A Year of New Adventures

by Maddie Please

  ‘Far too nice,’ I said. ‘And she’s very pretty isn’t she?’

  ‘Is she?’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘She is and very long suffering considering how she is treated.’

  Jake shook his head. ‘I’ve explained that. I don’t know why—’ He stopped; I suppose he didn’t want to badmouth his friend to a virtual stranger. ‘What about you? Do you have family?’

  ‘I live on my own.’

  He looked up from examining his fingernails. ‘Really? No boyfriend?’

  ‘Not at the moment – I’m too busy, running those writing retreats with my best friend.’ I decided not to mention the occasional cake making or the part-time job in my uncle’s bookshop.

  Jake smiled. ‘Yeah, Pippa thought it might help Oliver. And let’s be fair she was right, so good for her. But sometimes nothing is right. And she had a holiday booked anyway and the chance of a couple of days in Paris.’ Jake chuckled. ‘He thought he was going to be in some sort of hotel. He was like a rabid monkey when he found there were a load of old ducks there too.’

  Old ducks? Really?

  ‘I don’t remember there being any old ducks there,’ I said stiffly.

  Oblivious to my mood, Jake came and filled his wine glass up again.

  ‘God yes, he was bloody livid. The first night he was firing off text messages by the minute, threatening her with the sack. Luckily, she was out of the country and didn’t get any of them until he’d calmed down a bit. Still he did say it had given him something to put in his latest book. From the little he told me there was a stalker-type who came into his room and made a complete tit of herself. It sounded hilarious.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ I said, wondering who was the target of his bile-dipped pen.

  Hang on. That was probably me!

  I went cold at the prospect. Just when I thought I could get along with Oliver, I find he’s been laughing about me behind my back.

  Jake stretched his arms above his head.

  ‘Right, I’m going in the hot tub later. Lovely moon. Fancy a dip?’

  ‘No I don’t think I do,’ I said. ‘I have dinner to cook. Ask Pippa. Gideon has been pestering her I think.’

  ‘Has he? What a git.’

  I was surprised at the strength of Jake’s reaction.

  ‘Yes,’ I said airily, ‘I rather think he’s taken a shine to Pippa. I mean like I said, she’s a very pretty girl isn’t she?’

  Jake looked grim. ‘I bet he’s trying to poach her. He was all over her in London.’

  ‘Yes, I think he still is. He’s the sort isn’t he? To make a beeline for a bright girl like Pippa. Still if she doesn’t feel appreciated working for Oliver, she’ll move on I suppose? I expect he will offer her a job.’

  ‘Has she said anything?’ he said.

  As I was making all this up I couldn’t really comment so instead I gave an enigmatic shrug.

  ‘Do you get bored cooking all the time?’ he said, suddenly changing the subject.

  ‘Do you get bored with eating?’

  ‘No, I guess not. What else do you do though?’

  ‘I’m a champion wing-walker and I’m learning the saxophone.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No of course not.’

  ‘Oh, oh that was a joke, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  At eight the following morning Oliver turned up asking for apple juice and poached eggs on whole-wheat toast. He was freshly showered in jeans and a black polo neck sweater that made the most of his broad shoulders and muscular chest and … Hmmm. I could just imagine what his arms would feel like under my hands. Sort of hard and …

  For God’s sake, woman, what the hell is the matter with you?

  I went into the larder, my new go-to place when I wanted to make myself scarce, and straightened up a couple of boxes of Rice-A-Roni, pretending to find something so I could calm down and not dribble in the food.

  I had to remind myself of all the mean things he had said about our writing retreat (Old ducks? Stalker?) so I could dislike him even if he did look exceptionally handsome and more than a bit sexy. No he didn’t, he looked like a bad-tempered man but with just the right amount of designer stubble and dark shadows under his beautiful dark blue eyes …

  Oh shut up.

  I went back into the larder and shifted some bottles of passata about. Then I pretended to check on how many eggs remained in the earthenware bowl with the chickens painted on the side.

