by Jane Linfoot
Nice to know. Not. ‘For fuck’s sake, Rafe, first you call me shallow, then you say I’m full of hot air. I can’t help it, that’s how I am.’ I snap off a buttercup, and let the golden shadow reflect on my palm. ‘Give me a break.’
‘What, and go back to talking about my past?’ He juts out his jaw.
‘Anything’s better than being told I’m frivolous.’ I give a sniff.
‘Not exactly frivolous, more … kind of laid back yet lively? In a good way?’ He picks up that I’m raising my eyes to the clouds, and gives a sigh. ‘As for me, there’s not much more to tell. My best mate was helping Helen through the bad times, and he turned out to be everything I wasn’t. It makes sense really. Helen and I were very similar. He was as good for her as he was for me.’
‘And that’s how she ended up at the next farm?’
‘Yep.’ Rafe nods. ‘She didn’t lose any time with him, they’ve got four kids now.’
‘That must have been hard.’ Talk about a kick in the teeth, not that I’d say that to Rafe.
‘I can’t say it wasn’t tough, losing both of them. The funny thing was, no-one knew the real reason we split up. That made it easier in a way. Local legend has it that she left because I refused to get married.’
‘Actually, I did hear that.’ I give a guilty grin, but I have to come clean. ‘That’s supposed to be why you hate the weddings so much.’
‘Who says I hate them?’ The look he flashes me is inscrutable, considering what we’ve been through the last few months.
‘You used to think they were a whole load of trouble.’ I’m not going to push him too much on this, in case he does a U-turn.
‘They are a lot of trouble. But as you’ve told me so often, maybe the trouble’s worth it in the end, once you consider the return.’ He says, pausing. ‘Have you thought of kids then?’
Wow. What next? But somehow, given how much he’s just shared, I don’t feel like I can skip over this one.
‘I did think about kids a while back.’ I can’t lie about all those fantasies of curly haired, blonde children – mine and Brett’s – running around, mainly on the beach. They usually followed on seamlessly from the ones where I was walking down the aisle towards him. Jeez knows what happened to the bit in between. ‘But not now I’m on my own.’ Kids are something else that won’t be featuring in my future on my own, but given what Rafe’s been through I’m not about to moan.
Something tells me, now might be a good time to make a run for home, because there surely can’t be anything else left to discuss up here. As I scramble to my feet, the startle in his eye tells me if I go fast, I’ll get a great head start. ‘Race you back down,’ I say. ‘Last one to the bottom buys pasties tomorrow.’
And as I’m bumping and lurching down the hillocks, I can’t help thinking about the guy who climbed up a hill but came back down a mountain. Because somehow that’s how I feel about what happened this afternoon.
49
In the courtyard at Daisy Hill Farm: Talking of photographers
‘In a way it’s a shame Nicole and Chas didn’t go through with it,’ I say to Immie two weeks later, on the day when Chas and Nicole should have been getting married. I immediately pick up that she’s looking daggers at me for that. ‘It’s like tipi city down there, the ceremony photos would have been awesome.’
Bringing you up to speed, in case you’d forgotten, it’s the day that should have been the double wedding, so we’ve split the staff between the house and the field. This is the first time I’ve seen Immie all day, and there’s something different about her, although I can’t put my finger on what it is. She volunteered to be our woman on the ground in the party field – no surprise there then – while I’ve been tiptoeing around the house and garden reception, holding my breath, willing that we don’t have any disasters.
She flips the subject deftly away from Nicole and Chas. ‘So how’s it going in the garden?’
‘The ring bearer’s a French Bulldog, and he gave Henrietta a run for her money when he first arrived,’ I say. Dogs as ring bearers? They have a special little box dangling from their collars apparently. He was only letting off steam after his big moment in church, and it ended happily with Henrietta taking refuge on the back of the open topped wedding car as Tia and Sam got out. ‘In the end no-one minded, because a chicken pecking at the gypsophila in the bridal crown made for some great unscheduled pictures.’
‘Talking of photographers, Jules is still down by the tipis, snapping away for all he’s worth.’ Immie says with a secret smirk. ‘He’s been asking me all day if he’s still in with a chance.’
