Stephen, who’d busied himself with stirring the coffee, seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. Daisy, more than ready to make her escape, was quite glad to absorb herself in sipping her espresso and gazing surreptitiously at the other diners. She was almost certain that the couple she’d caught sight of beyond the pillar were a high-ranking politician and – wasn’t that Sylvia Diamond, the actress? She tried not to make it obvious she was scrutinizing them from afar.
Michelle, animated for the first time that evening, followed her gaze. ‘It’s him,’ she confirmed with a knowing nod, lips pursed in disapproval. ‘Dirty bugger. This place is perfect for people like him – nobody round here would breathe a word because they’re all at it.’
Stephen, whom Daisy had thought wasn’t paying attention, leaned forward, looking sideways at Michelle. ‘Not all of us, eh, sweetheart?’
Michelle responded with another of her tiny, self-satisfied, cat-like smiles. ‘Absolutely not, darling.’
Daisy hid a shudder. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was about the couple that made her feel so uncomfortable, but behind the expensive clothes and the perfectly done hair, there didn’t seem to be much – anything – there. Certainly no warmth or affection.
Stephen gave his wife a proprietorial pat before turning his attention back to the little dish of chocolates that had arrived with the coffee. As he did so Daisy watched Michelle covertly. Her nostrils curled, almost invisibly, and she gave her husband a fleeting look of such disdain that Daisy, startled, looked away.
‘God, I’m truly sorry, Daisy.’ George opened the car door at the end of the evening.
She shook her head, laughing. ‘It’s not your fault. How were we to know your brother had double-booked the same place?’
‘Serves me right for trying to be cool.’ He climbed into the convertible and switched on the engine, rumpling his hair with a genuinely rueful expression. ‘And the food wasn’t even all that.’
‘My fish was lovely, in between the bones.’
‘And you’re sure you didn’t want to stay for another coffee and liqueurs with Michelle and my brother?’ George paused a moment before reversing the car out of the parking space. The car park was quite a bit emptier now, only a scattering of expensive vehicles dotted around on the gravel.
‘Quite sure, thanks. I didn’t realize that place had rooms as well.’
‘Luxury ones, at that. Well, it’s lucky for us they were spending the night, or no doubt they’d be following us back into Steeple St John for a nightcap.’
Daisy looked down at her knees. Thank goodness it was dark and he couldn’t see her flushing scarlet. It had been a few years since she’d been on the scene, but after a disastrous attempt at a date, surely he wasn’t suggesting –
‘I’m not sure I’m –’ she stopped, not quite sure how to put it. God, it had been a while since she’d done all this, but surely he wasn’t proposing they head straight home to bed?
George slid the car to a halt, checking for traffic before he pulled out onto the narrow country lane. ‘I wasn’t angling for an invite.’ He laughed, putting her slightly more at ease.
‘Tell you what. D’you fancy another coffee?’ He took a left turn, steering the car down another narrow, tree-lined lane, then turning onto the dual carriageway to London. It was ten o’clock and the evening light was fading quickly.
Despite the after-dinner espresso, Daisy’s head was reeling slightly from a large glass of white and a pre-dinner gin and tonic. The food had been so delicately proportioned that she was utterly ravenous. Michelle and Stephen had put away the rest of the wine, clearly glad of a night away from their two daughters, who were tucked up in bed at home with Great-Aunt Charlotte.
‘Daisy?’ George pulled the car into a service station.
‘Are we out of petrol?’
‘No. But if you fancy that coffee?’ George indicated the sign in the window.
Daisy gave him a grateful smile. ‘I’d love one.’
Five minutes later Daisy was installed on the sofa of the service-station cafe, waiting for George.
‘Vanilla latte, no sugar.’ He put the tray, which held another coffee and a couple of huge chocolate-chip muffins, down on the table.
‘I know we’ve just been to the best little gastropub in the area, but these are my secret vice.’ He gave an apologetic smile, and handed one to Daisy. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you didn’t eat much of the fish.’
‘It was a bit tricky, between the bones and the Spanish Inquisition from your sister-in-law.’
George rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘She’s a bit of a one, Michelle. Hard as nails. Hangs around with a gang of other mothers from that posh school of theirs. You wouldn’t want to cross them.’
‘I think I already have,’ said Daisy, remembering the huddle of identical women at Elaine’s house that night, who’d headed off to meet up with a Michelle. It couldn’t be coincidence – they were like peas in a pod.
‘It’s not quite how I imagined this evening, either, if that’s any consolation.’ George’s eyes caught hers. ‘So let’s start again, shall we?’
‘Hello, George. I’m Daisy.’ Feeling slightly bolder now she was in a brightly lit cafe, Daisy held out her hand. It says something about me, she thought to herself, that my comfort zone is a Starbucks in a service station and not a posh restaurant populated by errant MPs. She smiled broadly at the thought.
‘George O’Hara.’ He reached out, shaking her hand with a laugh. ‘So come on then, Daisy. Tell me something about yourself. What brought you to Steeple St John?’
‘Well, I was running away from my boyfriend and my ex-best friend, who I’d found having sex up against the kitchen worktop on the final day of term of my horticulture course.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘What’s a nice Dublin boy like you doing in a village like this?’
‘Me? Oh, well, my ex-wife decided she wasn’t that keen on being married after all. She went off to find herself on a yoga retreat in Thailand, leaving me up to my eyes in debt and deep in the shit. We owned a chain of restaurants back home. We’d never quite recovered from the whole Celtic Tiger thing when she up and left.’
Daisy looked at George for a moment. So he’d been married already – he was probably only a few years older than her, and already divorced – or separated, at least. Perhaps the slightly cocky air was a mask for his apprehension about starting over again. He was looking at her as she considered this, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
‘Come on, now. You were joking?’
‘Were you?’ Daisy parried straight back. If he wasn’t, it was a hell of a story. Mind you, she still had trouble getting her head round exactly how stupid she must’ve been herself, not to see what was going on with her best friend and her boyfriend right under her nose.
‘No, I’m deadly serious.’ George tipped his paper cup towards Daisy’s in a toast. ‘And I’m glad I am, because it means I got to have dinner with you. Even if it was with the unexpected pleasure of my brother’s company – not to mention his lovely wife.’ He rolled his eyes and continued casually, ‘So, this sleazy ex of yours. Is he off the scene now?’
‘Well and truly.’ As she spoke, a frown flitted across Daisy’s face. She scanned her thoughts over the last few weeks, realizing with certainty that no, she wasn’t harbouring a secret longing that Jamie would reappear and sweep her off her feet. She’d even laughed about the whole saga the other day with Ned. They’d sat, laughing and chatting, as they took a break from their mission at the allotments. She smiled at the memory of their morning.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ George half-raised his mug in a gesture of acknowledgement.
‘So how about you?’ Daisy sipped her latte, curling her feet underneath her on the boxy leather sofa. The service station was neon-bright, noisy and chaotic, but they were wrapped up in their own little corner, oblivious to it all.
‘I’ve got a restaurant in Dublin, which needs investment more than it need
s me there running it – I’ve got my cousin Nuala in there running it for me – and I’ve got responsibilities. I need to make money, fast. Up ’til recently I was a sleeping partner in the family business. So while Stephen’s driving around with his two flash cars –’ George indicated outside to the convertible – ‘I’m driving round in my beat-up old van and putting everything I can into the restaurant business.’
There was something in that Irish accent that Daisy couldn’t resist. She leaned forward as he spoke, soaking up his voice. He could charm the birds out of the trees . . .
‘I’m sorry, I’m going on. So what are your plans, Daisy?’
She gave herself a little shake. Where to start?
‘I don’t know. In an ideal world, a successful gardening business, I suppose.’ She swirled her coffee, thoughtfully. ‘I’m not cut out for office life – I know that much.’
George reached across. ‘You’ve got foam on your nose.’ He brushed it away gently, smiling. His eyes were almost indigo now, Daisy noticed.
George took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, confidently. He seemed so sure of himself, and she found herself swept along.
‘I like you a lot, Daisy. And I’m not all that sorry our fancy night out ended up in a roadside cafe with terrible coffee.’
