A Funny Thing Happened...

by Caroline Anderson

  He held out his arms and she went into them, fastening herself to him as if she would die without him. Odd. She felt as if she might, as if she would when he left. He was going now, she knew it, could feel it in the desperate hug he gave her.

  ‘I have to go. I need to get back to London.’

  She nodded and let him go, and he gathered his things together while she poured him a cup of tea, and then she watched him drink it too fast, scalding himself in his haste to get away.

  ‘Leave it if it’s too hot,’ she said, and he put it down and went out, throwing his things into the back of the car.

  She tugged on her boots and followed him out. At first she thought he was going to get into the driver’s seat without saying goodbye, but in the end he reached for her and hugged her hard.

  ‘I hate goodbyes,’ he mumbled into her hair. ‘Look after yourself, and stay away from the river. I’ll be in touch.’

  And then he was in the car, reversing smoothly out into the lane and pulling away, the car burbling gently, leaving a wisp of steam from its exhaust lingering in the air.

  She did all the things she had to do—she checked the water pipes were all OK, did the milking, fed the dogs and took them for a run, went inside to have a bath, then got into her car and tried to start it so she could go and get some food from the village shop.

  Nothing. Not so much as a glimmer of life. The engine turned over, but without the slightest urge to fire.

  It was the last straw. She put her head down on the steering wheel and bawled her eyes out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘JEMIMA?’

  She lifted her head and looked round, to find Owen’s familiar ruddy face where the door ought to be. ‘You all right?’ he asked, squatting down and regarding her thoughtfully.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, sniffing and dashing the tears off her cheeks with her sleeve. ‘The damn car won’t start, and I need to get to the shop to buy something to eat, and I’m running out of dog food, and the power’s back on.’

  ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he?’ Owen said, and his big, rough hand cupped her knee and squeezed comfortingly while she fought back the stupid, stupid tears.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said firmly, sniffing hard.

  ‘Of course you are. Want a lift to the shops? I’ve got to go to the village for my mother—can’t do damn all else with this blasted cast on, so I might as well run errands.’

  She could sense the frustration in his voice, and thought they’d be good company for each other. Well matched, at the moment—both as miserable as sin.

  ‘Thanks, Owen,’ she mumbled, and he stood up to let her out of the car, then waited while she put the dogs inside and found her purse. His dog was in the back of the pick-up, waiting patiently, and wagged a greeting. She scratched its neck and climbed into the cab, then tried not to laugh at Owen’s struggle with his cast and the gear lever.

  ‘How is your arm?’ she asked, when he swore softly and used the other hand to change gear.

  ‘It’ll do. Throbs a bit at night, but I suppose I got away lightly. Didn’t do the tractor a lot of good, though, and I’ve had a lot of stick from the others. Can’t understand it—it’s not as if I haven’t driven the darned thing in there enough times.’

  ‘We all make mistakes,’ Jemima assured him, and wondered if Sam would turn out to be one of hers.

  They turned into the village street and pulled up outside the shop, and Owen’s dog proceeded to hurl insults at a poodle that trotted past on a pretty little red lead. ‘Oscar, shut up,’ Owen growled, and the dog fell silent.

  The village shop was heaving, of course, and Mary was there.

  She smiled at Owen and drew Jemima on one side. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked softly.

  ‘I’ll live. I miss him already. It’s ridiculous.’

  Mary smiled mysteriously. ‘He’ll be back. Give him time to sort himself out—he’s very busy at the minute, but once this project’s all done and dusted, I think you’ll find you’re seeing a lot more of him.’

  ‘Will I?’ Jemima said quietly. ‘His place is in London, Mary, not down here. He wanted me to go and see it, but how can I?’

  Mary looked at Owen. ‘I’m sure Owen would milk the cows for you over a weekend, and we’d have the dogs. Why don’t you go up? I’m sure you’d find it fascinating.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

  Mary shrugged. ‘It’s a shame—still, once it’s finished I expect it will be in one of those magazines, anyway, and he’s sent us all sorts of videos of it as it was and with the work in progress.’

