A Vicarage Wedding

by Kate Hewitt

  Chapter Nine

  RACHEL BLINKED IN the gloom of the pub’s interior, which was virtually empty on a Monday mid-morning. A few stony-faced farmers were at the bar, nursing pints, but the rest of the tables were empty, the floor swept clean of its usual drift of empty crisp packets and spills of beer. And Sam West was behind the bar, giving her one of his unsmiling looks.

  Rachel nearly took a step back at the sight of him, but then managed to stop herself. What was it about the man that put her on such an edge? Was it simply that she’d been sick on his shoes, which was certainly embarrassing, or was it the fact that he looked like he could quite easily win a fistfight without breaking a sweat? The close-cropped blond hair, the narrowed blue eyes, the bulging biceps, the tattoo. She couldn’t deny he was good-looking, but it was in a way that made her feel…uneasy.

  “May I help you?” he asked when the silence had stretched on for several taut seconds.

  “Um, yes. I wanted to speak to the…manager? Owner?” She shrugged helplessly. “About the flat to let.” She was starting to seriously regret her impulse to come into the pub. If she lived above it, she’d almost certainly come into regular contact with Sam West, a prospect that made her feel…uneasy. Yes, that really was how she felt.

  “I’m the manager and the owner,” Sam replied, and Rachel tried her best not to look surprised. She’d assumed he just worked the bar; although now, with a guilty pang, she realised she shouldn’t have made that assumption at all. “You want to look at the flat?”

  Rachel swallowed. “Yes, if that’s okay. It’s still available?”

  “Yes.” He glanced at the farmers sitting silently at the bar and then nodded at Rachel. “I can show it to you now, if you like.”

  “All right.” She could simply say it wasn’t suitable, and then that would be that. She’d never come into The Bell again. Ever.

  “Follow me.”

  Sam came around the bar and then Rachel followed him down the back corridor, towards the courtyard where the unfortunate vomiting episode had taken place. Instead of going outside, he opened a door that led to a set of narrow stairs.

  “There’s a separate outside entrance to the upstairs on Finkle Street,” he said over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have to come into the pub.”

  “Great, thanks,” Rachel murmured. The stairs were dark and narrow, and she felt as if the dingy walls were looming closer as she followed Sam upstairs.

  “It’s on the second floor, which is a bit of a climb. I live on the first floor.”

  Yet another reason not to take this flat. Rachel didn’t reply as they came onto the top landing of the building, as dim and cramped as everything else, with dark panelled walls topped with ancient and rather hideous flocked wallpaper in green and gold.

  Sam opened the door and then stepped aside so Rachel could enter first. She did so, unable to keep from giving a little exclamation of surprise at how light and airy it all was. A skylight in a vaulted ceiling opened the living area right up, and the floor was freshly sanded with varnished oak boards, the sashed windows overlooking the beck, the church and vicarage just visible beyond.

  “Oh, wow. This is amazing.” She glanced at the open-plan kitchen off the main living area, all with sparkling new appliances. “How many bedrooms is it?”

  “Two.” He nodded towards the hallway that led off the other side. “And one bathroom.”

  The bedrooms were small but well appointed, with built-in cupboards and spectacular views, and the bathroom was tiny but as sparkling and new as the kitchen. Really, it was practically perfect.

  “How much a month?” Rachel asked, turning towards Sam and nearly bumping into him in the narrow hallway.

  “Four hundred.” He gazed at her impassively, his expression giving nothing away.

  Four hundred was certainly reasonable, and she could manage it even if she had to carry half the mortgage on her former dream house for a few months. Really, there was absolutely no reason not to take this place, and yet…

  “Is it very noisy? From the pub?”

  “Occasionally you might hear a shout or something,” Sam answered. “But you’re high up enough that it shouldn’t bother you. You’d hear just about as much at the vicarage.”

  Which was true enough. When one of the village’s pubs had live music the residents of the vicarage were treated to the entire concert whether they wanted to listen or not; the sound carried easily across the river and sheep pasture.

  “And there is double glazing,” Sam added. “Which I believe the vicarage doesn’t have?”

