Just then, Jo’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs.
‘Dinner’s ready!’
Hattie closed the wardrobe again. Decoding Lance’s dress instructions would just have to wait.
She arrived at the Willow Tree as promised the next day at noon. She’d deliberated over her outfit for far too long the previous evening and, in the end, had thrown her hands into the air and decided that the first decent thing that her hand settled on in the morning was going to be what she wore. It turned out to be a fitted woollen top that she’d teamed with a short flared skirt and ankle boots. She didn’t know if that was the sort of nice Lance was talking about but she was happy with her non-choice. As she walked into the café, Lance came bounding over.
‘You managed to escape from Alcatraz then?’
Hattie’s forehead crinkled into a vague frown. ‘Perhaps you ought to stop it with the prison jokes now?’
Lance waved an airy hand. ‘Oh, come on – you do think they’re a bit funny.’
‘I do,’ Hattie said, ‘but I wish I didn’t and I don’t like that I find them funny.’
Lance put an arm around her. ‘I don’t mean any harm, my love – you know that.’
‘I suppose so,’ Hattie said with a smile.
‘If it makes you feel better you can poke fun at my pot belly and I won’t mind a bit. It might even up the score – you know?’
Hattie’s smile grew, despite herself. ‘You don’t even have a pot belly.’
‘I wish,’ Lance said. ‘I used to have a six-pack before I started to run this place. Now it’s more like a beer keg – all that leftover cake, you see.’
‘Oh dear.’ Hattie’s gaze skimmed the café. Around half the tables had customers sitting at them. A few she recognised as locals, including Rupert, who was tucking into a toasted sandwich, and she’d have to try and grab a quick word with them if she could before she went back up to the farm. The air of the café was warm and sweet with the scent of sugar and cinnamon; the sun filtered through delicate net curtains at the window. There was no sign of Phyllis today – perhaps that was why Lance looked so much more relaxed than the last time she’d seen him.
‘So where’s this mystery guest?’ she asked. ‘You have no idea how much persuading it took for Jo to let me come down here today and I’ve had to promise to run anything by her if it concerns Sweet Briar. So it had better be worth the effort.’
‘Oh, it will be,’ Lance said. ‘And I’m glad to see you’ve scrubbed up – you’ll be glad you did too.’
‘Will I? And it’s definitely not the Duke of Sussex I’m meeting?’
‘Come on,’ Lance said with a grin as he grabbed Hattie by the hand and led her to a table by the window. Mark was sitting there with a man who was in his mid to late twenties. The man had shoulder-length hair the colour of ripe wheat, a good physique (from what Hattie could see) and he wore a powder-blue shirt – sleeves rolled up to the elbow – and a loose navy tie at his neck.
‘Hattie!’ Mark got up and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. ‘You escaped Medusa’s clutches! You must tell us all about this valiant undertaking!’
Hattie rolled her eyes but she was smiling. ‘Not you as well.’ There was no real harm in Lance and Mark’s banter and, though she’d told Lance off earlier, even Hattie had to admit that Jo wasn’t exactly doing much to combat this type of attitude towards her. Then again, if she knew what people said about her, she probably wouldn’t care anyway.
Mark gestured to the man at the table, who got up and offered his hand for Hattie to shake.
‘You’re the girl I’ve been hearing so much about,’ he said as Hattie took it. His hand was warm and soft, but he had a firm and confident grip. And now that she could see him more closely, he also had the most incredible hazel eyes. It took her a second to realise that she was staring into them and she quickly tore her gaze away.
‘Should I be worried that you’ve been hearing so much about me?’ she asked with a half laugh.
‘Not at all,’ Lance answered for him. ‘Owen is my second cousin – Mum’s side. You’re the perfect excuse to get him to come and visit because he never does.’
Owen looked apologetic but he was grinning.
‘How’s that?’ Hattie asked.
‘Because I also happen to work for the Daily Voice,’ Owen said.
‘You do?’ Hattie turned to Lance. ‘You never told me you had Fleet Street connections.’
‘I’m telling you now,’ Lance said. ‘I thought maybe you and Owen could help each other.’
Owen reached for a business card from his shirt pocket and presented it to Hattie with a little flourish.
‘Owen Schuster,’ she read. She looked up. ‘What’s a features writer?’
‘Otherwise known as a common or garden journalist,’ he replied. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’
‘Tea would be nice,’ Hattie said.
‘I’ll bring a pot,’ Lance said. ‘I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need one or two top-ups before the afternoon is out.’
‘I’ve got things to be getting on with too,’ Mark said. ‘I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted.’
Hattie tried not to notice that something in Mark’s statement was a little suspect. Acquainted? For what?
Owen gestured for Hattie to take a seat at his table as Lance and Mark both left them alone. ‘So, Lance tells me you work at a donkey rescue centre.’
‘Yes.’
‘That sounds cool.’
‘Does it? I’m sure it’s not as cool as you think.’
‘It’s an unusual job.’