  ‘Has he?’

  She couldn’t help the brightening of her voice, and Mary smiled and patted her hand. ‘I’ll let you see them—come round and pick them up some time.’

  ‘I will—Mary, I’d better go; Owen’s waiting for me. My car wouldn’t start.’

  ‘You ought to do something about that,’ she told Jemima. ‘It’ll let you down one day.’

  ‘It just has,’ she said drily, and Mary laughed.

  ‘So get it fixed.’

  ‘I can’t afford to. No money.’

  ‘Perhaps you should sell a few of the cows.’

  ‘No. I’m not selling Uncle Tom’s herd.’

  ‘I keep offering to buy,’ Owen said with a smile, overhearing their conversation. ‘Fool woman won’t part with them.’

  ‘The fool woman likes them.’

  Owen snorted, and Jemima winked at Mary. ‘See you soon. Thanks for lending me Sam.’

  ‘My pleasure. Don’t forget to come and see us.’

  ‘I will. I’ll walk over.’

  Owen took her home, and because it would be churlish to do anything else she offered him a cup of tea, and then instantly regretted it because he washed up Sam’s mug and used it, and for some stupid, perverse reason she didn’t want Owen touching it, even if it was only just a mug and even if he had been good to her—

  ‘You love him, don’t you?’

  She lifted her head, startled, and met Owen’s understanding eyes. ‘Is it so obvious?’ she said miserably.

  Owen’s mouth moved in a twisted little smile. ‘Maybe only to me. Miss him already, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s stupid. I’ve always known he lives in London—I knew he had to go back. It’s just—I fell in the river last night and he pulled me out. If he hadn’t, I would have drowned. I was too cold to help myself, and the current was so strong—’

  She broke off, wrapping her arms round her waist, and then she felt herself folded against a hard masculine chest, the rigid bar of his plaster cast against her shoulders, his other hand patting her awkwardly.

  ‘You might have died,’ he said gruffly. ‘Thank God he was here.’ He sounded shocked, and almost guilty. Not another one. She had enough to deal with with Sam’s guill She moved out of his awkward embrace.

  ‘Owen, we’re having an affair,’ she told him bluntly, wanting him to know, but Owen just smiled ruefully and nodded.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked indignantly.

  He touched her top lip with a blunt finger. ‘Whisker burn. Obvious to anyone with a brain what you two’ve been up to.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s all right, it’s your business. Just remember, if you need a shoulder, I’m here.’

  ‘Owen, I’m never going to see you other than as a friend—’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry, it’s all right. I’m only after your herd, anyway,’ he said with a grin, and she knew then for sure that it wasn’t true and that he did care about her.

  ‘You’re a sweetheart, Owen, do you know that?’ He flushed dark red and picked up his coast ‘Must be off—just remembered I have to go to the vet and pick up some antibiotics. I’ll see you round—shout if you need anything, and stay away from that damn river.’

  ‘Yes, Owen. Thank you.’

  She watched him go, and then went upstairs and lay down and buried her face in the pillow, breathing in the faint, lingering scent
of Sam and remembering the feel of his arms around her and the leashed power of his body, holding back to give her time.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘Hurry back.’

  Owen rang on Thursday to ask Jemima if she’d go to the pub with him that evening after she’d finished milking.

  ‘Owen, I thought I told you—’

  ‘You did. It’s all right. Actually, I want you to help me,’ he said, sounding embarrassed and diffident.

  ‘Help you do what?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘There’s a young lady in the pub—she works behind the bar. Jenny, her name is. I just wondered...’

  ‘If I’d come with you and help you make her jealous? Oh, Owen, why don’t you just tell her you like her?’

  ‘Tried that a year ago.’

  ‘A year—oh, Owen!’

  He laughed sheepishly. ‘So will you come?’

  ‘Oh, all right, but just a quick drink. Pick me up at eight-thirty.’

  Jenny did look jealous, Jemima noticed to her amazement. Every time Owen looked away, she looked across at him, and once she met Jemima’s eye. Wow, Jemima thought, if looks could kill—

  ‘I think you’re in there, Owen, boy,’ she said quietly, winking at him.