  Rachel looked at him in surprise. He was right; the vicarage’s ancient windows were one of the reasons the house tended to be on the freezing side.

  “How do you know that?” she asked, and Sam shrugged.

  “I’ve been in there once or twice, not that you’d remember.”

  “Oh.” She felt as if there was a lot he wasn’t saying, and it seemed he didn’t want her to ask. “Okay, well. I’ll think about it, if that’s all right.”

  “Sure.” Another shrug. “I haven’t had any offers, so take as much time as you like.”

  “Haven’t you? It seems so nice and new.”

  “I renovated it just a couple of months ago.”

  “You did it yourself?” He nodded. Somehow Rachel could see that. Sam West looked like a man who did things himself. “It’s really nice. You did a great job.”

  “Thanks.”

  A silence lengthened between them, sunlight spilling onto the floor through the skylight. Rachel wondered what Sam was thinking, and how much he knew about her situation. She couldn’t tell anything from his expression, which was as inscrutable as ever.

  “Have you owned The Bell for long?” she finally asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

  “For about a year. The last owners sold up to me and moved to Portugal.”

  “I didn’t know them,” Rachel admitted, and Sam’s mouth kicked up at the corner.

  “No,” he agreed dryly. “You wouldn’t have.”

  “Right, well I’ll have a think.” Was she just putting off saying no? Rachel glanced around the room again, admiring the skylight, the fresh paint, the surprising spacious airiness of the place. It was a lovely flat, and she could see herself and Miriam there. And she couldn’t live in the vicarage forever. She certainly didn’t want to.

  Sam held the door open for her and with a quick smile of thanks that he didn’t return she headed back downstairs, promising to let him know her decision in a few days, before she headed back out to the street.

  Back at the vicarage Jasper had set up an office of sorts in the dining room, with his laptop open and papers scattered about.

  “You look hard at work,” Rachel remarked as she poked her head in the doorway.

  “Looks can be deceiving.” He stretched his arms above his head, giving her a sunny smile. “Really, I’m just faffing about on the Internet. Fancy a drive and a pub lunch?”

  Startled, Rachel blurted, “Oh, I’ve just got in—”

  “And you can go back out again, can’t you?” Jasper’s smile widened. “I heard about a cosy place towards Windermere that I’d love to see. Take pity on a poor tourist, you being local and all that.”

  “Windermere…” Was ages away. Still, Rachel was tempted. All she was going to do around here was mope and maybe read a book. “All right,” she said impulsively. “What about Miriam? She might like to come, as well—” And it would keep their outing from feeling like some sort of date, which she certainly didn’t want.

  “She’s at the doctor’s surgery,” Jasper replied breezily. “But I’ll leave a note to let her know where we are, just in case.”

  Miriam was at the doctor’s? Anxiety clenched in her stomach at the thought, but it was hard to hold on to it when Jasper put the top down on his BMW and they tootled down the narrow, hedge-lined lanes on the way to the pub he’d heard about.

  With the sun shining and the wind blowing through her
hair, Rachel gave herself up to the sheer enjoyment of such a moment. Jasper grinned at her from the driver’s seat.

  “Have I converted you?”

  “Converted me…?”

  “To convertibles.”

  “Ha, no.” She shook her head. “You’d have to either be insane or deluded to have a convertible in a place where it rains three hundred days a year.”

  “I prefer eternal optimist,” Jasper returned, and Rachel nodded at the few greyish clouds on the horizon.

  “Watch those,” she warned. “You’ll be putting the top up on the way back—I guarantee it.”

  “Is that a bet?” Jasper said, and Rachel looked away. It almost sounded as if he were flirting, but maybe it was just the way he operated.

  The pub was every bit as atmospheric and welcoming as Jasper could have hoped, with a slate floor and low beams, and a huge fireplace that was filled with an arrangement of dried flowers thanks to the warmish weather.

  A waitress led to them a secluded table in the back, and Rachel glanced at the Michelin-worthy menu with a slight sinking sensation. With the mortgage to think of and wedding bills still to pay, she wasn’t exactly skint but she was close.

