A Country Escape

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Have some tea with it. And I’ll make you another to have on the journey. I’ll find a bottle of water, too.’ Issi had gone into mother mode and Fran found she was grateful. She needed a mother just now.

  She collected her bag from the bedroom and then went back into the kitchen to pick up the promised supplies. Before she put the sandwich in the bag she looked for her keys. They didn’t seem to be there. And yet she always put them in the same, dedicated key pocket. Where on earth were they?

  ‘Oh no,’ she said quietly and ran through to the sitting room to look out of the window. It wasn’t only the two men who had disappeared, her car had too.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fran went back into the kitchen slowly, hardly able to make her legs move. Roy had taken her car and, with it, the chance of getting her cheese on the culinary map. Everything she had worked so hard for had been for nothing. She wanted to cry.

  ‘Roy’s taken my car,’ she said, barely audible. ‘I can’t go to London. My cheese won’t be eaten by all those important people. It won’t make our fortune and save the farm. It’s all been a complete waste of time.’

  ‘No!’ said Issi, aghast. ‘That bastard. How could he do that?’

  ‘To be fair,’ said Fran, ‘and you know how I hate to be fair when Roy is involved, he didn’t know I needed my car. I didn’t mention it when he said he wanted to take it.’

  ‘That’s not the point. He’s stolen it. Hey!’ Issi became even more animated. ‘Let’s call the police. They’d bring it back for you.’

  ‘Not in time,’ said Fran, still quiet, still reasonable. ‘And if Roy is arrested he’ll be breathalysed.’

  ‘Then it’s our moral duty to tell the police,’ said Issi.

  ‘I know. But I don’t have the heart for it. Everything I’ve worked for has been for nothing.’

  ‘There must be something else we can do,’ said Issi. ‘Think!’

  ‘I have thought,’ said Fran, confused. ‘And I haven’t come up with anything.’

  ‘Antony!’ cried Issi delightedly.

  ‘Is, I’m not asking Antony for any more favours. Besides he’s—’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that, I meant – Antony!’ said Issi, jumping up and down as the back door opened.

  ‘Oh, Fran,’ said a deeply familiar voice. ‘You are here. I saw your car was gone – Darling! What’s the matter?’

  Fran found herself in his arms, wrapped tightly against him, smelling his cologne, his body, him, and feeling utter comfort, in spite of his shirt button that was pressing into her cheek. There wasn’t anywhere in the world she’d rather be. Her tension began to melt away. It didn’t matter about her cheese, her car or anything. She was in Antony’s arms.

  Issi, not in a state of bliss, was a bit more on the ball. ‘Fran has to get her cheese to London, now! It’s terribly important. It’ll be tasted by all sorts of important people. A courier was supposed to come but couldn’t, and Roy’s stolen her car so she can’t drive herself.’ She paused for breath. ‘Is Seb around?’

  ‘Seb?’ said Antony, into Fran’s hair. ‘Yes, he’s back.’

  Fran pushed herself away from Antony’s shirtfront. ‘Is he busy? Could he take me to deliver the cheese?’

  ‘I’ll drive you. It would be my pleasure.’

  Fran sighed. Antony looked down at her.

  ‘Oh, you two!’ said Issi, seeing exactly how things were between them. ‘Now go and get your cheese. I’ll make up a goody bag for the journey.’

  ‘When I got back and found the puppies gone,’ said Antony, ‘I was sorry. I know it was such hard work and everything, but I loved looking after them with you.’ They were on the motorway, driving at speed towards London and Roger’s food experts.

  Fran sighed. ‘Me too. I didn’t want to let them go either. I know it was for the best and everything, but they were my whole reason for living for those hours. Have you heard from June? Are they OK?’

  ‘Thriving. She was singing your praises very loudly.’

  Fran blushed and really hoped June wasn’t saying the sort of things she’d been saying to Fran, comparing her to Antony’s wife. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. The little one, Betsy? She really turned a corner while you were looking after her.’