  When I came back out into the kitchen, Oliver was shrugging on his coat and winding a soft blue scarf – exactly the same colour as his eyes – around his neck.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’m off to see Gideon. We’ll be back for lunch. Tell Pippa and Jake I’ll expect to see them there very soon.’

  ‘Is Betty coming today?’

  He stopped and looked at me, his expression blank. ‘Betty?’

  ‘I heard someone mention her the other day, said she was joining the lunch party.’

  Oliver flushed. ‘No, Gideon was being stupid. Forget about it.’

  ‘Well OK if you say so. I just need to know—’

  ‘Forget he said anything; he’s an idiot. Forget I said anything.’

  Didn’t make any difference to me. Very Important Gideon was his publisher; Oliver could say what he liked about the man.

  I watched as he went out to the garage and drove off towards the village. The sun was brilliant this morning. I could see grass out on the meadow now, and most of the trees had lost their snowy hats.

  I cleared away and wondered how long Pippa and Jake were going to be. While I was waiting I started making Minestrone soup for lunch. Then I turned on my laptop and caught up with the news from Uncle Peter and Godfrey and a hasty email from Helena whose grasp of the English language got increasingly erratic the more excited she became. By Easter I anticipated she wouldn’t know how to spell Scotland never mind get there.

  At nine o’clock I heard the slam of a bedroom door and Jake came downstairs, followed seconds later by Pippa.

  I poured fresh coffee and passed it to them.

  ‘Oh what a shame,’ Pippa said, walking to the window to look at the view. ‘The snow has gone.’

  She stood sipping her coffee and glancing back at the table. She put one arm up to rest on the window frame and sighed.

  ‘It’s so lovely here isn’t it? I mean so pretty and restful.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘A real change from London.’

  Jake looked up at her and smiled, then carried on shovelling in toast and peanut butter while he read the back of the Cap’n Crunch packet.

  Pippa went to sit next to Jake and he winked at her.

  ‘I’m starving,’ she said with a cat-like smile.

  ‘I bet,’ Jake said.

  ‘Anything else you would like for breakfast?’ I asked, glancing at the clock. It was nine-fifteen; surely they had things to do? ‘Oliver wanted to see you as soon as possible, and that was nearly two hours ago.’

  Pippa shot out of her seat. ‘Jesus he’ll kill me. Jake, have you got those notes I had last night? Hurry up! Think! Where did I leave them?’

  ‘In my room,’ Jake said.

  Hello.

  They left the house ten minutes later, Pippa still jamming her shoes on in a blind panic. I went back to my tasks and when I’d done everything I could I decided to go for my walk.

  There were plenty of assorted coats and boots in the mudroom by the back door, and having found some that fitted I set off.

  The air was so clean and clear – that was the first thing I noticed. And there was no sound apart from the occasional flutter of bird wings or the distant crack of a twig. I walked down the garden towards the trees, my boots crunching on the gravel path. At the bottom was a metal gate leading into the woods.

  The air was different here, denser as though it had been trapped under the trees for the winter. I could smell pine and dark earth and hear the sound of running water
somewhere. I walked on, my boots collecting a decorative collar of mud and pine needles.

  Puffing slightly, I reached the top of a rise where there was an old stone bench overlooking the valley and the river below. I brushed the pine needles off the seat and sat down with a grateful sigh. Somewhere in the hills, far off, I heard a couple of shots. Hunters out shooting something? Or maybe bank robbers at a stand-off? Perhaps I’d go back to the house soon.

  The grass on the field below the house was vibrant and green and I took a deep, invigorating lungful of crisp mountain air. This was the life; perhaps I should move to somewhere really rural? Like West Wales or Yorkshire. That would be an adventure wouldn’t it? To live the simple, country way, have chickens, grow my own vegetables, bottle fruit, and make jam. Clean eating. I could stop worrying about being fashionable and wear plaid shirts and cute dungarees. Like a cross between Felicity Kendal and Nigella Lawson. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be a vegetarian though. I’d tried that and let’s just say tofu and I will never be friends.

