by Alexia James
“And what constitutes a bad day for a flower seller? Pushy clients, unavailable suppliers? Or just a blisteringly hot day with not enough water.”
“All of that.” She sent him a warm smile, surprised at his insight into her world. “But today was exceptionally bad because I’ve had Martin on the phone six dozen times as well,”
“Six dozen times!” he said, lifting dark eyebrows at her words, “Whatever did he want? Roses, carnations— an opportunity to make a nuisance of himself?”
“You’re closer than you know, but to be honest I don’t know exactly what he wants because I haven’t answered any of his calls today. I think he wants to be friends,” she paused, “or possibly more, which is unfortunate because he creeps me out.”
“Ah. Not a customer.”
“Nope. The son of a very good client of mine, and that means his dismissal is gonna call for tact and diplomacy—which I’m gifted with, of course.” She gave him a quick grin and then glanced down, tapping her fingers lightly on the edge of her glass and trying to steady her nerves.
“Of course. Ignoring telephone calls takes the utmost in diplomacy.” Jeremy spoke seriously, but she caught the edge of his smile.
“Well, what would you do in my shoes? Imagine some stalker chick is after you, but she’s the boss’s daughter and you want that promotion. How would you play it?”
He laughed gently and a shiver went down her spine. “Stalker chick. What a frightening image that presents. Hmm… I am not sure I should answer that.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to be a bad influence on you.”
“A bad influence! What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. I’m sure with all your tact and diplomacy you will have no problems sending him on his way.”
Freya smiled and placed her empty glass on the table. An earlier reference caught at her memory and she looked around the bare kitchen again. “You said you haven’t got a telephone yet. Have you recently moved in?”
“Yes. I have been here a little over a month now and things are slowly improving. I am hoping to keep some livestock and perhaps have a small vegetable patch around the side, although I currently know nothing of such matters. It would be good to be more self-sufficient as we are about four miles from the nearest village here. Furthermore, I am told that the last time the river flooded it took out the road.”
“Huh. You definitely don’t want to be reliant on getting into town. Next big storm and you’d end up having mouldy bread for tea, and getting drunk on last Christmas’ Vodka from Aunty Joan.”
“Quite. Romantically lit with tallow dips and feasting on leftovers from the Christmas hamper of dandelion preserve with pheasant and nettle pate.”
“And a dented tin of anchovies.” Freya snickered and they eyed each other for a moment before she broke the contact to glance down at the table.
Dusk had made the room dim. The whitewashed walls glowed faintly orange, the shadows deep blue; rough edges smoothed out.
Despite the friendly banter, Freya was aware of night falling and of being alone with a virtual stranger. She glanced up, met his eyes for a moment and caught the slight smile lifting his mouth.
The last golden rays found their way into the kitchen to touch Jeremy’s face, catching on the planes and highlighting his extraordinary beauty. His face might almost be feminine but for some acuity of expression. A sharpness or perhaps inflexibility that had Freya catching her breath on an unexpected thrill of fear.
“I’d better get going.” She looked back at her glass, feeling suddenly awkward. “Thanks for the water and sorry if I was a bit of nuisance.” She stood abruptly, uncertain what to do next, the sound of her chair scraping on tiles seeming overloud in the silent room.
Jeremy walked carefully towards her and brushed a strand of her blond hair over one shoulder, the back of his curled fingers trailing lightly down her arm.
She was not beautiful, but she was pretty in a girl-next-door way, and had a straightforward sweetness to her that he found engaging. She was also small and very young looking despite the smart business clothes and elegant high-heeled shoes. He wondered how old she was, she did not look more than eighteen, probably far too young for him.
He chose his next words with care. “You are not a nuisance, and you are welcome here anytime you are passing. I live alone here and work mainly from home so I am usually around. If I can assist you in any way, please feel free to stop by.”
Up close, he was a great deal taller and more solid than she had realized; someone she might have crossed the street to avoid late at night. She inhaled and looked up to meet his eyes. In this light you could not see the colour and they appeared black, but he was watching her closely.
She mentally stiffened her spine and tried to think of a way to dispel the disquieting feeling she had around him. Decided on a smile. “I was so busy talking about me, I didn’t even ask about you. What is it that you do?”
“Accounting for the most part, but I also keep books for a few firms, so if you need a hand with those loopy tax returns, I’m your man.” His tone was gentle, as though he could sense her unease despite her friendliness.
Was he flirting? No. She was misreading the situation. He was trying not to frighten her and she was— she grinned again; tried harder. “Definitely something to keep in mind. You shouldn’t tempt me. It wouldn’t take much for me to pass the whole lot onto you.”
“Any way I can help...”
Another minute and she would start to blush. She felt like a school kid with a crush. Something about him was making it hard to think, and for one breathless moment she thought he would kiss her. Then he turned away and she wondered if she was misreading him. They had only just met and in spite of her attraction to him, she did not know him at all.
“Is there somewhere I can take you?” he said. “It won’t take long to put Shorter in his harness.”