  ‘That’s very good to hear.’ Fran felt a little bubble of pride rise.

  ‘But I felt—’ Antony stopped, as if not quite knowing how to express his feelings.

  ‘That they were a bit like our children that we were looking after together?’ Fran finished for him, really hoping she wasn’t making a massive assumption.

  ‘That’s exactly it.’ He glanced across at her.

  He seemed about to say more but somehow Fran didn’t feel ready. She was still glowing from the way he had embraced her when he first walked into the house. She was worried that if they went too quickly now, and moved from a couple of kisses to declarations, it would all disappear like candyfloss.

  She cleared her throat. ‘It was funny, when I went back to the farm after Jack and June had taken the pups, I felt different about things. I felt more capable. We kept those pups alive and it gave me confidence, about animals.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Issi met me at the front door, all excited. A calf was being born, the first of the season. I went and watched.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Antony said, as if understanding this was a big thing for her.

  ‘It was fascinating, very primeval, but I suddenly understood how Tig and now Issi feel about the herd. It’s more than just the milk and cream, which for me means the cheese. Now I feel much more connected with the animals that produce it. They’re more like people than machines.’

  He laughed softly. ‘Somewhere in between, I expect.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand!’ She was a bit indignant. ‘You’re not a man of the land, a farmer.’

  ‘What we do in our lives doesn’t necessarily reflect what we feel in our hearts.’

  ‘Oh, that’s deep!’

  ‘But in this particular instance’ – he made a gesture indicating the car and the fact he was driving her to London – ‘this absolutely reflects what I feel in my heart.’

  A rush of emotion threatened to overwhelm Fran for a few moments. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ Antony said. ‘I shouldn’t have done. Forget I did.’ He smiled at her. ‘Look, don’t dwell on it, or worry. Have a nap while you can.’

  Fran smiled back and closed her eyes. She was sure she wouldn’t sleep, not after what he’d just said, but she appreciated a chance to think about it.

  He had to wake her up. ‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘The traffic’s pretty bad. Not sure I can get to the venue on time. Are you up to getting out and walking?’

  Fran’s eyes shot open. ‘Are we here?’

  ‘Nearly. We have fifteen minutes. Do you want to walk or will you stay with the car while I go?’

  ‘I’ll go!’ Fran got out of the car the moment Antony had pulled up. This was her chance; nothing was going to stop her now.

  As she jogged through the streets, dragging the case on wheels Antony had lent her, her phone set to Maps, cutting behind Harrods towards Belgravia, she wondered if she’d slipped into a film while she’d been asleep. Here she was, with five minutes to get to a venue she wasn’t sure how to find, with a product that could make or break her. Which was all crazy enough, but if you added to this that the man she’d been thinking about pretty well continually had made it fairly clear he had feelings for her too – it was almost too much to deal with.

  Sweat trickled down her temples as she checked her phone and realised she was nearly at the pin that represented the hotel Roger had said she should come to. She looked up and there she was. Her tongue felt like carpet and she berated herself for not bringing water, but she took another breath and set off up the seemingly hundreds of steps that led up to this rather grand building as quickly as she had energy for.

  It took a while for her to locate R
oger, who was in a crowded room full of waiting staff.

  ‘Roger, hi,’ she said, panting hard.

  ‘You took your time – it’s nearly midday!’

  She took a quick, indignant breath. ‘Roger! Your couriers couldn’t come. And someone stole my car.’

  ‘How’d you get here, then?’

  ‘Got a lift.’

  ‘All the way to London? That’s some lift.’ Roger, who had been slow to notice how frazzled Fran was, now inspected her.

  She nodded.

  ‘Here.’ Roger took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handed it to her. ‘Get that down you.’

  Knowing it was the last thing she should be doing, Fran gulped down about half of it.

  ‘What’s the cheese like?’ Roger asked.

  ‘It’s heavenly, Rog, and I’m not exaggerating. I just hope nothing bad has happened to it on the journey.’

