A Funny Thing Happened...

by Caroline Anderson

  There was nothing major, really—nothing that couldn’t have come to him in the post and been dealt with quite easily. He began to feel a prickle of irritation, and then Moya came out of the bathroom dressed in even less than before, and he closed his eyes.

  ‘Moya—’

  ‘Sam, come on, relax, live a little. Rob’s away; we’re safe.’ Her fingers tugged at his tie, sliding the knot, and Sam caught her hand and stilled it.

  ‘No, Moya,’ he said softly, and stood up, his eyes still closed. ‘This isn’t right. It’s not what I want. Don’t go. and spoil our relationship. We’ve worked together for years now—don’t throw it all away.’

  ‘Throw it away? Sam, why do you think we’ve had all the work done? Why do you think I keep getting you back? Sam, I love you!’ She tucked her arm in his, sliding against him, her other hand on his chest, plucking at the fabric. ‘Rob’s no good for me any more—he can’t—well, you know.’ Her hand slid lower. ’Sam, please, I need you.’

  He felt suddenly terribly sorry for Rob who couldn’t, and for Moya, who wanted to. He lifted his lids and stared into Moya’s dewy cornflower-blue eyes, and wondered if they were coloured contacts.

  Probably.

  He arrested her hand before it went any lower. ‘Moya, I’m sorry, this isn’t going to work.’

  ‘What’s wrong with me? Look at me, Sam—what’s wrong with me?’

  She turned slowly round, and he did look, and what he saw made him sad. She was ageing—slowly, and quite gracefully—but she fought against it every inch of the way. She was tanned all over, so bad for her but a fashion necessity, apparently, and, apart from the pert breasts that had benefited from enhancement, she was slim to the point of being thin.

  He remembered someone telling him that women could never be too rich or too thin, and he disagreed. There was such a thing as being too thin, and Moya was too thin. By now she should have had soft curves and a mellow light in her eyes, not silicone implants and that frantic desperation he could see behind the contact lenses.

  ‘Moya, I’m sorry,’ he repeated, and, leaning over, he kissed her cheek, just once, gently.

  ‘But what about the plans?’ she wailed.

  ‘Send them to me,’ he told her. Then he turned on his heel, ran downstairs and let himself out, to find a traffic warden supervising the loading of his car onto a tow truck to remove it to the police pound.

  ‘Look, I don’t have time for this,’ he told the woman. ‘Let me give you a cheque for the fine and let me go.’

  ‘Sorry, it can’t be done. You have to go to the pound to collect it. The paperwork’s all completed.’

  He was tempted to tell her what to do with her paperwork, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Instead he ground his teeth, hitched a lift with the driver of the recovery vehicle and paid his fine at the pound.

  By the time he got it back he was late for his three o’clock client, and that lost him the job. There was also a message on his answer-phone from another client.

  ‘Sam, it’s Mike. I need a place in London to entertain. I don’t suppose you know where I could get a flat like yours? Call me.’

  He thought over his day, poured himself a hefty Scotch and rang Mike back. ‘Sorry, I don’t,’ he told him. ‘Only mine, and it’s not for sale.’

  ‘I’d pay you whatever you wanted.’

  Sam laughed. ‘Make me an offer.’

  So he did, and Sam almost choked on his Scotch. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he told Mike, and cradled the phone. London was beginning to get on his nerves, and he wondered if perhaps Jemima wasn’t right. If he sold the flat to Mike for the figure he’d talked about, be could buy a place down in Dorset near Jemima, convert part of it into a studio and work from home down there.

  And Jemima wouldn’t have to live in London, or leave her precious herd, and then maybe, when they’d had time to get to know each other better, perhaps then she’d marry him.

  Her farm would be ideal, of course, only the cows needed the buildings and the house wasn’t big enough to provide studio space for him. Besides, clients couldn’t be expected to come and clamber over the muckspreader to get to the front door, and for all he knew Jem wouldn’t want it anyway.

  He finished his Scotch, did some paperwork that had been hanging over him and went to bed, then in the morning he contacted several estate agents in Dorchester and asked them to send him details of anything they had for sale in her area.