Who said men were like buses? None for ages, then lots come along at once, all lining up in front of Immie. ‘Wow, if it comes down to a choice, who would you go for then, Chas with his hunky fireman looks or suave and stylish Jules?’ I’m dying to hear.
Immie gives a grunt of disgust. ‘Jules was asking if he’s in with a chance with you, not with me.’
‘Ahhh …’ I say.
‘You’re the only reason Jules is hanging around, still fulfilling his booking duties at eight thirty in the evening.’ She gives a disgusted snort. ‘I mean, how many pictures of a party can you take? Once you’ve seen one shot of drunk people falling over guy ropes, you’ve pretty much seen them all.’
I wince. ‘Bad as that already?’
Immie grins. ‘Afraid so. No-one’s holding back – apart from Jules and me, because obviously we’re working.’ She gives me a wink. ‘So any message for love-sick Jules then? He’s been waiting for you like a faithful dog for months, don’t forget.’
Closing my eyes, I screw up my face. ‘He knows I’m not in the market.’
‘He’s still convinced Rafe’s the main obstacle.’ Immie drops that one in with a wicked grin.
‘Rafe?’ I let out a shriek of horror. ‘That’s so wrong, it doesn’t even deserve an answer.’ I shake my head and blow out a long breath. ‘That’s a typical male reaction. Everything’s about rivalry, rather than about what the woman wants … or doesn’t in this case.’
‘So I say that to Jules?’ She’s pushing me here, still amused.
‘No, definitely not.’ I need to work out how to put this in a kind way. ‘Tell him he’ll always have a place close to my heart. That’s the best any guy’s going to do, believe me.’
Talking of racing hearts, I did the hormone-rush test when Jules dashed in and swung me round first thing this morning. Despite three spins without my feet touching the floor, once I was firmly back on the ground I wasn’t the least bit dizzy. Or fluttery.
‘You should come and have a peep in the garden now you’re here,’ I say, leading the way towards the house. ‘It’s gorgeous with the fairy lights around the open sided tent, and the scent of honeysuckle and roses.’ If I’m going on, it’s only because it’s so dreamy. Quietly we make our way through the gate in the garden wall.
‘How far through are they?’ Immie whispers, as we pad across the grass.
‘They just had their first dance.’
‘And?’ Immie cocks her head expectantly. Despite being totally disinterested in ever having a wedding herself, she’s always fascinated by couples’ choices of songs for their significant moments.
‘Nina Simone, My Baby Just Cares For Me, played on the grand piano by Sam’s brother. We moved the piano into the orangerie. Sam and Tia met at ballroom dance classes, so their dancing was fab.’
‘Nice.’ She gives a nod of approval as she watches the couples, moving together in time to the music out on the terrace now. ‘And is Rafe playing for them later?’
No-one’s more surprised about this than I am. ‘He played during the wedding breakfast, and apparently he’s said he’ll take over again at the end of the evening.’
‘It’s a shame I’ll miss that.’ Immie wrinkles her nose, and glances at her phone. ‘I’d better be getting back down to the field. I only came up to put a bit more slap on.’
And then it hits me. That’
s why she looks different. ‘Are you wearing lippy, Immie?’ Now she mentions it, it’s obvious. Well, blow me down. She must be keen.
An embarrassed grin spreads across Immie’s face. ‘Only a bit. Cate lent me it.’
I widen my eyes, as my voice goes high with surprise. ‘So Cate’s in on this too?’
Immie gives a shrug. ‘She did me a very minor make over. I’ve been doing running repairs all bloody day. One swig of real ale, and my pout’s gone. What kind of a mess about is that?’
I bite back my smile, and keep a straight face. ‘I thought you weren’t drinking?’
‘I’m not,’ she says. ‘Anyway, I’d better be off, who knows what disasters might be happening in the field. Wish me luck.’
And then she’s gone. And although she wasn’t specific, we both know exactly what my lucky wishes are supposed to be for.
