by Wendy Holden
He watched her stand up. ‘I’m off,’ she announced curtly. As usual, she didn’t offer to pay. And while Jason was happy to comp her, the occasional offer would have been appreciated.
‘Busy evening?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘Yes,’ Angela said, skewering him with a killer gaze. ‘I’ve got to go and arrange my teabags. Then I’m reorganising my shampoo bottles. Both of which will be a sight more fun than sitting here with you.’
With that she swept out. Jason stared after her, thinking that he had never got the chance to tell her about the phone call. Which had, for all Angela’s slurs, been quite interesting.
Someone called Eve from some big publishing firm had rung earlier asking whether they had a writer called Dylan Eliot staying. She had information that he was in the area and was anxious to track him down.
‘No,’ Jason had told her. They had no one of that name in residence. Eve had been very disappointed, and Jason was concerned about this. He wanted to help her, not least because, at the back of his mind, he cherished the idea of writing a tell-all novel about hotel-keeping. He’d told her he’d keep a lookout.
Nothing looked different, but everything had changed. So Nell thought as she flew up the steps to the weddings office the day after Dylan drove her back from the hospital. She felt a wonderful lightness, as if floating above the ground. The thought of tonight, of seeing him again, made her heart beat tattoos and tight knots twist in her tummy.
She burst in, pink-cheeked with excitement, only to see Julie looking glum behind her console.
‘What’s the matter?’ Nell asked. She wanted everyone to be as happy as she was. Especially Julie, who had helped her so much and was usually so positive. ‘Is it Carly and Jed again? Don’t tell me, they’re not stopping at the candlelit ball; they want a fifty-foot-high effigy of Colin Firth in the garden to burn at the end of the party.’
A flash of humour briefly irradiated Julie’s downcast features. ‘No, although I’m not ruling it out. Angela’s just rung. She wants to move you into another department. As of now.’
A surge of indignation went through Nell. She was enjoying working with Julie; what business was it of Angela’s to move her? On the other hand, she felt too happy to cause trouble. She didn’t want a row, not today, anyway.
‘Which department?’
‘Sustainability.’
Nell knew, from her extensive reading about the estate, that Pemberton had installed a system of generating its own heat and electricity. ‘You mean the hydro and the heat pumps in the ponds?’
‘Partly that,’ Julie agreed. ‘But the latest initiative, which the Earl’s really proud of, is the Waste Heat Derivative System.’ It was obvious from the way Julie spoke that it had capital letters in front of it. ‘That’s what Angela particularly wants you to concentrate on.’
‘And what’s that, exactly?’ Nell was feeling marginally less keen now. The word ‘waste’ did not augur well.
‘Basically, it takes everything from the visitor toilets – and the ones in the house for that matter – and pumps it all into a huge tank. From which, somehow, don’t ask me how, enough heat is generated to keep the radiators everywhere going all winter.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Julie looked her in the eye. ‘Apparently the smell in Sustainability is horrendous. No one normal can sustain it for more than five minutes.’
Nell swallowed. So, a sewage farm, basically.
Then she smiled. Well, she could cope with that. Right now, she could cope with anything.
At Byron House, Dylan was also facing unpleasant truths. He had just told Anne, the manager, about Dan’s indisposition. She was alarmed.
‘They say he’s holding steady, though,’ Dylan assured her. He had received the good news this morning, from Dr Akim. ‘He’s out of immediate danger.’
‘Send him our best, won’t you?’ Anne said worriedly. ‘We love him to bits here, we really do.’
Dylan returned to the greenhouse where he was planting seeds in pots in the hope that they would grow to surprise and delight the residents. He had never actually planted a seed before, so it would be a surprise and delight to him too.
The usual sequence of visitors came past: the old lady wanting a pound, the man in the tracksuit bottoms, various friends and relatives of the inmates, either accompanying them or pushing them round the garden in wheelchairs. Dylan nodded at them all and exchanged cheery words with those that offered them.
