by Heidi Swain
It felt obvious to me that his main concern centred around me making a personal financial commitment – even though he insisted it wasn’t – but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something else too. Something it was proving impossible for me to prise out of him.
We were talking a little less and left to my own devices, by the end of the week, I’d established a routine of picking the quickly ripening strawberries from early morning until lunchtime, then taking the fruit to town, dropping most at the café and the remainder to the market and Skylark Farm, before driving back and working through my share of the household chores and any other farm business.
When I had first arrived, it was the sort of settled lifestyle I had imagined, but suddenly it wasn’t enough. I was determined that Fenview Farm, and the part I had to play in securing its future, would equate to more than just going through the seasonal motions. Selling the fruit was all well and good, but with such a magnificent barn at our disposal, it felt frustrating to not be utilising it, especially now I had struck upon the perfect idea.
As keen as I was, I hadn’t talked to Jake to find out what he thought about it all because with Grandad so set against it, it would have been a waste of time and of course, I didn’t want to aggravate him further by going behind his back when he’d already, unwaveringly, said no.
‘Anyone home?’
It was my first trip to the Randall residence, and having knocked on the cottage door and got no answer, I’d ventured around the side of the house, through the gate and into the slightly overgrown garden. I knew Bec was home because the Banana-mobile was parked on the drive and the sound of music led me to her shed/studio. I knocked hard on the door, hoping I wouldn’t make her jump or disturb her artistic flow if she was in the zone.
There was a momentary lull in the music and I knocked again.
‘It’s open!’ she shouted, and I yanked at the door to find her standing in the middle of what looked like colour splattered chaos, a huge smile lighting up her face.
She skipped over to a workbench overflowing with pots of brushes, tubes of paint and piles of sketchbooks and turned the music off.
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’ I asked, the smell of paint filling my nostrils and making me feel a little lightheaded.
She really could have done with cracking a window or keeping the door propped open. No wonder she was smiling like a loon.
‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, pulling off her saffron and cerulean smattered smock and throwing it over the back of an equally paint embellished chair. ‘I’ve missed you every day when you’ve dropped the strawberries off at the café and your phone’s never on. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me!’
I felt a bit bad about that and now I’d come to the cottage because I had an ulterior motive which, given her obvious excitement to see me, made me feel a bit mean.
‘You go out with the best-looking guy in town and then… nothing. I’m supposed to be your new BFF, remember? I want details! And,’ she added, ‘you were supposed to give me a shout about when I could come and give you a hand with the strawberry picking.’
Preoccupied with certain details as well as daydreams about what the barn could look like if I had my way, I’d completely forgotten about her generous offer. And she seemed to have forgotten that she’d hinted that her brother had been about to declare something to me the day of too much champagne. Was she so scatter-brained that she’d misplaced that particular observation – I hoped so – or had she observed him further and changed her mind about what she’d said?
‘I’m sorry,’ I apologised. ‘I’ve been preoccupied.’
‘That good was it?’ she speculated. ‘Have you had round two yet? Is that why I’ve been abandoned?’
Anthony had called about ‘round two’ as Bec put it, one day when I was in Wynbridge and happened to have my phone turned on. He’d said he was sorry for not ringing sooner but he was currently swamped with work. He then ruined the apology by asking if Eliot had shown any signs of being the swindler, the town gossips had labelled him as, and I ended up getting a bit cross. He insisted he was joking, but personally I didn’t think it was anything to joke about and the call had ended coolly, from my end at least and without us arranging a second date.
However, Anthony’s aggravating reminder had put Eliot firmly back at the forefront of my mind, not that he’d ever been all that far from it, and I realised that he was exactly the person I needed to enlist to get Grandad onside about the supper club. If anyone would be able to help, it was Eliot. Hence my trip to the cottage.
‘You haven’t been abandoned,’ I said to Bec. ‘I’ve just been busy establishing a routine and if the offer still stands, I really would appreciate some help soon.’ The ripening was definitely picking up pace now the days were consistently warmer. ‘And as far as the date’s concerned…’
‘Stop,’ she interrupted. ‘Let’s get a drink first and find somewhere comfy. I’ve been looking forward to this!’
We sat with a pitcher of lemonade in the garden and I injected as much enthusiasm into my retelling of the evening as I could. After all, I still wanted Eliot to think that I really had set my feelings for him to one side and started something up elsewhere, with someone who was nothing like him, and hearing it from his sister was bound to help that cause.
Consequently, I told Bec all about the outfit I’d found in Bella’s, the swanky dinner in the far away restaurant, the champagne and the hugely expensive taxi ride, along with what Anthony’s favourite colour was. She’d already guessed red, but given her artistic calling, that was no surprise.
‘But he didn’t kiss you goodnight?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose and sounding unimpressed.
‘No,’ I said. ‘With the taxi waiting, it would have been a bit awkward, but I could tell he wanted to.’
‘Well, I suppose that cranks the anticipation up a bit, doesn’t it?’ she sighed. ‘You’ll be panting to get your hands on him next time, won’t you? And vice versa.’