  He had to go to Kent immediately afterwards, to see a client about the conversion of an oast house, and after he’d gone into considerable detail, they agreed he should go and draw up some preliminary sketches.

  He had another call on the way home, and he didn’t get back before late, so he had a take-away delivered, ate it at the drawing board and fell into bed after midnight.

  The post arrived the following morning just before he went out, and there were several envelopes from Dorchester. He glanced at his watch, slit them open quickly and then sat down on the bottom step with a bump.

  ‘Puddleduck Farm?’

  He scanned the details, his mind racing, and picked up the phone, jabbing in his grandmother’s number. She answered on the second ring, and he didn’t give her time to get the number out.

  ‘Grannie, what the hell’s Jemima up to?’ he growled.

  ‘Ah. I was going to ring you today. Um—I don’t really know how to tell you this.’

  ‘Just spit it out. What’s she doing?’

  ‘She’s put the farm on the market—and she’s letting Owen have her uncle’s prize herd as a wedding present.’

  ‘What?’ Sam felt the shock drain all the blood from his face, and his heart felt cold. ‘Owen—Owen Stockdale?’ he roared.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better come down and talk to her, if you still care. She doesn’t look well.’

  ‘I don’t look well, either. Damn it, Grannie, why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?’

  ‘I only just found out—and don’t swear at me, Sam.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So, are you coming down?’

  ‘Too damn right.’

  ‘Good.’ She sounded satisfied, and Sam could have strangled her. ‘I’ll make the bed up for you. Will you be down today?’

  Sam thought of all the appointments he had, and the pressure of work piling up, and gave a harsh sigh. ‘Yes. I’ll see you later.’

  He banged the phone down, threw a few things into a case and ran down to the car. He made Dorset in less than two hours, ignoring most of the speed limits, and pulled onto Jemima’s drive at ten o’clock, just as she was turning the cows out.

  ‘Sam!’ she said, and she felt the colour wash out of her cheeks.

  ‘I want to talk to you,’ he said tightly, and, grabbing her arm, he ushered her into the kitchen. Noodle and Jess mugged him, and he patted them absently while Jemima rubbed her arm and glared at him.

  ‘Don’t manhandle me, Sam. I don’t like it.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He slapped the house details down on the kitchen table under her nose, and she gave a quiet sigh. This wasn’t quite what she’d expected, but she supposed they had to start somewhere—

  ‘What the hell is this all about?’ he asked tightly. ‘My grandmother tells me you’re marrying Owen Stockdale and giving him your uncle’s precious herd, and then on top of that I get the details of your farm through the post from an estate agent!’

  Jemima stared at him, sifting through all the erroneous information he was coming out with, and one thing emerged. He’d got the details of her farm from an agent—but why?

  Because he was thinking of moving down here?

  Hope blossomed in her chest, and she settled back against the sink, folded her arms and waited for the scene to play itself out.

  ‘Owen’s been very good to me,’ she began.

  ‘Hah!’ Sam snorted. ‘Good to you, my eye. He’s only interested in your herd and your body—what about your mind, Jemima?’

  ‘What about my mind? When did
you take an interest in my mind, Sam?’ she asked angrily. ‘I seem to remember you were quite happy with my body—’

  ‘At least I know what to do with it. What’s he like in the sack, Jemima? Does he make your blood sing in your veins? Does the earth move for you when he makes love to you—or is that just his telescopic ram?’ he spat disgustedly.

  She giggled. She couldn’t help it, it was only the tiniest sound, but Sam went mad.

  ‘Dammit, Jemima!’ he roared. ‘Don’t laugh at me—not any more! I know I’ve given you plenty to laugh at in the past, but this time I’m serious. There’s no way I’m going to stand back and let you marry that ox of a man without a fight—even if he does know one end of a cow from the other. I mean, let’s face it, there’s no way Owen the Ox would get caught by the wrong end of a cow, not like good old Sam, and he wouldn’t fall off the bam roof clearing the snow because he’d have some fancy bloody gadget to do it! Still, I can buy machinery. I can buy you a new tractor, and you can keep your herd that you love so much. I can do for you all the things Owen can do, and more, because I love you, Jemima, and he doesn’t.’