He leaned forward once again, but this time – taking her by surprise – it was to kiss her.
Anyone up for an end-of-night report?
Daisy, sitting up in bed, completely wide awake and zinging from head to toe, sent out an exploratory text. Within seconds, her phone was bleeping with texts from Jo and Elaine, both demanding details.
It might have started like a nightmare but – well . . . we had coffee in the services on the A41 and he kissed me in Starbucks. I feel about fifteen.
Smiling to herself as she replied, then curling herself up in the blanket, Daisy sat back against the pillows. There’d been, she realized as she plugged her phone into the charger by the bed, another missed call from her mum. God, it was far too late to start having a parental conversation – besides, she’d no idea what time it was in wherever-they-were now. It’ll wait for the morning, she promised herself, setting the phone to silent mode.
She relived the evening in her head over and over again until she finally fell asleep, not long before the midsummer sun was rising and the birds were beginning their morning chorus outside her window.
Chapter Twelve
Flattened by the heavy-limbed exhaustion that follows a sleepless night, Daisy was woken by the doorbell. It was ages before she realized the persistent ringing was coming from outside, and wasn’t part of her weirdly complicated dream – which had also involved the sound of heavy thumping, as if someone was chopping wood. Pulling on a dressing gown, she hurried downstairs and opened the door.
‘Morning, love. That’s your sign up.’
Daisy rubbed her eyes, looking at him blearily. ‘What sign?’
The man brandished a clipboard at her, waving towards the rose arch over the front gate. What the – ?
A For Sale sign, eight feet high and brightly coloured, had been hammered into the lawn. She looked down at the list on the clipboard. Orchard Villa – Mistlethrush & Goodwin, said the printout, with a large blue tick next to it.
‘You all right, my love? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘No,’ Daisy stormed. ‘I am definitely not all right.’ Absolutely furious, she slammed the door in his face. She could still see him, standing nonplussed, head shaking, through the glass of the door.
What the hell was going on? She spun round, trying to remember where her phone was. Hurtling upstairs, she picked up her mobile and hit return call, not caring what time it was in India. There must be a logical explanation.
‘Darling! At last.’ Her mum’s voice sounded tinny and distant. Daisy pressed the volume button impatiently, holding the phone away from her ear as she did so.
‘. . . and so we didn’t have a chance to speak to you about it. There’ll be someone in touch shortly about putting up a sign.’
Daisy raised her eyebrows, taking a breath to try and calm herself before she spoke. She sat down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh.
‘Darling? This isn’t a very good line at all.’
‘I’m here.’ Her voice was icy cool. ‘So let me get this straight. You’ve put Orchard Villa on the market without even talking to me?’
‘Well, dear, we’ve been trying to get hold of you for a few days, in fairness.’ Daisy recognized that tone. The soothing, slightly cajoling voice her mother had used over the years when strong-willed Miranda threatened to go off the rails. Easy-going Daisy, though, had always been the straightforward one. Was that a hint of surprise travelling down the line from India?
Daisy gritted her teeth. Admittedly they had tried to ring, but even so. ‘You said you were staying on for a few months’ more travelling.’
‘I know, dear, but as I would have explained earlier this week – if you’d returned my calls or picked up the phone –’ Daisy could imagine the precise expression on her mother’s face as she said these words – ‘we’ve decided to stay on a bit longer. We’ve met a marvellous couple – Pru and Gordon, they’re writers.’
Sod bloody Pru and Gordon, who sounded like sitcom characters. Why on earth they had to appear and start complicating Daisy’s life, just when things were going well, was beyond her.
‘I’m very glad to hear that,’ lied Daisy. ‘But I don’t understand why that means you’re selling Orchard Villa. I’ve been working on the garden for ages, and I’ve been creating a series of articles for a friend, and . . .’ she trailed off, realizing she sounded about five.
‘We’re going SKI-ing, darling.’ Her mother laughed, sounding rather pleased with herself. Daisy repressed murderous thoughts.