Hattie gave a vague smile, the gears of her brain slowly cranking into action. This had to be about the publicity for Sweet Briar, but surely a national newspaper like the Daily Voice wasn’t interested? It was essentially a local-interest story at best – a non-story at worst. If the editor of the Gillypuddle Newsletter had been interested, maybe that would make a lot more sense. But for the Daily Voice, there had to be more interesting things going on in the world.
‘Lance tells me you gave up a career in the Paris fashion industry to come and pursue the dream of rescuing defenceless animals to save them from the cruel lives they had before.’
Hattie bit back a laugh. His sentence sounded like it had been lifted straight out of one of his stories.
‘Well,’ she began, trying to smooth her features into something sensible, ‘I’d left Paris anyway so—’
‘But you do rescue donkeys?’
‘Jo does. I just help really.’
‘Who’s Jo?’
‘The woman who owns the farm.’
‘Is that Medusa?’
Hattie nodded. Lance really needed to stop calling her that, though.
‘And has she sacrificed a glamorous career to save donkeys?’ he continued.
‘I don’t know – I’ve never really asked. She’s not what you’d call open about her past. In fact, she’s not open about very much at all.’
‘Aren’t you curious?’
‘Sometimes,’ Hattie admitted.
‘Then why don’t you ask?’
‘I just don’t feel as if I ought to. She’s very private.’
Owen produced a tablet from a case on the table and swiped to unlock it. He started to type on the notes screen. ‘I need an angle,’ he said.
‘Angle?’
‘So I can feature your farm. Lance says you’re trying to get people to come and visit.’
‘Well, yes…’
‘And you’re potentially looking for sponsorship. How about local businesses – have you tried them?’
‘No, I hadn’t thought of that but that’s a good idea—’
‘We could certainly look at highlighting that.’
‘You really want to put us in the paper?’
‘I’m short of a story but to be frank, Hattie, no one cares about some nobody saving donkeys. There are people all over the country saving dogs and cats and donkeys and whatever and n
obody cares. But people would care if you made it interesting. They’d care about someone who, for instance, gave up a glamorous life in Paris and money and fame to rescue donkeys.’
‘But I wasn’t famous and I didn’t have any—’
‘Let me worry about all that. If you want people to be interested and you want them to choose your farm over all the other attractions in the area then you’ve got to get a little creative.’
‘But we’re not really trying to compete with other attractions – we just need to get some money for the upkeep of the animals.’
‘You’ve got more than just donkeys?’
‘Jo rescued some hens that were destined for dog food.’
‘Brilliant! See – already you’re thinking like a journalist. Were the donkeys heading for the dog-food factory too?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Could we say that they were?’
‘I don’t think Jo would like that.’
Owen was thoughtful for a moment, subtle calculations going on behind those brilliant hazel eyes. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Tell me about Paris. What’s the journey? How did you end up there?’
Hattie shrugged. ‘I just sort of went there.’
Owen leaned closer. ‘But what took you? A burning ambition? An urge to follow your dreams? Had you always aspired to a life of wealth and fame?’
‘I wasn’t wealthy and I certainly wasn’t famous. I sort of went with someone to visit and didn’t come home. And then I sort of ended up with a job.’
‘So how did that happen?’
‘I was introduced to someone who needed help.’
‘I’m going to need a bit more than that. Don’t you want to tell me?’
‘It’s not that; it’s just…’
‘Someone broke your heart?’ he asked with a look that was worryingly hopeful. ‘Is there a tragic backstory here?’
‘No,’ Hattie said and she had to laugh. The idea of her life being like some glamorous soap opera was faintly ridiculous. Besides, she’d only just met Owen and she wasn’t about to tell him all her darkest secrets. The last thing she wanted was her stupidity over Bertrand to be splashed all over the pages of a daily paper. ‘This man offered me a job working for his design house and I took it. There was nothing more to it than that, I’m afraid.’
‘Can I take your photo?’ he asked.
‘Sure… for the paper? Wouldn’t it be better to get photos of the donkeys?’
‘Yes, of course. But I want one of you too.’ He winked. ‘Maybe I won’t delete this one from the camera roll when I’ve sent it to press, though.’
Hattie gave a self-conscious smile. Was he coming on to her? If he was he didn’t mess about. He lifted the tablet and snapped a few shots of her.
‘So what did you actually do in Paris?’ he asked, putting the tablet back on the table.
‘I was just a gofer really. I fetched and carried and ran errands. My background isn’t in fashion at all. I was learning the trade though – at least, I was trying to. Just before I left I was getting much more involved in producing his shows.’
‘Were you working for someone famous?’
‘I wouldn’t say he’s exactly famous, but he does have very loyal clients.’
‘I’ll put junior partner at cutting-edge design house,’ Owen muttered to himself as he typed, seeming to forget for a moment that Hattie could hear him.
‘But I wasn’t any of that,’ Hattie protested. ‘I was just a dogsbody. You won’t make me sound like I’m something I’m not, will you?’
‘Of course I won’t. Tell me more about Paris. Who did you meet? Did your label dress any big stars?’