‘Absolutely,’ I fibbed. ‘And I still don’t know what he does for a living, so we’ll have plenty to talk about in-between all the kissing.’
‘Um,’ Bec wistfully sighed. ‘And there was me thinking you and Eliot…’
‘There was you thinking me and Eliot what?’ I asked, the sound of rushing blood filling my head as my heart pounded and I realised she hadn’t forgotten after all.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I really thought he liked you and I was beginning to think that you liked him… but I suppose you wouldn’t have gone out with Anthony if that was the case, would you? And he is gorgeous, so if he’s more your type…’
‘Oh, he is,’ I cut in. ‘Definitely more my type and I do like Eliot, how could I not, but only as a friend.’
In view of the fact that Anthony was so easy on the eye and that I’d already been on a date with him, she seemed to accept that and I hoped I’d said enough to clear everything up and put it all nicely in its place.
‘With regard to Anthony’s job,’ Bec smiled, getting back on track. ‘I know what he does. Well, I sort of know. He’s something to do with the building trade.’
I found that rather amusing, but it did go some way to explaining his observation about the barn. I was certain there was no merit in what he’d said, but knowing he was in the trade, I would have another look. Just to be on the safe side.
‘Really?’ I said, thinking of his impeccable hands. ‘He doesn’t look like a brickie.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Bec giggled. ‘I daresay he’s in management. More suited to telling the brickies what to do.’
That, I agreed sounded far more like it, then thoughts of Anthony’s hands led me to imagining the touch of Eliot’s.
‘I don’t suppose your brother’s around, is he?’ I casually asked, attempting to suppress the sudden glow. Hopefully Bec would think it was down to talk of Anthony, rather than the conversational switch to her big brother.
‘No. H
e’s at work. Why?’
‘I wanted to ask a favour.’
‘Does it have to be from him?’
‘Afraid so. It’s to do with Grandad.’
‘Oh well, yes then,’ Bec nodded. ‘It’s definitely Eliot you want. You can leave him a note if you like.’
* * *
With Bec acting as intermediary because Eliot was so busy, arrangements were made for us to meet in The Mermaid Friday night. I felt shockingly nervous. There was a lot riding on how the evening went, and I didn’t want to mess it up.
‘He’ll meet you there about seven,’ Bec told me, when I dropped the strawberries at the café. ‘He said he’s sorry he can’t be more specific. It will all depend on how his last visit goes but if you have your phone on when you get to town, he’ll let you know if he’s running late. He’s been rushed off his feet this week, picking up extra shifts left, right and centre.’
It was the first time I was going to see him alone and away from the farm, other than at the library of course, when I’d cried all over him so that didn’t really count, and without either Grandad, Louise or Bec around. I rather hoped he was going to turn up looking exhausted from his working week. That might temper my attraction to him a bit. Either that or it would make me fall even harder because he’d be heroically wearing the hours he’d been putting in looking after the elderly and infirm of Wynbridge! I was doomed.
‘What can I get for you, love?’ asked the pub landlady who introduced herself as Evelyn that Friday evening.
‘A Coke please,’ I said, looking back towards the door.
‘Lemon and ice?’
‘Yes, please.’
I found a table with a good view of the door and didn’t have to wait many minutes before the throaty rumble of the Ducati rolled into the market square. It was as if Eliot had his own early warning system and I wasn’t the only person who’d heard it.
He was barely over the threshold before he was besieged. First by a couple of young women who went into full hair tossing and eyelash batting mode and then by a middle-aged woman who, from what I could make out, insisted on buying his drink.
Once he had said a word to practically everyone in the place, he looked around, spotted me, and came over.
‘Hi,’ he said, putting down his drink.
Was it my imagination or did he look as edgy as I felt?
‘Hey,’ I said, budging along the bench to make room for him.
The chairs which went with the table had been carried off to accommodate a large group who were sitting next to the piano, so we had no choice but to squeeze in together. The group were noisily enjoying the end of the working week and no doubt the prospect of the weekend ahead.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Eliot apologised, putting his helmet and gloves on the table before pulling off a leather jacket I hadn’t seen him wearing before.
‘You’re not really,’ I said. It was only a couple of minutes after our designated time. ‘Bec said you would have to be flexible because of your last call, so I knew you might not be here bang on seven.’
He nodded and took a long drink. ‘Crikey, I needed that,’ he said, once he’d finished. ‘It’s still hot out there.’
‘And it must be hot on the bike,’ I said. This wasn’t the way we usually talked to each other, so the situation was clearly getting to both of us. ‘Although you aren’t in your leathers today,’ I inanely added. ‘Apart from the jacket.’
‘These are Draggin jeans,’ he said, slapping the top of his leg.
‘Draggin jeans?’
‘Basically, they look like jeans, but they’re made from Kevlar and as tough as old boots. They cost a fortune, but they’re worth it.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘Safety first.’
‘Always,’ he smiled back.
Once we’d exhausted the health and safety merits of his outfit, someone else came over, which thankfully ended the small talk. It was a guy this time and he put two drinks on the table.