‘Do they even have snow in India?’ She ought to know that sort of thing, really. Also, what on earth were her aged parents doing taking up high-risk sports in their dotage?
‘Not that kind of skiing, silly. Spending the Kids’ Inheritance. S – K – I. You see?’
Oh, brilliant, thought Daisy. Even better. ‘I do see, yes. So you’re becoming eternal students and turfing me out. It’s fine.’ Passive aggression had never worked on her mother in the past. Not surprisingly, it had no effect this time, either.
‘For goodness’ sake, darling. We’re hardly slinging you out on your ear. It’ll take a while to sell, and you’re welcome to stay there in the meanwhile. You’re bound to sort something out, you always do. Good old—’
‘Do – not – even – start,’ said Daisy, furiously. If she heard that particular phrase one more time, she wouldn’t be responsible for what she’d do. ‘It’s fine. I’ll manage. I have to go, Mum, there’s someone at the door.’
‘We need to talk about the details,’ her mother began, trying to keep Daisy talking.
‘Later. I’ll call you tonight.’ And with that, Daisy ended the call, throwing the phone onto the pillows in disgust.
‘Are you sure there’s not some kind of mix-up? I can’t quite believe they’d sell the place from underneath you,’ said Elaine, shaking her head. They’d driven together to the nearby town of Wellbury to meet Jo for lunch and were sitting outside in the sunshiny garden of a lovely little cafe, waiting for her to turn up from her previous client meeting. Daisy, still fuming at her mother’s blithe assumption that her reliable elder daughter would just ‘sort something out, darling’, was relieved to discover the cafe had an alcohol licence, because coffee was definitely not going to cut it. Elaine, wisely, had offered to drive. Daisy was halfway down a large glass of white already, one moment saying she didn’t want to talk, the next ranting furiously between swigs.
‘Every bloody time. Good old Daisy, she’ll sort herself out. Not a thought for where I’m supposed to go, or for the fact they told me to make myself at home. And all the time I’ve spent renovating the garden! And what about Thomas?’
Jo, who’d slip
ped into her chair unnoticed by Daisy in full flight, took the opportunity to kiss Elaine hello.
‘God, I’m sorry.’ Daisy leaned across, accepting a kiss on the cheek from her friend, stemming the flow for a moment.
‘You got the text?’
‘I did, yes. I know you’re probably feeling pretty let down right now, but—’
‘It’s fine,’ said Daisy, with a sigh of resignation. ‘Believe it or not, I’m used to this sort of stuff. I’m realizing at last that the trouble with being the easy-going, reliable one is people tend to just walk all over you.’
Jo nodded, letting Daisy fill the space in the conversation, allowing her to work things out for herself. She was a good listener, and Daisy could easily have filled the afternoon with her grumblings – but she buttoned her lip, remembering this was Jo’s only hour off work.
‘There’s got to be a way around this, surely?’ Elaine, ever practical, pulled out her omnipresent Moleskine notepad and held her pen poised. ‘Let’s have a brainstorm.’
‘Seriously, Elaine, I’d rather not. Let me wallow for a day or so. Then we can start sewing prawns in the curtains, or inventing a rumour about ghosts living in the attic for the village newsletter.’ She scooped up a mouthful of delicious aubergine dip. This place was, as was always the case with Elaine’s choices, out of the ordinary. From the outside it gave the impression of being nothing more than your average quaint, pretty little cafe, complete with hanging baskets on the white-rendered walls either side of a tar-black door. But the food was absolutely heavenly, and Daisy, who’d been too busy to eat breakfast, having spent the morning fuming whilst gardening at lightning speed to relieve her tension, was ravenous.
‘Anyway, enough about me,’ she said, turning to Jo. ‘What’s happening with you this week? Any exciting news?’
Jo looked up from her salad, pausing with her fork in mid-air. She’d been quiet since she arrived. Daisy realized suddenly that Jo, too, had something on her mind. But where she’d rambled on and on, Jo had just sat peacefully, waiting for a chance to talk. She watched as Jo ran a hand through her blonde hair, gathering it up in a clip before letting it all fall free again so it hung over her face.
Coming Up Roses Page 14