  “My treat,” Jasper said firmly, as if he’d read her thoughts, or perhaps just seen the horror on her face.

  A gourmet burger cost twenty-two pounds.

  “If you insist.” Although Rachel supposed that made it feel more like a date. And truth be told, Jasper Edgington-Jones was a very appealing proposition—handsome, charming, affable, and wealthy. All things that would matter to her if she were shallow, as Dan seemed to think she was, which she was not. Rachel looked away, trying to curb the resentment that still bubbled up at inopportune moments.

  “What’s up?” Jasper asked lightly. “You look as if you just bit into a lemon.”

  “Sorry.” Rachel smiled guiltily. “I was just thinking about something unpleasant.” Hurtful, really, but she didn’t want to go that far with someone who was little more than a stranger. “Has Simon told you my sordid past?”

  Jasper’s eyebrows rose. “No, but it sounds most intriguing. Do share.”

  “Oh, it’s not, really. It’s quite dull and pedestrian.” She sighed, deciding it was better the news came from her than Thornthwaite’s ever-flourishing grapevine. “A few weeks ago I was going to get married, but my fiancé broke it off the night before. Well,” she amended, wanting to be fair to Dan, “we both agreed to call it off, but it was his suggestion.”

  “Ah.” Jasper nodded, his face full of sympathy that somehow seemed less difficult to bear, coming from someone she didn’t really know. “And were you thinking of him now? Did you come here before, as a couple?”

  “No, I’ve never been here before in my life.” Rachel willed herself not to blush as she remembered why she’d thought of Dan—because she’d been thinking of Jasper as a potential romantic interest, which he most certainly wasn’t. “I just think about it in unexpected moments, I suppose.”

  “Ah, easily understandable. Let’s have a bottle of champagne with lunch to banish the memories.”

  “Ugh, no, sorry, no champagne.”

  Jasper raised his eyebrows. “Is there a story there?”

  “Same story, really, but anyway. I’ll just have sparkling water, please.”

  Jasper sighed theatrically. “How utterly boring, but very well. At least let’s both have dessert.”

  Rachel smiled. “Now that I can agree to.”

  They ordered their meals and as the waitress left with their menus Jasper leaned back in his seat and looked around the cosy and quaint pub. “You know, I could see myself running a place like this. Master of the house, all bustling bonhomie, that sort of thing.”

  “I could see that, too, actually,” Rachel said. “You’d be good at it.”

  “Why, thank you. There we are, then. My life sorted.”

  “Does it need sorting?”

  “Oh, yes. Terribly. Why do you think I’m here?” His tone was so light Rachel didn’t know whether to take him seriously. He gave a breezy smile. “What about you, Rachel? Why did this loser of a fiancé break it off with you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He’s not a loser,” Rachel replied quickly. “And the more I think about it, the more I think he was right to break it off. But it still hurts.”

  “Of course it does. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be unkind.”

  “No, I’m the one who is being unkind. Even though I’m coming round to believing it was right of him to have ended it, I still keep trying to feel like the victim.” She made a face. “Not a very attractive quality.”

  “But completely understandable. Personally, I think he must have been mad.” He smiled, and Rachel felt a twinge of unease. This was starting to feel too much like flirting.

  “No, not mad. He just wanted more from me than I suppose I was able to give.”

  “And what did you want?”

  “The fairy tale, I suppose.” The husband, the house, the kids, the puppy. The life she’d always dreamed of having. The puppy…

  “Oh, no.” Her eyes widened as she stared at Jasper who looked at her, smilingly nonplussed. “I just remembered that I’m supposed to be picking up a puppy next week.”

  “A puppy?”

  “My fiancé and I…we were getting a dog.”

  “Maybe he should get the dog, then.”

  “Actually, I want the dog. At least, I did.” But she could hardly ask Simon to have a puppy at the vicarage, especially when he was already taking care of Charlie. And would a puppy work in a second-floor flat above The Bell?

  “You could tell the kennel or whoever that you’ve changed your mind,” Jasper suggested. “I’m sure they have someone else on the waiting list. Good breeders always do.”