  He handed the case with the cheese in it to a passing waiter. ‘Take that into the kitchen and give it to André. Thanks, mate.’

  Fran watched Erica’s thermoses disappear along with the case and realised it was forever. She gulped, hoping the cheese really was as good as she thought it was.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she said, wondering if she’d ever find her way back to where Antony had stopped the car.

  ‘OK, well, thanks for doing this. You really did go the extra hundred miles or so.’

  Fran smiled. ‘Not quite that far. But I’ll leave you to it. It’s going to be a fantastic food festival.’ She looked around at the beautiful room, full of beautiful people, interspersed with TV cameras setting up. ‘On telly, too! I’m sure it’s going to be absolutely amazing!’ Then she was off.

  She dodged her way through the smartly dressed people who were arriving, recognising some famous faces from the food world, including Gideon Irving, the food critic. So her cheese really was going to be tasted by important people. It was very exciting!

  Antony’s car was parked on some double yellow lines, hazard lights flashing. Fran almost fell into the front seat.

  ‘I am so pleased to see you,’ she said. ‘I feel as if I’ve run a marathon!’ The champagne, although nice at the time, had been a mistake.

  ‘You have been through a lot,’ he said, moving off. ‘Can I suggest something?’

  ‘Please do. I have no decision-making ability at the moment. Currently I just wait for what life throws at me and then try to duck.’

  She caught his amused and possibly loving glance. ‘Then I’ll take you to my flat. We can order some lunch.’

  ‘I desperately need a shower …’ She really didn’t want to be taken to some swanky restaurant when she was in jeans she felt she’d worn for weeks and a top that wasn’t much fresher.

  ‘You can have one. Lunch will arrive in the flat.’

  ‘That would be lovely, I must say.’ So much had gone on just recently, not just in actuality, but emotionally. Standing under a stream of hot water instead of dodging about under the hand held one at the farm would be bliss.

  Antony might have Seb to drive him around most of the time but he still seemed very adept at getting around London, down the back streets used by professionals.

  They pulled up in front of a fairly modern-looking block right next to the Thames.

  ‘I bet you have amazing views,’ said Fran. She was so disorientated by everything that had happened to her recently, she had to resort to small talk.

  ‘We do. You’ll see in a minute.’

  A man in a uniform appeared at Antony’s open window and took the keys, presumably so he could take the car and park it.

  As her car door was opened by a similar man, Fran realised how different Antony’s life was to hers. Although she felt she knew him a lot better now, this did make her feel shy.

  She managed a tentative smile in the lift that shot up at an alarming rate. Antony smiled down at her. ‘Nearly there.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said when the doors opened on to a corridor. ‘I was rather hoping the lift would go straight into your flat.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint! But it’s not far.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she said when they were in. ‘I know I said you must have wonderful views but I didn’t know quite how wonderful!’

  The wall at the end was glass and the whole Thames and every landmark on it, from Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, the London Eye and in the distance the silver outline of the Shard, was laid out before her.

  ‘It’s why I chose this apartment. Now, let me show you where the shower is. Shall I order lunch? Is there anything you particularly fancy?’

  ‘You order. I’ll shower.’

  The bathroom was twice the size of her bedroom at Amy’s house and had enough towels to dry half a dozen people, it seemed. He had followed her into it. ‘I’ll turn it on for you. There. Take your time. And do use the shampoo and things.’

  Fran took a moment to check out the toiletries; they were extremely good quality.

  There’s very little as wonderful as hot water coursing over you when you’re very tired and feel sticky. She stayed in there longer than was necessary for cleanliness and washed her hair, mostly because she wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen next.

  Then she put on one of the bathrobes hung up behind the door and inspected her face. For some reason she was faintly surprised and a bit disappointed to see she had absolutely no make-up on at all. She hadn’t put any on that morning, nor since, but somehow she still expected to see remnants of mascara or a smudge of colour on her lips, but there was nothing. She needed her handbag.