  A thin film of mist drifted above the water, which suddenly evaporated as the sun rose above the trees.

  I saw something moving by the riverbank. A deer? A moose?

  Or a bear?

  Jeez! What if it was a bear?

  What if it was a bear?

  What would I do?

  My enthusiasm for exploring – never great – rapidly faded. I could just imagine the headlines.

  Tragic British woman mauled to death on adventure holiday.

  Celebrity chef eaten by bear.

  ‘I should have taken greater care of her,’ said heartbroken writer Ross Black. ‘She was a wonderful woman. I’ll never forgive myself.’

  Another distant shot echoed, far off. Maybe the bank robbers were caught in a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid drama?

  I held my breath, and watched as the deer (yes it was a deer) wandered away from the river and back under the trees.

  ‘Ah there you are!’

  I leapt to my feet and turned to see Oliver walking towards me. I felt a weird mixture of excitement and relief.

  ‘I wondered where you had got to,’ he said.

  He wasn’t out of breath at all, I noticed. He looked quite relaxed and even a bit smiley. Nothing like the man who had left this morning.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ I said, rather flustered.

  ‘No,’ he said, a bit surprised, ‘I came back early and fancied some exercise. I see you had the same idea. I was getting rather stressed with everything.’

  He sat down next to me, his hands on his knees. I didn’t dare look at him.

  ‘Gorgeous isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Sometimes I wonder how I can ever bear to leave it.’

  ‘Speaking of which, are there bears around here?’ I said, my voice slightly panicky.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Oliver said. ‘Not at this time of year of course.’

  ‘Of course not.’ I laughed. The very idea. ‘Have they all gone to the Caribbean on holiday?’

  ‘At this time of year they’re probably still hibernating,’ Oliver said patiently.

  Probably. That’s a weasel word isn’t it?

  What the hell was I doing out here in the back of beyond in the middle of bear country? Hungry bears too if they had been hibernating.

  I thought about the distance between where we were sitting and the house. It suddenly seemed a very long way, even if it was downhill.

  How fast could a bear run? How fast could I run? The woods were the absolutely ideal place for a massive grizzly or two to be lurking.

  I looked behind me. Over there for example: was it actually a fallen log or was it a crouching bear? Possibly with a bowler hat on? And a taller bear on a chair next to it? With an umbrella? No it was a fallen tree. Even so.

  ‘You’re sure? Absolutely sure? I mean could there be a couple with insomnia around here? Wanting a bit of a change?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure there aren’t,’ he said.

  Pretty sure. That’s not a reassuring statement.

  He was wearing a thick, padded gilet over an Aran sweater. He stood up and walked forward a few steps. He stuck his hands in his pockets and I had to look away quickly to stop myself admiring his arse.

  ‘On a scale of one to one hundred, how sure?’ I said, inspecting my nails.

  ‘I don’t know. Ninety-nine. Ninety-nine point five.’

  ‘So there’s a nought point five per cent chance there’s a bear in these woods?’

  ‘I guess so.’ He turned back, scratching the stubble on his chin. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘What do we do if we did see one?’

  ‘You make a lot of noise and walk backwards away from it,’ he said.

  ‘And then run?’

  ‘Only if you can run faster than thirty miles an hour.’

  Hmm that seemed very unlikely; could anyone run faster than thirty miles an hour? Could Usain Bolt? I bet I couldn’t.

  ‘Well what about playing dead?’ I said.

  ‘Only if it’s a grizzly.’

  ‘How can you tell the difference?’ I was starting to seriously panic.

  He gave me a comical look. ‘The grizzlies wear straw hats and ties. Haven’t you seen Yogi Bear? You could always distract it with a picnic basket, Boo-Boo.’

  ‘What about climbing trees?’ I said.

  ‘They can climb much faster than you can.’

  I trawled about my brain to try and remember the few things I had read about bears.

  ‘And they only attack if they have cubs and you get between them and the mother? Is that true?’