  She glanced at the table. ‘So, why did you get the details of the farm, Sam?’

  ‘Because like a fool I thought I’d come down here and be near you, and then perhaps I could get you to change your mind.’

  She looked down at her hands, cracked and sore, but not for much longer, hopefully.

  ‘I won’t change my mind,’ she told him gently. ‘I can’t live in London—’

  ‘So why marry Owen? Just to spite me?’

  ‘Do you really think I’d do that?’

  He gave a sharp sigh and stabbed his hands through his hair. ‘I don’t know. I’m beginning to think I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.’

  She decided to put him out of his misery. ‘I’m not marrying Owen, Sam.’

  He lifted his head slowly and met her eyes, his own confused. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not marrying Owen.’

  ‘But—my grandmother said you were letting him have the cows as a wedding present.’

  ‘I am, sort of. He’s marrying Jenny.’

  Comprehension dawned, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Did my grandmother know that?’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘And yet she let me think—damn her!’

  He turned, staring out over the valley, his jaw working furiously. ‘OK, so you’re not marrying Owen. So, why are you giving him the cows? I was under the impression you loved those cows, and yet you’re giving them to that man without a backward glance—’

  ‘Not without a backward glance,’ she corrected. ‘I’ll miss them.’

  ‘What—even Daisy?’

  She smiled. ‘Even Daisy.’

  ‘But why, Jem? They’re your pride and joy.’

  She shook her head. ‘They were Uncle Tom’s pride and joy, and they were a way of staying here after he died, but—well, it’s too hard now.’ She chewed her lip, and her hands slid down and linked together over her baby. Sam’s baby. Their baby.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she told him, and his head snapped round, eyes scanning her like lasers.

  ‘What?’ he breathed.

  ‘I’m having a baby. That’s why I’m selling up—to move to Berkshire and be near you, so you can spend time with your child. I can’t live in London, and no child of mine would be brought up in a flat overlooking a London dockyard, but I thought if we were near enough, maybe you could commute, or we could split our time—’

  ‘It’s my baby?’

  She met his incredulous eyes and smiled. ‘Of course. Whose did you suppose it was?’

  He shrugged and swallowed. ‘Owen’s?’

  She laughed and shook her head. ‘Jenny would kill me before she’d let me that close—and anyway, I’ve told you, Owen does nothing for me.’

  Sam’s mouth twitched slightly. ‘Not even with his telescopic ram?’

  She chuckled ‘Not even with that.’ Her smile faded. ‘I love you, Sam. I want to be near you, but it’s important to me to be the woman I am, not the woman I’d be if we were in London—’

  ‘Forget London. I hate it, too. I had my car impounded the day before yesterday, and it cost a fortune to get it back.’ He held out his hand to her, and she reached out and took it. ‘Marry me, Jemima. Let’s live here with our baby, and we can do up the house and convert the buildings into a studio, and I can work from home.’

  She looked round. ‘But it’s awful, Sam! You wouldn’t want to live here! You’ve got a beautiful flat—’

  ‘Mmm. Someone just made me an offer I can’t refuse.’

  ‘You’d sell it?’ she said, shocked, and he nodded.

  ‘Of course. Why not?’

  ‘Because—I don’t know! It’s your baby—’

  ‘No.’ He laid a hand gently over the little curve in the cradle of her pelvis. ‘This is my baby. That’s just bricks and mortar. This is what matters.’

  Her eyes filled, and with a little cry she threw herself into his arms. ‘I thought you’d never leave it,’ she sobbed, relief taking away the backbone that had supported her through the last few weeks.

  ‘Silly girl. I said I would.’

  ‘But—I never thought you were serious. I never thought you’d leave London. What about all your clients?’

  He shrugged. ‘What about them? More and more of them are in the country now, many of them between here and London. It’s ideal to be here, because it means we don’t have to fight with the London traffic to have meetings.’

  ‘But you still wouldn’t want to live here,’ she said, looking round at the dingy little kitchen.

  ‘It’s delightful.’

  ‘It’s a mess.’

  He grinned. ‘It needs a little attention. You wait and see, it’ll be lovely—and you’ll have time to enjoy it. There’ll be roses round the door—’

  ‘There are roses round the door,’ she pointed out, and he laughed.