50
By the car at Daisy Hill Farm: Camp fires and late nights
It’s half past two by the time I finally get to leave to drive home. I’m just about to unlock my car, when a noise behind me makes me jump so hard I drop my keys.
‘So you didn’t come for a song request then?’
It’s Rafe, his voice low in the moonlight. Someone should tell him not to pad around the farm at night scaring people, making their pulses race fast enough to give them heart attacks. And I know I’m wide awake, thanks to my after-wedding adrenalin, but now’s hardly the time to talk piano tunes.
‘Sorry.’ It’s probably best not to admit I was at all disappointed to miss Rafe playing at the reception. Hoping I’d have time to sneak in and hover in the shadows was a pretty unrealistic ask, and hearing it from a distance wasn’t the same. ‘First there was a lost handbag which turned out to have been in the car all along. Then I was hunting down a missing fluffy bunny. Then I was out directing taxis.’
I’m absolutely not going to say how a tiny part of me was hoping I’d bump into Rafe when I was rushing round in the dark after the caterers had done their final clear up, checking the garden, and locking up the house, because there’s no rational reason for why I felt that. Unless it was because the white shirt and dark trousers he’d put on to play made him look pretty edible. Note here that I wasn’t the only one thinking that, all the women were commenting.
Rafe stoops to pick up my car keys from where they’re lying on the cobbles. ‘You dropped these.’ He sounds suddenly doubtful as I take them from him. ‘You aren’t leaving now are you?’
My stomach sinks. ‘I was about to head home, yes.’ As I hear a flurry of shouts from the party field, suddenly I’m aware that maybe I’m going too early. ‘I know they’ve got a camp fire down in the field, but I thought as every second guy’s a fireman, it would be okay.’
‘That depends if they’re trained to operate when rat arsed.’ His grin is wry. ‘They’re old enough to look after themselves, but you’ll be coming back again early. Why aren’t you staying over in the cottage?’
Ooops. Now he’s got me. ‘Actually Immie’s let it out. With two parties going on, there was a lot of demand.’
Rafe gives a disgusted snort. ‘Well that’s hardly the idea is it? Come on, you’d better stay at mine.’
‘I … I don’t know …’ Even while I’m racking my brains for an excuse, part of me is hoping I don’t find one. ‘Actually I’m not tired, I’m still buzzing.’ That should get me off the hook.
‘Me too,’ he says. ‘These long days get you like that don’t they? We could always have a debrief? Wind down with a glass of wine? The spare bed’s made up.’ Typical Rafe. Quietly covering every aspect.
Something about the way he’s turned it into work makes it easier to agree. Also something about the halflight accentuating the shadows of his stubble, coupled with that soft white shirt, means my legs have pretty much set off to walk in the direction of the house all on their own. ‘Wine might be nice,’ I say, as I fall into step beside him, making what could pass for the understatement of the century. As for the rush of butterflies in my chest, that’s equivalent to a whole summer’s worth of small blues, all arriving at once.
51
In the kitchen at Daisy Hill Farm: A debriefing with Rafe
‘I’ll see if I can find you a witty T-shirt to sleep in,’ Rafe says, as he pushes the house door open, and leads the way through to his kitchen, which never gets any less fabulous. ‘So, what shall we crack open – red or white, vintage or new, sparkling or not? Or there’s a cool beer if you’d prefer it?’ Three strides, and he’s already opened the fridge, and he’s holding a bottle of Stella in one hand and some wine in the other.
‘Fizzy white would be brill thanks.’ It comes out without thinking, despite the fact I’d usually drink red late at night. ‘Nothing vintage though, I tend to throw it down.’ If my sub conscious is planning for us to stay up long enough to finish the bottle – we all know fizz won’t keep – it must have lightening quick reactions.
If we’re talking fast moves, in seconds Rafe has popped the cork, and is handing me a very full glass.
‘Cheers.’ I follow him across the room, kick off my ballet flats, and feel comfortable enough curl up on the corner of the sofa.
He takes the chair next to me, snaps open the bag of snacks he’s carrying, tips them into a bowl, and puts it on the small table between us.
‘Pretzel?’ he says, as he takes a handful. ‘So what’s your verdict?’
