand cream and everything. Just one cubicle is engaged.
I walk in and call out, ‘You’ll never guess? I’ve managed to get us a table for eight o’clock. Isn’t that great? And …’ I move close to the door and murmur, ‘I’ve packed the wellies and the apron. If you’re a very good boy, I’ll put them on later …’
The first time I cooked Toby a meal, he arrived early and surprised me in the garden picking herbs for the tomato sauce. I’d just emerged from the shower and was wearing little more than wellies and a large apron. Toby clearly admired my quirky ‘outfit’ because after we laughed about it, we ended up in bed together, tomato sauce temporarily forgotten …
The toilet flushes and I stand back, expecting Toby to emerge all smiles at the memory of our first night together.
My mouth sags open.
It’s not Toby. It’s a complete stranger.
Well, not quite a stranger. It’s the hulking, surly, obnoxious man from earlier. The one who barged in on our kiss and accused us of blocking his way.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, edging backwards. ‘I thought you were my boyfriend.’
He crosses to the sink and starts washing his hands vigorously, looking back and studying me with a faint smile on his face. ‘Shame. I was looking forward to dinner at eight. And now you’re telling me I’m not invited?’
He looks rakishly handsome when he smiles but his sarcastic tone rankles.
Summer under the Stars: A romantic comedy that will have you laughing out loud this summer. Page 5