  “Perhaps, but…” For some reason Rachel was reluctant to let go of that dream, along with every other one she’d had to relinquish. She shrugged and took a sip of water. “We’ll see.”

  The rest of the lunch went pleasantly enough, and Jasper was as charming and affable as ever, making her laugh at some of his witticisms as well as his over-the-top aristocrat attitude, but despite all that, something had gone a little off for her as well, and Rachel wasn’t even sure what it was.

  She wished she hadn’t told Jasper about Dan; he’d been sympathetic, but it had made her feel worse somehow, and the whole episode seemed disloyal to Dan, which was absurd, considering, and yet…

  She was relieved to get back to the vicarage, even as she fought a certain fog of poignant sorrow as she climbed up the weathered stone steps. Would that ever lift? Or would this place always feel like home-but-not?

  The house was quiet and Rachel went in search of Miriam, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was troubling her sister. She found her curled up on her bed, a pillow tucked to her middle, looking far too woebegone.

  “Miriam, what did the doctor say?” Rachel blurted. She was filled with alarm at the sight of her sister looking so despairing. “Are you ill?”

  “No,” Miriam returned dully. “Not ill.”

  “Then what?” Rachel sat on the edge of the bed. “I wish you’d tell me, Miri. Put at least one of us out of our misery.”

  Miriam rolled over onto her back and gazed up at her sister, her face full of misery. “You really want to know, Rachel?”

  “Yes, of course I do—”

  “All right, then, I’ll tell you. I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter Ten

  FOR A MOMENT Rachel could only stare at her sister blankly, as the foolish thought but you’re not married went through her head. Thankfully she did not point out the obvious.

  “Oh,” she finally said, and left it at that. Her mind was spinning.

  “Won’t Dad be so ashamed of me?” Miriam said, and then her face crumpled.

  “Oh, Miriam.” Rachel leaned forward to put her arms around her sister and gave her a tight hug. “Don’t think like that. Mum and Dad love you, love all of us, no
matter what. That’s one thing I’m sure of. They would never be ashamed.”

  “Maybe so.” She sniffed, her cheek pressed against Rachel’s shoulder. “But they’ll still be disappointed. They’d never want this for one of their daughters. I’m glad they’re not here to see this, to hear all the village gossip about me—coming home knocked up, with no man in sight, never mind an actual ring.”

  “People won’t talk…” Rachel began, only to stop because she knew they would. But it wouldn’t be mean; people were sympathetic and well meaning, if anything, in their own nosy way.

  Miriam eased away from her to lie flat on her back as she stared up at the ceiling. “It’s not going to be easy, living here. Maybe I should have stayed in Australia.”

  Rachel had so many questions she didn’t know where to begin. Who? How? Why? She swallowed them all down, because now really didn’t seem the time to grill Miriam for details.

  “Is that why you went to the doctor’s? To have a—a pregnancy test?”

  “Yes, to have it confirmed. I’d already taken a couple of over the counter ones but I wanted to make sure.” She let out a shuddery sigh. “And now I’m sure.”

  “Oh, Miriam.” Rachel patted her sister’s shoulder, wishing she could offer more comfort.

  “I’ve really messed up this time, haven’t I?” Miriam said grimly as she stared at the ceiling, one hand resting lightly on her still-flat belly. “I know I’ve always been a bit of a rebel, but…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

  It was true that of all them Miriam had been the wildest—the only one to get suspended from school for smoking behind the bike sheds, or to be grounded for coming home drunk from a party in sixth form. With two thousand well-meaning and beady-eyed villagers ready to run to her parents with tales of her misdeeds, it couldn’t have been easy to be the youngest Holley.

  Rachel had sometimes wondered if that was why Miriam had gone backpacking as soon as she’d received her admittedly mediocre A Level results. It was hard to grow up in the fishbowl of Thornthwaite, even if both Rachel and Esther and soon Anna had all gone happily back to it. It definitely wasn’t easy, but it was also wonderful, always having neighbours and parishioners and friends looking out for you. Even in the midst of her own ongoing jilted wedding drama, Rachel wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. But she wasn’t Miriam.