He worked absorbedly at his pots, enjoying the routine of repeated movements: filling the little containers with compost, drilling a hole with a pencil and dropping a tiny seed in each. He enjoyed the feeling of starting all these new lives, now his own life seemed finally set on a new, exciting direction.
He could barely wait to see Nell; the hours were crawling past. For all he had slept little, he felt well rested and bright. The sun poured through the greenhouse windows and he felt it passing through his skin and irradiating him inside. He felt filled with a boundless energy.
‘Excuse me.’ A well-modulated, refined voice interrupted him.
Dylan looked up. The woman looking quizzically back at him was very old, but still handsome and high-cheekboned. Her hair rose elegantly from her forehead in waves of palest lavender. She wore tweed trousers and a white shirt buttoned at the neck. Was she a resident, Dylan wondered. Or a visitor?
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
She leaned on the smart, long-handled black suitcase behind her and looked imperiously at Dylan.
‘I’m looking for Terminal Two,’ she said crisply.
A resident, then. Dylan opened his mouth to say that they were nowhere near the airport but suddenly Dan appeared in his mind, shaking his head.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know where it is,’ Dylan confessed instead. The woman gave an affronted toss of the head.
Anne was hurrying across the lawn. ‘Now come on, Sheila love. Let’s get you inside.’
‘Anne, my dear. How lovely to see you. I was just asking this very nice young man here . . .’ Sheila made a gracious gesture at Dylan, ‘whether he knew where Terminal Two was. Unfortunately he doesn’t. Do you?’
‘Just let me take that suitcase for you, love.’ Anne smiled at Dylan as she led Sheila away across the lawn. ‘New arrival!’ she mouthed over her shoulder.
The sustainability department was by no means as bad as Nell had thought, or Julie had warned. This was partly because of the setting.
It was in some former barns on a hillside at the edge of the estate. The views over the countryside were wide and beautiful. Fields rippled away in waves, like a green sea, turning purple towards the horizon. To add to the nautical effect, a brisk west wind was blowing when Nell arrived, filling her lungs with bracing air and sweeping what smell there might have been clean away.
The Sustainability people were another reason to be cheerful. Geoff, the manager, was just as lean, bearded and earnest as might have been expected, but had a winningly charming dog that he brought to work, a golden retriever called Topsy. Sarah, Geoff’s assistant, was bouncily enthusiastic, with apple cheeks, dreadlocks and a T-shirt that said ‘Compost Mentis’.
Both Sarah and Geoff were obviously passionate about their subject and delighted at the attention – ‘usually all anyone wants to write about is the farm shop.’ Diligently Nell scribbled down bullet points about economic, social and environmental outcomes.
Yet, all the time, she had a sense of not really being present. Even as Sarah enthused about the Pemberton Estate’s desire to positively impact on the here and now (there was a lot of jargon in Sustainability), Nell was aware that her own here and now were on hold. They would only begin after work, when Dylan appeared at the Beggar’s Roost gate to drive her to visit George at the hospital.
As it happened, other excitements
waited her on her return to the cottage. A note had been pushed through the door announcing that the online beds she had ordered had been delivered. To the Edenville Arms, unfortunately, but Jason was very helpful when Nell called and promised to send them over while she was out. He had even offered to send a handyman along with them to assist in their assembly. But Nell, while grateful, turned the offer down. She had chosen beds that were especially easy to build and planned to erect them herself. It would be the triumphal final touch to her new home.
Now she stood by the gate, waiting for Dylan’s car to appear. Her insides were twisted in a screw of apprehension. What if, after all they had said to each other, after all they now knew, he didn’t come? Nell’s phone rang. She pulled it out with jittery fingers. Was he ringing to cancel?
‘Just checking what I need to bring up for the weekend,’ Rachel said.
‘Uh . . .’ said Nell, who had temporarily forgotten even that Rachel was coming. She tried to think. What did Rachel need to bring up for the weekend?
