‘I can resist anything except temptation.’
He met Caroline’s gaze steadily as she took her seat opposite him. She raised her glass to him over the table with a wicked grin. Mickey turned pointedly and caressed Lucy’s leg under the table. She looked at him, a little surprised. He’d been wary of real physical contact lately, being self-conscious about his lack of performance. Mickey smiled, satisfied that everything was still in full working order – it hadn’t just been a fluke out there in the scullery. Though he supposed he still had to put it to the test. He couldn’t wait until everyone had gone so he could take Lucy upstairs, check things out…
Caroline took a tiny sip of her red wine. She was glad Mickey hadn’t made a pass at her. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d have done if he had. But it hadn’t come to that. He’d obviously learned his lesson.
She thought about her honeymoon. It had been an exquisite two weeks. James, of course, had been in seventh heaven, surrounded by so many treasures, and had bounded from church to gallery utterly enchanted with his surroundings. Caroline at first had found it boring – one painting looked much like the next to her – but slowly, under his expert tuition, she’d allowed herself to open up to new experiences and begun to appreciate a little of the treasures he was revelling in, even if deep down she had to admit she’d rather be shopping. But overall the warmth of the Tuscan sun and the rustic simplicity of the food and wine had been an assault on all her senses, and the intensity of their love-making had increased as the holiday went on. They’d been reluctant to leave their honeymoon suite on the last day, lingering in bed until the very last minute, so that they’d had barely any time to rush round Florence buying souvenirs.
And she suspected they’d brought back another souvenir, though she wasn’t going to share that with anyone yet, just in case. But, she thought, if it was a girl, they could call her Siena.
Lucy had taken the pudding plates out to the kitchen and was in the pantry unwrapping the cheese from its waxed paper when she sensed a presence behind her. She turned to find James. He was smiling, tanned and handsome.
‘I brought you a present.’
‘You shouldn’t have.’
Lucy wiped her hands on her apron and reached out to take a little package from him, wrapped up in white tissue paper and tied with a piece of ribbon stuck with blood-red sealing wax.
It was a tiny, impressionistic sketch of a horse rearing, done in terracotta chalks and framed in a heavy, Venetian frame. Lucy knew it wasn’t from a museum gift shop, that this was the real thing, and that it had probably cost more than the whole honeymoon put together. It was exquisite. She couldn’t have chosen better herself.
‘Thank you,’ she breathed. ‘But why?’
‘You deserve it,’ answered James simply. ‘You’ve been through a lot.’
Lucy shrugged almost dismissively.
‘We all have.’
‘And it’s just to remind you’, he went on, ‘that I’ll always be here for you.’
Lucy swallowed, not sure whether he meant that he’d always be a shoulder to cry on, or something more. She chose to interpret it as the former. It made life simpler, somehow.
‘It’s beautiful.’ She leaned forward to kiss him her thanks. As his head came forward to meet hers, she caught the familiar scent of bergamot. She hadn’t smelled it for over a fortnight.
Approaching footsteps made her turn. It was Patrick. For a fleeting moment, Lucy wondered if she should hide James’s gift, cover it with the tissue it had been wrapped in, but surely she had no need to feel guilty.
‘Look what James brought me back. From Tuscany.’
Patrick admired the little picture politely, but was more interested in where the cheese had got to. Lucy retrieved the rest of it from the shelf where it was breathing, safely out of Pokey’s reach (she had a taste for Stilton) and handed the plate to Patrick. The two men went to rejoin the table. Before she followed them, Lucy tucked the picture into a kitchen drawer. She wasn’t sure if James and Caroline had brought presents back for anyone else and she wasn’t one to crow.
At the table, James cut himself a generous slice of Brie.
‘By the way, there’s a country house sale down near Bath on Tuesday. I thought I’d better start stocking up for the summer trade. Does anyone fancy joining me?’
Caroline shook her head.
‘I’d love to, but there’s piles to do at the brewery. I’ve got people coming for interviews, you name it…’ Not to mention an appointment with the doctor.
‘It promises to be a good one. These sales are getting few and far between these days.’ James’s tone was persuasive. Lucy looked at Mickey.