  He went scarlet and buried his nose in the top of his pint. Jemima smiled and met the girl’s glare with a level look of her own. It wouldn’t hurt to give Owen a little ammunition. She put a hand on his arm. ‘Shall we go?’ she purred, and he looked startled for a second, then grinned.

  ‘Right. Sure.’

  They left, Jenny’s eyes boring holes in them on the way out, and once in the car park Owen took his hand off her back and walked her to the car at a respectable distance.

  ‘So, you reckon I stand a chance, do you?’ he said with a grin as he started the engine.

  ‘Probably. She didn’t like seeing you with me.’

  ‘Good.’ He put the car in gear awkwardly with his good hand and pulled out onto the wet road. ‘Heard any more from Sam?’

  Her face fell, her enjoyment gone. ‘No. I think he’s rather busy. Some project that’s coming to an end in a few weeks. I doubt if I’ll see him for ages.’

  She was wrong. He came down on Saturday, strolling over the hill with Dick and Mary’s dogs in tow, but by then Jemima was having serious doubts about their relationship. She’d borrowed the videos from Mary and seen a little of what Sam was doing, and she was awestruck. She’d watched them over and over again, as much as anything because he’d done a commentary over the top and she loved listening to his voice, but it was obvious that he loved his work and took huge pride in. it, as well he might

  He was seriously talented, and she felt very provincial and boring by comparison. She wondered what on earth he could possibly see in her, and so she was a little reserved as she let him in.

  Sam, though, had no such inhibitions. After greeting the dogs and shutting them all out together for a game in the garden, he pulled her gently into his arms and kissed her.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured into her hair, and she felt her resolve disintegrate.

  ‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she confessed. ‘How’s the job going?’

  ‘Oh, OK. On target, thank God.’ He rested his chin on her head and sighed. ‘I shall be glad in a way when it’s all over.’

  ‘It looks very exciting.’

  He backed away and looked down at her. ‘Grannie said she’d lent you the videos. I can’t imagine why you’re interested.’

  Because it’s you, she wanted to say, but stopped herself. ‘I like old buildings,’ she said instead, a little defensively. ‘They fascinate me.’

  He threw up his hands and laughed his surrender. ‘OK, you don’t have to justify yourself to me! I like old buildings too. That’s why I tendered for the job.’

  He looked out of the window at the dogs bouncing round the soggy garden. There was hardly a trace of snow left, just the odd grubby wedge of it tucked under a hedge where the sun couldn’t get to it.

  ‘Fancy walking the dogs?’ he suggested.

  She jumped at it. Apart from anything else, if they were out with the dogs they weren’t shut up alone together, and she just felt they needed a little distance. ‘Do I need to change?’ she asked him, but he laughed and shook his head.

  ‘To walk that lot? I doubt it. Where are we going?’

  ‘Along the river? It’s very lovely and we can cut back over the hill about a mile down and come back round the other side, past your grandparents.’

  ‘OK.’ He called the dogs while she put her coat on and found some thick socks for her wellies, then they set off over the river and along the far bank. Sam looked relaxed, she thought, his hands in his pockets, the sun on his face, the dogs bouncing all around him—he didn’t took like a city slicker today, and she wondered if she’d misjudged him.

  They had a wonderful walk. He talked about the building project, and how much time was left, and what might go wrong, and she realised that, talented though he was, he was under enormous pressure to come in on time and under budget.

  And she got stressed if she was half an hour late to milk her cows!

  She realised how far she’d distanced herself from the fast lane in the past year, and wondered if she loved Sam enough to risk going back to it for him.

  ‘It’s so gorgeous here,’ he said suddenly, and she knew it would be a very hard choice to make. Maybe even impossible. She just hoped she never had to make it, but that would mean losing Sam, and it gave her a terrible, hollow ache inside just to think about it.

  ‘I love it,’ she told him. ‘I hated London—all the rich, spoilt people squabbling over their children and bickering about access and who would have the children for Christmas as if they were just commodities. It sickened me, Sam.’