I watch his Adam’s apple bob behind the opening of his shirt collar. Catch sight of the bump of his collar bone. How dark his eye lashes are when he’s looking down. On balance, my verdict is a big fat yes. ‘Sorry?’
‘About today?’ His lips twist into a smile. Almost perfect teeth. ‘Did it work having the wedding in the garden?’
If I’m about to think how it would feel to run my tongue over those teeth, I put the brakes on that thought, before it is even formed. A large glug of wine goes a long way to putting my mind back on track, although the bubbles backfire and sting my nose. We’re talking about today. Right.
‘Given Tia and her mum and dad were all crying buckets as they left, I’d say it worked very well.’ I grin at Rafe’s sudden look of horror. ‘Weddings are emotional – those tears told me it couldn’t have been any more wonderful. You can’t get better praise than that.’
‘Well that’s good to know.’ Rafe leans over and refills my glass.
The label on the bottle is familiar. ‘That’s the same prosecco we serve in the shop,’ I say.
‘Immie told me, only because I asked her what you drank.’ He gives a guilty sniff. ‘Not that I’m stalking you or anything, obviously.’
Rafe getting wine in specially? Settling back into the sofa, the wool throw is soft against the skin of my calves. As I wave my glass in the air, I try to subdue the ripples of pleasure that has kicked off. ‘As Jess says, you can’t beat a bit of fizz.’ I nibble on a pretzel, because firing down wine at the rate I am on an empty stomach isn’t the best idea. What Jess believes about fizz having the power to enhance the mood isn’t something I’m going to go into here, when every bubble I’m consuming is making a beeline for one particular place.
‘Very true.’ He laughs that very low laugh of his that makes me shiver, empties his glass in one go, and gives us both refills.
Maybe I need to make the most of this opportunity of Rafe being stationary, in quite a good mood and mellowed by alcohol. Come to think of it, I haven’t ever seen him drinking before. Given that the ideas that have been buzzing around my head for ages really crystallised today, I’d be stupid not to. Let’s face it, anything that takes my mind off what’s going on under those dark trousers of his, might be a damned good thing. I take another glug of wine, to bolster my courage, and go for it before I lose my nerve.
‘Have you ever thought, it might be a fab idea to use the house and have a few indoor weddings?’ Nicole and her aspirations have got a lot to answer for here.
From Rafe’s puzzled frown I take it that’s a ‘no’.
‘It would extend your season. You could do smaller, more intimate weddings, all year round. And it would be the higher end of the market, so it would bring in cash, and would be great for cottage lettings too.’ It comes out in a rush, and I kick myself for gabbling when I should be sounding cool and businesslike.
‘Right.’ Putting down his wine, he brings his fingertips together. ‘You could be onto something there.’ A smile spreads slowly across his face. ‘Nice one, Red.’
That’s all the encouragement I need. ‘There’s a lot of potential to take some of the cottages a lot more upmarket too.’ I hesitate, because I don’t want to tread on his mum’s toes. ‘What I’m really saying is if you lose the hideous pig pictures and invest in some decent furniture, you’d soon see a return.’
‘God, those awful pigs.’ He appears to be suppressing a grin. ‘I can see you’ve been working overtime on my business plan.’ He takes a deep breath and becomes more serious. ‘Let’s face it someone needs to. It takes your flair to see what’s been staring me in the face for years.’ He rests his chin on his hand. ‘The way you put it, it sounds easy. Go on. What else? I can tell from the way your nose is all wrinkled up, there’s definitely more.’
‘How the hell do you know about my nose wrinkling?’ Cate and Immie used to tease me about it nonstop. And my mum of course.
He laughs. ‘Six months sharing an office, I’m bound to have learned something.’
What other secrets have I inadvertently given away? Hot desking has so many more pitfalls than you’d think.
‘So, go on, what else?’ He’s resting his chin on his elbow again, smiling that laid back smile, as if he’s waiting for me to amuse him.
I might as well go for it. ‘If you split the lets into two, and did a midweek let, and a weekend one, you’d up the income, as well as fitting in with the weddings better.’