‘Things to garden in, I’m guessing,’ Rachel prompted. ‘And have those beds come yet?’
Nell confirmed that they had. ‘I’ll be putting them up later.’
‘That sounds a bit worrying. Are you any good with a screwdriver? I don’t want to collapse in the night.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ll be off then. See you on Friday and, oh,’ Rachel added, as if this were an afterthought, ‘keep out of the way of strange men, won’t you?’
Nell had a feeling that the last sentence was the whole point of Rachel’s call. Her friend was checking up on her. What would Rachel say when she learned of the latest developments? That she was seeing Adam Greenleaf, who Rachel had told her to avoid. And who wasn’t really Adam Greenleaf at all, but Dylan Eliot.
It was going to take some explaining. And now was obviously not the moment. A movement caught her eye; Dylan’s grubby little car was coming down the road towards her. Except that it looked a lot less grubby now; positively gleaming, in fact. Nell smiled. Had he been to the carwash?
CHAPTER 50
Dylan, seeing the figure he had feared might not be there, could not stop grinning either. He was still smiling when she climbed in, and her heart looped the loop. He was devastatingly attractive in jeans and a check shirt. The ends of his hair curled darkly on his collar and the muscles in his forearms slid and tensed as he drove the vehicle off. The lean edge of his jaw looked shaved; he smelt of pepper and lavender.
Dylan wanted to tell her how absolutely knockout she looked in the black-and-white dress with the tiny flower print. And with her hair drawn back into a ponytail, revealing the shape of her face and cheekbones. He wanted to kiss those full pink lips that looked like a strawberry swimming in cream. But his hands remained fixed on the steering wheel. He had business to discuss first.
‘About yesterday.’ he began.
Her soaring heart now sank. He had had second thoughts. Telling him about Joey had been every bit the mistake she had spent half the night worrying it was (the other half had been spent thinking about what Dylan had told her about Beatrice).
‘What about it?’ If he wanted to pretend there was nothing between them, she would let him. Better end it now, before it began, than break her heart later.
‘About the things I told you. About me being . . . you know . . . a writer.’
Understanding dawned on Nell. He was telling her that he did not have time for both his work and a relationship. That his art came first. At least he was being honest.
‘You mean you can’t see me and write at the same time. That’s fine.’
She was surprised when he slapped the steering wheel. ‘God, no,’ Dylan exclaimed, almost veering across the road in his agitation. ‘That’s the exact opposite of what I mean. I want to see you.’
A hot blade of excitement shot through Nell. He wanted to see her!
‘But I want you to keep my secret. I don’t want anyone else knowing that I’m, you know . . .’ Dylan paused, then added fiercely. ‘Him. Dylan Eliot. The famous writer. That I was him, I mean. Because obviously, I’m not now.’
Nell looked at him. She understood the urge to create a new life, new identity, new job. None better. Had she not done the same thing? But surely at some stage in the future, he might change his mind. She could not be the only person keen to see a follow-up to All Smiles. ‘But you will write again, don’t you think?’
She was unprepared for the heat and the vehemence of his reply.
‘Never,’ said Dylan. ‘Never, ever again. Don’t even mention it. That part of my life is over.’ His voice was flinty; his face set. ‘So you won’t tell anyone?’
‘No,’ she agreed hurriedly.
Panic, Dylan realised, had made him over-emphatic. He hastened to repair the damage. ‘I’m sorry. I just get so scared, remembering everything.’
‘Hardly surprising,’ Nell reassured him. She got scared about remembering everything too.
Entering George’s ward with its long rows of beds, Nell could see someone had moved into the bed opposite the old man. Someone asleep, but recognisable nonetheless. Someone with shoulders so broad they extended across the entire width of the pillows, and legs which reached to the very end of the bed. A flash of joyful surprise went through her as she recognised Dan, Dylan’s colleague, the one who had helped save George. That meant that Dylan, who had gone in search of the private room his friend had been in yesterday, would be here at any minute. The two of them would be visiting the same ward from now on.