‘Evelyn said what you were drinking,’ he said to me. ‘Coke, right?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
‘This is just a thank you for sorting Mum out,’ he then nodded at Eliot.
‘Cass has already said thank you,’ said Eliot, holding up his almost empty glass.
‘And I’m saying it again,’ insisted the guy. ‘She’d have been in real trouble if you hadn’t stayed with her.’
Eliot shook his head. ‘It was no bother, John. I was just doing my job, so let’s say no more about it. But thanks for the drinks.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
I emptied my first and picked up the second, taking a sideways glance at Eliot who was looking a bit flushed. Clearly, he’d again gone above and beyond, earning himself the gratitude of yet another local family. Whoever had spread the rumour about him definitely had the wrong Eliot, because the one sitting next to me was much loved and very highly thought of.
I almost wished Anthony was with us to witness it in action. That would have soon crushed his suspicions. Eliot’s only motive was to provide the best possible care for those he looked after, with Grandad being right at the top of the list, not take their life savings.
Along with wishing Anthony had just been within earshot, I also wished I’d known that the Eliot fan club was going to be in such enthusiastic attendance. I would have suggested meeting somewhere else because having his kind, considerate and caring nature highlighted at every turn was doing nothing to help stave off my feelings.
‘A bit weird this, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Being in the pub rather than at the farm.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘It is. I was thinking the very same thing before you arrived. This is the first time we’ve been in each other’s company beyond the farm boundary.’
‘Don’t forget the library,’ he reminded me, then turned bright red. ‘Although you probably rather would, wouldn’t you? Sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said, taking another swig from my glass which prompted him to do the same.
‘Bec said you had a favour to ask.’
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, pulling myself together. ‘That’s actually why I wanted us to meet away from the farm.’
‘Well, ask away.’
‘Although it is to do with the farm.’
‘Oh?’
I’d really hoped to keep the planning stage between just me and Grandad but as he was so determined not to let me even give it a try and I was equally determined to give convincing him one last shot, I knew talking to Eliot was my only hope.
‘I’ve had this idea about how to utilise the barn,’ I began.
‘Is that why you were in there on Sunday serving up afternoon tea?’
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘I thought if I set it all up, using some of Grandad’s collection, then I might have a better chance of explaining to him what it was that I had in mind.’
‘What collection?’ Eliot frowned.
I was completely taken aback that Eliot didn’t know anything about Grandad’s hobby of collecting anything and everything connected to the history of the Fens. And I was sad too. Mum’s cutting teenage remarks had really left their mark all those years ago if Grandad hadn’t shared his passion with his closest friend. Thank goodness he hadn’t done as Mum suggested and trashed the lot.
I took a deep breath and enlightened Eliot about both the collection and my plans for it and the farm.
‘Crikey,’ he said, once I had shared everything. ‘Wow.’
I gave him a minute to let it all sink in. His initial reaction sounded far more promising than Grandad’s, but I wasn’t counting my chickens.
‘So,’ I said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think it all sounds amazing,’ he beamed. ‘Definitely a long-term enterprise that will see the farm way into the future.’
‘Well,’ I said, thinking back to the night of our champagne fuelled fish and chip supper, ‘like I’ve said before, I am planning to be here long-term.’
For the briefest moment our eyes met, but it was plenty long enough to remind me that living at Fenview Farm for ever and not letting my feelings for Eliot get the better of me was going to be the hardest project of all.
Even though I had drafted in audacious Anthony to help with operation ‘I Don’t Fancy You Anymore’, it was going to be an every day struggle to keep my hands off the man currently sitting next to me. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing…
His gaze flicked to my lips and he jumped up.
‘I’ll get us another drink,’ he said, making for the bar before I’d had a chance to tell him what the favour I wanted to ask of him was.
He was still in the queue when Anthony walked in. I must have conjured him up, but now I wished I hadn’t.
‘Fliss,’ he smiled, rushing over when he spotted me trying to make myself invisible. Clearly ineffectively. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you either,’ I said, my eyes on Eliot’s back.
I know I’d wanted him to see how loved Eliot was by the locals, but I hadn’t really expected him to walk in. I didn’t have him down as The Mermaid type. He would have looked more at home in a nice wine bar or relaxing on a rooftop terrace. Not that there were either in Wynbridge.
‘Let me get you a drink.’
‘No,’ I quickly said. ‘You’re all right, but thanks. I’m with someone and they’re about to get served.’
He looked at the helmet and gloves on the table, then turned and scanned the people standing at the bar. Eliot was deep in conversation with the customer standing next to him.
‘You’re not here with Eliot, by any chance, are you?’ Anthony frowned, turning back to me.
‘Yes,’ I said, feeling guilty, but with no idea why.
His expression quickly changed. ‘Ah right,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘Sussing him out a bit and keeping him in plain sight. Great idea.’
‘No…’ I began, thinking what a misinformed idiot he was, but there was no chance to set him straight because Eliot was on his way back.