  He nodded. ‘I know what you mean. I’m finding it a bit of a two-edged sword living on the site now, since the award nomination. All the people that collect designer labels and flash their wealth around are suddenly at the front of my queue, wanting extensions to their pretentious houses and new and more elaborate roof gardens and bijou little coach house conversions—none of them are truly interested in design; they just want me dangling from their belts like another scalp, and it’s really not my thing.’

  ‘So tell them that.’

  He laughed a little bitterly. ‘I would, but work isn’t that guaranteed or plentiful. The competition is cutthroat, and I can’t be sure I’ll get every job I tender for by a long shot. I’m not rich enough to tell them all to sling their hooks.’

  ‘So what would you rather be doing?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Oh, interesting domestic stuff—one-offs on crazy sites, conversions of listed buildings to dwellings—that sort of thing. I really enjoyed designing the flats, creating an unusual living space out of a huge barn of a place. It was fun finding something unusual to do.’

  ‘So not necessarily commercial, then?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head thoughtfully. ‘It was a challenge, but domestic architecture is what really interests me. Fitting the house to the person. There are fewer constraints, and they tend not to be so grittily financial. Commerce nearly always comes down to the bottom line.’

  She laughed. ‘And domestic architecture doesn’t?’

  ‘Not at the level I’m talking about. There are people who know just what they want and will pay for it, regardless. Not many, but hopefully enough.’

  ‘The award should help you there, surely?’

  ‘If I win it, which is by no means certain.’ He laughed wryly. ‘All those women who want me dangling from their belts will be gutted if I don’t.’

  ‘And you?’ she asked, watching him carefully. ‘Will you be gutted?’

  His face sobered. ‘I don’t know. Probably. It’s a pat on the back from your colleagues—that’s always good to have. But whoever wins it will deserve it and the nomination itself is a tremendous honour.’

  They walked on in silence for a while, the
dogs sniffing about in the hedgerows and chasing each other across the fields, and then they turned and headed over the steep wooded hillside.

  ‘I thought I was fit,’ Sam gasped, sagging against a tree and laughing. He flopped over so his hands were on his knees, and drew several deep breaths before straightening up and grinning. ‘You aren’t even breathing hard!’

  She grinned back. ‘That’s because I don’t sit at a drawing board all day.’

  ‘Nor do I!’ he protested. ‘I run around on the site, up ladders and round scaffolding—I never have time to sit about for long.’

  ‘You need to do some more mucking out to keep you toned.’

  ‘Hah! You don’t catch me with that one,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Haven’t you got your tractor fixed yet?’

  Her face must have fallen, because his brows drew together in a frown and he leant back against the tree, regarding her thoughtfully. ‘Is the money really that tight?’ he asked with customary bluntness.

  ‘What do you think? I had to pour all my milk down the drain for four days, and things were already tight I really couldn’t afford that power cut, never mind having to get the tractor fixed—and my car’s on the blink, just as if things weren’t bad enough.’

  He looked down at his hands, studying them intently. ‘Do you need a loan?’

  ‘No!’

  He looked up and met her eyes, and his own were filled with understanding. ‘Interest free?’ he suggested.

  She thought of the mortgage she’d had to take out to pay off Uncle Tom’s debts—the mortgage that was threatening to make her lose her home and her livelihood. ‘I can’t afford to repay it.’

  ‘So have it as a gift.’

  She shouldered away from the tree she was leaning against. ‘What’s the matter, Sam? Still feeling guilty because I fell in the river?’

  He gave a sharp sigh and fell into step behind her. ‘Don’t be stupid! I just meant—well, I hate to see you struggling.’

  She laughed bitterly. ‘That’s farming, Sam. Don’t forget, I can always sell the herd and go back to soliciting.’

  There was a startled cough of laughter from behind her, and she turned round with a slight smile. ‘My brother’s joke. That’s what he used to tell people I did. When I got my first job he told everyone I’d started soliciting to support myself. My parents found out when some friends of theirs rang up scandalised.’