  ‘No, black bears attack to eat you.’

  ‘What sort of bears do you have round here?’

  Oliver thought for a moment. ‘Black bears.’

  It wasn’t reassuring, let’s be honest. Could Oliver run faster than I could? Of course he could. Everyone alive between the ages of five and eighty can run faster than I can.

  ‘Perhaps we should go back if you’ve had enough excitement?’ he said, and he grinned as though he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  ‘Well if you think so,’ I said casually. ‘I’m easy. No, I didn’t mean to say that, I’m not easy at all. I mean I don’t mind.’

  He looked as though he was trying to stop laughing and led the way back down the hill to the house. Every few steps I turned to make sure there wasn’t a bear following us. Nought point five per cent chance was still a bit much for me to be honest. You don’t have to think about that in Lower Bidford.

  We reached the house without incident and Oliver disappeared into his study. I went to resume my duties in the kitchen. I heard a car come up the drive and looked at my watch – five to twelve. A bit early for lunch? I began to look efficient and busy. The back door opened and it was the last person in the world I was expecting or wanted to see.

  It was Very Important Gideon.

  I stood with a large wooden spoon in my hand, dripping soup onto the floor.

  ‘I think Mr Forest is in the study,’ I said.

  Gideon unzipped his bulky jacket and favoured me with a white and gleaming smile.

  ‘No matter,’ he said. ‘I wanted to have a word with you anyway. Is that OK?’

  ‘Well yes, no, yes of course,’ I said, rather flustered.

  He slung his coat over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and sat down.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Mr March? Coffee?’

  ‘Well now aren’t you nice? Call me Gideon. What I’d like is bourbon. Will you join me?’

  ‘No thanks, it’s a bit early for me.’

  He gave me a wink. ‘I know where Ollie keeps it. I’ll help myself. Sure I can’t tempt you?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  I wiped up the mess I’d made and began washing fruit to put into the bowl on the table.

  Gideon poured himself a chunky-looking drink, helped himself to ice from the dispenser on the front of the fridge, and sat down again.

  ‘Are you happy in your work, Billie?’
he said.

  Odd question.

  ‘Yes absolutely,’ I said.

  He chuckled and shook his head. ‘I just love the way you talk! What is it about the English accent that is so adorable?’ He took a sip of his drink and tried to imitate me. ‘Yes absolutely. Yes absolutely.’

  I laughed along with him.

  ‘So what happens when you go home?’ he said.

  ‘Well I suppose I’ll carry on doing what I do.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘I run writing retreats, I cook, I help out in a bookshop.’

  ‘Busy girl,’ he said admiringly.

  ‘Well it keeps me out of trouble I suppose.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ he said, and gave me a wink that made me feel a bit uncomfortable.

  I looked at my watch.

  ‘The others will be back in a minute,’ I said, although I really wasn’t expecting them until one o’clock at the earliest.

  Gideon stood up and walked around the table.

  ‘You’re a pretty girl too,’ he said. ‘Clever. I admire you enormously.’

  ‘Well thanks,’ I said, wondering if it was time to escape to the pantry again. Hmm maybe not, I wouldn’t put it past him to follow me.

  ‘How about coming to work for me?’ he said suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well I can always use someone like you,’ he said. ‘Someone pretty and clever. And adaptable.’

  ‘Oh I’m not adaptable,’ I said. ‘I’m well known for being very un-adaptable.’

  Was there such a word?

  He laughed. And knocked back his drink.

  ‘Well think about it,’ he said. ‘We can keep it quiet for now, but I’ll be in touch.’

  He had eyes like ice chips: pale and cold. I suddenly wasn’t sure I liked him. I moved away from him and began chopping up an apple for no better reason than I felt better with a knife in my hand. It made a dull thudding noise on the wooden board and he watched me; calculating, disturbing.

  ‘Ah well, we’ll see what happens,’ he said. He put his glass down on the granite worktop without a sound. Then he came and put an arm around my shoulder and hugged me. ‘Think about it, hey?’