  ‘There you go, then. It’s already perfect. What more could we want?’

  She chewed her lip. ‘I need to pay off my mortgage.’

  He shrugged. ‘So? I’ll buy the farm off you anyway. It’s your inheritance. You can put the money in a safe place and keep it, just in case you decide you get sick of me.’

  ‘Or you get sick of me?’ she said, dreading it.

  ‘No. I’ll never get sick of you,’ he vowed, and drew her back into his arms. ‘I’ve missed you, Jem,’ he said, and his voice sounded suspiciously uneven. ‘Life without you’s been hell. I thought I’d be all right if I kept busy, but I wasn’t. You were all I could think about, day and night—’

  He broke off and squeezed her, and she slid her arms round his waist and hugged him back. ‘Me, too. I was miserable. I didn’t realise it was possible to miss anyone so much.’

  ‘We should have talked to each other. You should have told me you were pregnant.’

  ‘And have you insist I should marry you and go up there just because of the baby? I thought you’d move to Chelsea or Ealing or Richmond or somewhere like that and think it would be far enough—or alternatively you’d move down here and wreck your career—’

  ‘I don’t think you need to worry about my career. Since the award I’ve been turning away all the jobs that didn’t interest me. I’ve made a few enemies—spoilt clients that wanted things I couldn’t give.’

  She tipped her head back. ‘Sounds ominous.’

  He laughed. ‘There’s a woman called Moya Kennedy. She—’ His face twisted slightly. ‘She propositioned me the other day.’

  Jemima straightened in his arms. ‘I hope you walked away.’

  ‘Of course I did. I felt sorry for her—and her husband. She told me he can’t any more.’

  ‘Can’t what—? Oh. Oh, poor man.’

  ‘Quite. Anyway, seems all the work I’ve done for them over the years was because she fancied she was in love with me. I must be particularly dense, but it never even occurred to me.’


  His arms cradled her against his chest, and he swayed slightly, rocking her. ‘I love you, Jemima. There’ll never be anybody else for me. You don’t need to worry about my clients.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She eased away and looked up into his eyes. ‘I trust you, Sam. I hope you trust me, too.’

  He smiled wearily. ‘Oh, I trust you. I’m not sure about Owen, but I trust you.’

  She laughed. ‘Owen’s fine. Anyway, Jenny’ll keep him busy for a few years.’

  ‘Good.’ Sam moved away from her. ‘Mind if I use your phone?’

  She hid a smile. ‘Don’t tell me—your grandmother?’

  He just grinned. ‘How did you guess?’

  She put the kettle on while he rang her, then turned to see him lounging in the doorway, watching her hungrily.

  ‘Don’t suppose you need a nap, do you, after your drive?’ she suggested with a little smile, and his mouth tipped into a crooked, sexy grin.

  ‘You read my mind.’

  She pulled the kettle off the hob, held out her hand and led him up the stairs...

  It was a simple and beautiful wedding, in the new register office at the Maltings. They’d decided on London because all their various families and friends were near there, with the exception of Owen and Jenny and Sam’s grandparents, who’d travelled up for the day together in Owen’s father’s car.

  Owen’s parents were going to look after all the dogs, and the cows were now officially Owen’s anyway. Jemima was relieved. She’d found it difficult, and since they’d gone she’d done nothing but sleep.

  It had taken two weeks to arrange the wedding, but Sam wouldn’t give her any longer. ‘I’ve had enough scares,’ he’d said. ‘The sooner we tie the knot, the better—and anyway, Mike wants the flat.’

  He’d sold it to his friend complete with all the furniture, because it would have looked daft in a country cottage, and he’d put almost all his other things in store ready for the move. The tools of his trade were installed in a rented studio space in Dorchester, until the conversion was ready, and apart from their overnight things and a few personal bits and pieces the flat was ready to hand over on the Monday.

  They were married on a late April Saturday, with sunshine sparkling off the Thames and flashing on the wings of the gulls, and Jemima thought it was fitting that the turning point in their lives should be recorded in the place that had been the turning point in Sam’s career.