Perhaps, Nell thought, that would make things easier with Rachel. She had tried to avoid Dylan, but medical circumstance had made it impossible.
‘He’s been moved to a general ward,’ Dr Akim was telling Dylan at the same moment. ‘He’s out of danger.’
‘That’s great news.’
The doctor gave him a warning look. ‘But he’s still not very well. He’ll be in for some time. That OK with you?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ Dylan was surprised to be asked. What business was it of his?
‘Mr Parker is worried that you will have to do all the work on your own. You work together, no?’
Dylan was touched that Dan should, in his parlous state, be thinking of him. ‘He shouldn’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with him, anyway? Do you know yet?’
Dr Akim’s level, steady gaze held his. ‘He’s been poisoned.’
Dylan was so shocked his jaw dropped. ‘Poisoned?’
The doctor nodded.
‘You mean – the soil?’ Dylan pursued. ‘Tetanus? Like you said before?’
Dr Akim shook his head. ‘Something he ate. It’s difficult to say exactly what it was, though.’
Dylan thought of Dan’s rat’s nest of a house and his fast-food diet.
‘Lives alone, does he?’ Dr Akim shook his head, tut-tutting. ‘What that man needs is the love of a good woman.’
George greeted Nell with a smile. He seemed more than usually lively. ‘New chap over there,’ he said, nodding at the sleeping Dan. ‘Seems very pleasant. He’s a gardener as well.’
‘Yes, and guess what. He’s one of the men who saved your life.’
‘Is he really? He never said. I must say thank you when he wakes up. Seems very tired, poor chap.’ The bright eyes fixed on her. ‘How’s the garden? You know, it’s very kind of you to water it for me. It’s hard work and takes such a long time.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ said Nell, launching into a description of how the different flowers were doing. She wasn’t quite certain about all the names.
‘Big white flower, about ten big petals, very flat, like a plate?’
‘Clematis.’
‘Oh yes. Well, it’s going great guns. All up the side of the house. An
d the walls are absolutely dripping with wisteria. Last night, when I was watering, it smelt wonderful.’
George nodded his big white head. ‘Edwina planted that. She loved wisteria.’ He put out a hand to Nell. ‘You look so very much like her, dear. It’s quite uncanny. As you know, we never had any children and that was the great sadness of Edwina’s life. But I’m sure that if we’d had a daughter, she would have looked just like you.’
Nell was touched. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say.’
George smiled. ‘We were lucky in so many ways, Edwina and I. Lucky to survive the war and still have each other. What we had was much more important than what we didn’t. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.’
As, now, Dylan entered the ward, Nell felt a surge of excitement.
‘Here’s, um, Adam,’ she said to George. She must remember to call him that. Maintain the fiction, as it were. ‘He helped you the other day as well.’
Dylan spotted them and approached the bed, smiling.
‘Delighted to meet you. And thank you.’ The old man extended a wrinkled hand to the younger one. His hazel eyes flicked between Dylan and Nell.
Dylan remained standing as Nell said goodbye to George. He could see that Dan was asleep, so there was no point in him staying any longer.
‘Fancy a drink?’ Dylan asked as they left the ward. He had spent most of his time by the sleeping Dan’s bedside, watching Nell talking to George across the ward. ‘It’s a lovely evening.’
‘Good idea.’ She felt glad he had asked. George had not wanted to join them for some reason, which had been awkward.
‘Edenville Arms?’ he suggested.
They looked at each other. ‘Should we?’ Nell asked. Their history there so far had been chequered, to say the least.
He smiled at her. ‘Definitely.’
CHAPTER 51
Sitting at the back of Pumps, by the window, was Angela Highwater, huddled in confabulation with Jason.
The manager was still reeling. Angela had come in earlier and done something absolutely unprecedented. She had apologised for her rudeness on her last visit. ‘A bit of a bad day,’ was all she would reveal about the reasons. Jason didn’t probe. He was happy to forgive and to move on.