She hesitated at the mention of what was obviously a horse, but at least it was a distraction from her earlier thoughts.
“No. Really, I’m parked just the other side of the field and can easily drive back. Um…it wasn’t crops I walked through was it?” She asked a bit absently, her mind still on the issue of the horse. Maybe she had misheard the bit about the harness and he was referring to his car.
“No. It’s all right. I have not yet decided what to do with the fields. They are just wasteland at present.”
They walked in the gathering dusk back to the edge of the field. She turned to say goodbye and nearly ran into him. He caught her arm to balance her, hesitated, and then drew her closer.
Light glinted in his eyes and he paused, waiting for her to push him away. Then he closed the distance in a fleeting kiss.
Freya felt blood burn a path to her face and was grateful for the dim light. He pulled back slightly, his eyes intent on her face, trying to read her response.
Before her brain caught up with what was happening, he kissed her again and she stopped thinking. He tasted of coffee, warm and addicting, like a drug streaking through her blood stream. She pressed closer, not wanting him to stop.
He broke the kiss and she caught the edge of his grin before he released her.
“Drive safely, Freya,” he said, and stood back to watch as she somewhat unsteadily stepped over the boundary.
“Um… hah! Um… okay. See you then.” At a complete loss for words, she began to push through the meadow, trying unsuccessfully to find the path she had made earlier and not daring to look back in case she said or did something she would cringe over later. When she eventually glanced back he was nowhere in sight.
Freya stumbled through the field, going over her evening with him and trying unsuccessfully not to obsess over that last burning moment. “Jeremy Sanders,” she spoke his name softly, savouring the sound of it, and then grinned and shook her head.
She wanted to see him again. Then there was that kiss. She inhaled sharply and let out a nervous laugh. Was he just b
eing flirtatious with no intention of anything more? Maybe he had guessed how she felt and was winding her up a bit. Gut instinct told her otherwise, but maybe she was reading too much into it. She hoped not because she was going to find an excuse to come back here. She sighed, thinking of the drive to Reading ahead of her.
She was relieved to reach the other side of the field. Her eyes felt gritty and hot; she was tired and itchy, as if bugs in the field had feasted on her skin.
It was now getting dark in earnest and glancing at her watch, she could see it was nearly quarter to ten. How come it was so late? It was definitely time to go home. She walked gratefully up the dirt track and stopped short.
Her van was gone.
For a moment, she thought she had somehow come out on the wrong side of the meadow, but it just wasn’t possible. She could see the glow of lights now on in Jeremy’s farmhouse across the field. The windows casting warm rectangles into the night, and here was the road where she had parked. It had to be right. She even recognized the sprawling oak tree at the edge of the neighbouring field.
Time to face facts: the van had been stolen.
The warm tiredness she had felt evaporated fast, leaving cold panic in its place. What should she do now? Why had she not she taken her mobile with her and what the hell had possessed her to leave it in the van anyway?
She could go back to Jeremy, but she cringed at the thought. What could he do after all? He had no telephone, and from what he had said about the horse, he had no car. Why he had no car when he lived practically on top of the M4, she hadn’t a clue.
Perhaps it was having a service or something, but why didn’t he have a mobile? Even if he had no landline installed, he should have a mobile. If he had he would have said, wouldn’t he?
He would probably give her a lift to the nearest town, but she could not reconcile herself to the idea of asking him. What if he thought of her as just another dumb blond for getting into this mess or, worse still, thought she was making a pass at him. After that kiss it was entirely possible that he would see her plea for help as something more, and she wasn’t ready for that, despite her earlier feelings.
No. She was definitely not going there.
After some thought, she decided to seek out the motorway. There would be breakdown recovery phones even if she had to walk a few miles to find one. She could report the loss of her vehicle and arrange transport home at the same time.
With a sigh, she began to trudge up the road. It might be a long walk and an uncomfortable night, but it was infinitely better than pouring out her troubles to a virtual stranger, no matter how attractive she found him.
Besides, it was humiliating to have her van stolen. As though it were somehow her fault: abandoning her van when wiser souls would not have done so. They would shake their heads knowingly as though she was some helpless woman with no sense. That last fuelled her determination not to go back to Jeremy.
She had already fainted in front of him and melted in his arms over a brief kiss. She cringed as she remembered it. She did not need to compound the image he had of her with this incident.
Three hours later it was pitch dark and Freya still hadn’t found the motorway or, in fact, any A road. She had found where she was sure she had turned off onto the track, but although there was a much wider dirt road, there was no sign of any tarmac.
Unbelievable. There was no traffic noise, yet she knew the motorway must be close. Weariness set in and replaced any panic of being lost in the dark. She had long since gone past feeling tearful over the injustice fate had thrown at her. The chaos of the situation sucked away any intelligent thought over direction, and she plodded on, convinced she would find her way soon.
A further two hours of trudging around lanes and Freya admitted she was done. The fields of sweet smelling grass were looking increasingly inviting, and it was now three in the morning. Freya finally gave in, curled up a few feet into the nearest meadow, and was asleep in minutes.