‘Shall we go? We could do with a couple of new dining chairs. Especially as this family seems to keep getting bigger and bigger.’
Mickey shook his head.
‘I’ve got a hectic week myself. Keith and I are hoping to finalize all the paperwork to do with the brewery this week. Why don’t you go?’
Patrick chipped in.
‘Yeah – you could see if there’s anything we could use for the pubs. We’ve got big refurbishment plans. Stuffed moose heads, suits of armour – you know the sort of thing…’
Lucy grinned.
‘I wouldn’t be seen dead bidding for a moose head, thank you very much.’ Lucy turned to James. ‘But I’ll come along for the ride, if you like.’
‘I’ve got a copy of the catalogue. I’ll drop it over tomorrow.’
It seemed it was agreed. Lucy hesitated, momentarily, not sure what everyone would think. No one seemed to bat an eyelid, however. To her, it was proof that the hideous events of the last few months were water under the bridge and she sat down with a sigh of relief. It was almost as if none of it had ever happened.
Mickey smiled to himself as he looked round the table at his family, talking and laughing, and marvelled at the way things had turned out. It could have been so different. Everything had teetered on the brink for a moment there: the brewery could have gone down the pan, his marriage could have collapsed… Christ, he’d nearly died, hadn’t he? But somehow, miraculously, things had turned themselves round and everyone was happy.
He looked round at his family. Sophie was positively glowing. She’d lost that awful hollowness around the eyes and was putting a bit of weight back on, enough to make her look healthy again but not throw her into a panic about being fat. Patrick was relaxed, happy, confident – Mickey was proud of the maturity he’d shown over the past few weeks. Keith had praised him for his hard work, and he seemed to be thriving on the challenge. James and Caroline were basking in the aftermath of their honeymoon, quite obviously as happy as pigs in the proverbial. And Lucy – Mickey watched her as she handed round the Bath Olivers. She’d got back her old sparkle at last, thank goodness. He’d never have forgiven himself for extinguishing that. But she was herself again, laughing at something someone was saying, the strain of the last few months dissipating before his very eyes.
And Mickey himself was feeling better for the first time in weeks. The black glooms that had been descending upon him seemed to be getting fewer and fewer, he was in less pain and was actually managing without painkillers – just a couple to help him sleep at night. He felt hope rising in his chest, a green shoot as optimistic as the crocuses that were nudging up through the earth outside the window.
Mickey reached out and slid a bottle of Chablis towards him. He studied the familiar label, looked at the greeny-gold liquid in the bottle and imagined its flinty dryness, not to mention the welcome relief it would bring, the feeling that every responsibility was falling away from his shoulders. He wondered if anyone would notice if he sloshed a couple of inches into his glass – surely they were all too well-oiled to see or care? It would be the first drink he’d had for months. He tried to ignore the consultant’s warning tones. He’d only have a taste, he argued to himself. He wasn’t going to get drunk; merely propose a little toast. It was a celebration after all: everything was
going to be all right…
He poured a good couple of inches into the glass nearest to him and tapped it with his fork to get everyone’s attention. Chatter stopped and faces turned to him, surprised. He cleared his throat, slightly self-conscious. He wasn’t usually given to displays of sentimentality.
‘We’re all back here together again and I just wanted to propose a toast. I wasn’t sure who to, or what to – there are so many choices. James and Caroline, of course. But also to Keith, who has brought so many possibilities to the future of Honeycote Ales. Then there’s Patrick, who’s done so much to help me while I’ve been recuperating… the list goes ever on, so I thought I’d just make it a simple one.’
He put two fingers either side of the stem of the glass, as if to lift it, then slid it over towards Lucy. She took it from him, smiling her thanks, and he raised his tumbler of Malvern water in a toast.
‘To everyone here round this table. To us.’
James caught Lucy’s eye as she raised her glass. To her amazement, he gave her an almost imperceptible, but definitely conspiratorial, wink. She felt a sudden fizz of excitement, like champagne bubbles escaping over the edge of a glass. Confused, she looked away, sought Mickey’s warm, proud gaze and smiled as she joined in the toast.
‘To us.’
Table of Contents
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Honeycote
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
Honeycote Page 40