  She opened the bathroom door a crack and couldn’t see Antony. Feeling ridiculous, she nipped out and into the sitting room where she’d left her bag. She ran back into the bathroom with it.

  She’d never been one for keeping an entire make-up kit in her bag – she didn’t wear it much anyway – but she needed something to soften the ‘just boiled’ look her shower and hairwashing had given her.

  Fortunately the wonderful toiletries in the bathroom included some sort of moisturiser and with the stub of kohl pencil and a dried-up mascara, she felt a bit better by the time she emerged again.

  Antony was in the hall. ‘Hi,’ he said. He must have been waiting for her. ‘I’ve ordered tapas. It should be here in a minute. I hope that’s all right?’

  ‘I love tapas!’

  ‘Good. I’m glad I haven’t made a mistake.’ Then he took hold of her wrist and put his hand on her cheek. ‘I hope this isn’t a mistake either but I don’t think I can put it off any longer.’

  His mouth on hers took her by surprise but she was more than ready to join in. She felt she had never been kissed so thoroughly or so skilfully before and it set her on fire. When the doorbell rang meaning the food had arrived and they had to stop it was like pulling magnets apart.

  Fran slipped into the bedroom to get out of the way. She trusted the food would either be taken into the kitchen or the sitting room. She didn’t want to be seen by anyone in her current state – not when it must be perfectly obvious what she and Antony had just been doing.

  She was looking at the view, trying to take it in, when Antony came to the door. ‘You can come out now.’

  Delicious aromas of spice led her to the sitting room.

  The coffee table in front of the sofa was set out with little dishes, some of which were still sizzling. A bottle of wine was open and there were a pile of proper napkins along with a couple of plates and knives and forks.

  ‘It smells really good,’ said Fran.

  ‘It will be good. Come and sit down.’ He picked up the bottle of wine and half filled a glass, which he handed to her. ‘Is there any reason why we should drive home today?’

  Fran considered all her responsibilities waiting for her at the farm, including Roy. ‘No.’

  He smiled, and poured wine into the second glass. ‘Now, what would you like?’ He had a plate in his hand and seemed to want to serve her.

  She couldn’t think
. She was so distracted by her need for Antony. She swallowed. ‘Any of it, except octopus. I’m not keen on octopus.’

  ‘Nor me,’ he said, ‘so there isn’t any.

  It would have been so restful, being served, she realised as she sat back in the corner of the extremely comfortable sofa, if she hadn’t been on fire for him.

  His every movement excited her. Seeing him put potatoes cooked with chorizo and paprika and tomatoes on to a plate with a little square of pork belly and some slices of ibérico ham seemed like the sexiest thing she had ever witnessed.

  She sipped her wine and looked at him. When he caught her eye she looked at her plate and nibbled roasted almonds.

  The food and wine were delicious but she couldn’t eat or drink much. Antony didn’t seem very hungry either.

  Eventually, he almost threw his plate down, wiped his mouth on his napkin and got up. He crossed to her and held out his hand. ‘I think it’s time I took you to bed.’

  Eventually, they were hungry again, and Antony fetched the leftover food. They ate it, cold and a little bit greasy, but it was still delicious. Not more delicious than what had gone on the previous hour, but still lovely.

  ‘I’ve gone and got patatas bravas on the sheets,’ said Fran.

  Antony sighed contentedly. ‘I couldn’t care less. Do you want some more wine?’

  ‘No thanks. I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Not enough of me, I hope?’

  ‘No,’ said Fran, reaching for him. ‘Never that.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fran was in the kitchen the next morning, wearing one of Antony’s shirts and nothing else, making sense of the coffee machine, when she heard her phone ting in the bedroom, indicating she had a text.

  When the coffee was doing what it was supposed to do she went into the bedroom to look at her phone.

  Antony was in the shower. She allowed herself a couple of seconds to wonder what might happen if she was still in the bedroom when he came out of it and decided to find out. But first, the text.