She had time to regret her decision when it began to get light, an hour or so later. The birds singing loudly, along with the hard ground and worry that returned, made further sleep impossible.
Freya lay still, looking up at the sky. It was a clear blue, with one or two cloud formations scratching an intricate pattern up high. She was cold and ached with stiffness when she tried to move. She realised her clothes were damp and wondered why she was not shivering.
It was going to be another hot day, and somehow she had to find the road and her way home. She was thirsty and hungry, and now that some of her exhaustion had left her, she began to feel panicked again. Supposing she was lost around these lanes for days? Gradually a sound began to impinge on her chaotic thoughts. A horse and cart.
Freya sprang up, oblivious to everything but the prospect of help after her fears of being alone. She scrambled out of the meadow onto the dirt road, jarring muscles and ripping the stitching in her skirt. As the vehicle came into sight, she began to half limp half run towards it.
Joseph Wilson was a skinny old man. Seventy-six this year and still going strong, he thought approvingly. He nodded at the greenery all around, absently enjoying the bird song. Empty milk churns clanked in the back of the trap, and his thoughts turned to his latest customer.
That Jeremy Sanders. Well mannered, well looking and well educated too. A young man like that living on his own ought to have a girl to keep his house for him.
Joe reckoned it was only a matter of time before he talked Jeremy into joining the town’s cricket team. If he managed to get Jeremy there on a Saturday afternoon, all the lasses would be out trying to catch the young man’s eye. He cackled a bit at the thought and rounded a bend in the road.
As he looked up, a woman came into sight. She was young and wild looking. Her hair was all over the place and bits of grass clung to her clothes. She ran helter-skelter up the road towards him. He pulled up Carter who, having no interest in the girl, started in on the roadside grass. The way she had come hurtling up to them made Joe glad for once that the beast was a bit of a slug.
Out of breath, she stopped next to the cart, tipped up an anxious face and began talking. Fast. Joseph watched her in some bemusement as she rattled on about not being able to find the M4, of her stolen van and something about a mobile phone.
She was upset and he did not follow much of what she was saying. She looked as though she had been running through the fields all morning. Trembling, her eyes shining with tears, she finished her tale of woe and blinked at him, clearly expecting help.
He recognized in her something of his late wife, despite the fact that she looked nothing like Marie. It was to do with her height and build, and an impression of sweetness, he supposed. He watched as her blue eyes glittered with the tears she was desperately trying to hold back and felt his heart soften.
“Eh lass, don’t take on so,” he said, scooting over and offering her a hand up. “Come, take a seat and we’ll sort it all out.”
“Thank you so much. If you could just take me to the M4, I am sure I can find a phone to call for help. Unless you have a mobile I can use?”
“Well, this road goes into Newbury. I’m headed that way so it’s no bother to take you along.”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful. I am sure there will be a phone box I can use. I cannot believe someone stole my van! It’s only a rusted old Transit; I don’t know why anyone would want it.”
“When was it stolen?” he asked politely.
She hesitated a moment and twisted fingers in her tangled hair. “Last night. I only left it for an hour or two. I was so tired I thought I was going to fall asleep at the wheel. I saw the farmhouse and went to ask for some water. When I got back it was gone.” She squashed down a sob; hiccupped, “I guess I should have gone back to the house and asked if he could give me a lift into town, but he was so polite and I didn’t want him to think I was stupid or anything. I just thought I could find the road and call for help.”
Joseph picked through her words.
He knew of only one person who had a house nearby. Mr Sanders also fitted the ‘so polite’ description, but Joseph was shocked that she would tell him she had considered going to see the young man by herself late at night. Then again, he was an old man now and perhaps equally old fashioned in his ways.
If her appearance was anything to go by, the girl had slept in the field. This would not have surprised him if she had been a farm hand, but her clothes told another story. The cut and fabric of her clothes were not those of someone who worked on the land, although both were now creased and covered in half the field.
She also came across as intelligent and well educated despite her chaotic manner. She was clearly a gently bred girl who had found herself in trouble. Joe wondered what her family were doing allowing her to go about alone, and had to remind himself again that times had changed since his youth.
“Maybe the horse wandered off. Did you tie him up well? We’d best make a search for him.”
“H-horse?” she stammered slightly, “I don’t have a horse. It was a van that got stolen.”
“Where is it you live, lass?” Joseph asked as kindly as he could. She seemed a bit bewildered by his suggestion. Clearly, they were talking at cross-purposes.
“Just outside Reading; I was coming back from Hungerford. I went to see a new supplier. I’m a flower seller.”
Joseph backtracked once more through the conversation. He looked her over, noting the weariness and confusion. “You slept in the field, I take it.”
She looked down unhappily. “I was looking for the M4. I thought if I could find the main road, I could call from one of those emergency breakdown phones they always have, but it got so late and I was so tired. I just want to go home.”
Joseph hesitated at her words, a puzzled look crossing his face, but the gleam of tears in her eyes had him abandoning his questions. Instead, he put his mind to how best to help her.