‘Not really. Don’t you want to hear about what we’re doing with the donkeys?’
‘All in good time. I want background first – got to have a bit of context.’
‘Right. Well, I suppose we did have a few minor celebrities as clients, some musicians, that sort of thing.’
Owen started to type again. ‘Rock stars and A-listers,’ he said, looking at his screen.
‘Seriously,’ Hattie said, ‘it’s not like that at all.’
Owen looked up and smiled. His eyes really were… well, the only word Hattie could think of was beguiling. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘You do trust me – don’t you? I guarantee when this story goes to print you’ll have visitors knocking down the doors to get in, but you’ve got to give people a bit of drama, fire their imaginations.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’m good at this. I promise I won’t write anything that really upsets you.’
‘Will I get to read it before it goes in the paper?’
‘Generally we don’t do that – tight turnaround times, you see.’
‘Oh. Well, even if I don’t mind what’s in there, I’m a bit worried that Jo might not like it. I mean, I understand we have to have drama but…’
‘I’m sure she’ll see the benefits of running the story when your fortunes change. Anyway,’ he continued, ‘Lance tells me you’re happy to be the face of…’ He paused.
‘Sweet Briar Farm,’ Hattie reminded him.
‘Right – Sweet Briar. So if you’re happy then, I’ll just feature you and your boss needn’t worry. If she hates being in the spotlight then we can leave her out of it.’ He looked at his tablet again, swiping to change the screen to a row of photos. Hattie recognised them as the ones he’d just taken of her. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘our readers are going to love you.’
Hattie smoothed a self-conscious hand over her hair and gave a little laugh. Owen was definitely flirting. She felt she ought to be annoyed about this but she couldn’t deny that she was flattered instead; he was good-looking and very charming. She looked up at the sound of a throat being cleared to see Lance standing at the table with a large teapot and cups on a tray. And was that a grin she could see him trying to hide?
‘Please tell me he’s behaving,’ he said, putting the teapot on the table between Owen and Hattie. ‘I’m sure you’ve already worked out that this one’s a bit of a ladies’ man.’
‘Yes,’ Hattie said, busying herself with pouring some tea in the hope that Lance might not notice her blushing.
‘You flatter me with a bad-boy reputation that I want but totally don’t deserve,’ Owen said with a laugh. Hattie looked up and Owen winked at her again, addressing Lance while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on her. ‘We’re just trying to create an interesting backstory for you – aren’t we?’
Hattie nodded uncertainly.
‘And I was just getting somewhere,’ Owen continued. ‘So you can push off, Lance, and stop trying to interrupt the flow of my mojo. Genius doesn’t come easy, you know – you can’t turn it on and off like a tap.’
‘Is that right?’ Lance grinned. ‘You don’t change, do you? Always were a precocious little bugger.’
‘Just telling it like it is.’
Lance fired a look of mock pity at Hattie. ‘I’m so sorry to have subjected you to him. Can you ever forgive me?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Hattie said. She gave Owen a grateful smile. ‘I’m sure it is a good idea to make the story sound as interesting as we can.’
She wasn’t entirely sure this was true, but for now she’d have to indulge Owen’s request to trust him. If it helped to get people and – perhaps more importantly – their wallets up to Sweet Briar, then it had to be worth a go, didn’t it?
The interview had gone on for over an hour. Hattie hadn’t planned on being out for so long and she still had to allow time to get back to the farm on top of that. Jo wasn’t going to be very happy, even when Hattie explained why she’d been missing. In fact, explaining why she’d been gone for so much longer than she was meant to be would probably make Jo even more annoyed.
The teapot was empty now and Owen was packing his tablet away.
‘It’s been really great to talk to you,’ he said.
Hattie drank the last of her tea and placed the cup back in the saucer. ‘I appreciate yo
u coming all this way to see me.’
Owen leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Can I let you in on a secret?’
‘What?’ Hattie asked, unconsciously lowering her voice to match.
‘I did sort of fancy a day by the seaside so it was no hardship. I’ve got to give my editor some excuse for my petrol expenses.’
Hattie laughed. ‘Well, I’m glad I could be of assistance then.’
‘Besides,’ Owen continued, ‘it’s been good to catch up with Lance. I bet it’s a good twelve months since we saw each other.’
‘You’re not that close then?’
‘We were once but it’s harder to keep in touch these days. Busy lives, you know? I’ll bet none of us spends as much time with family as we’d like to.’
‘That’s true. Are you going back to London now?’
‘I thought I might go and dip my feet in the sea first. It’s a shame to come all this way and not get a little sand between my toes.’
‘That sounds like a nice way to finish a day at work. I wish I could come.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘Jo’ll be expecting me back. I’ll have to run the four-minute mile as it is to avoid a roasting, without going for a paddle first.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, I have to wonder why you bother. From what everyone here tells me, this Jo is hardly the most pleasant company and I can’t imagine she’s much of a boss.’
‘She’s not as bad as everyone thinks – you just have to get used to her.’
Owen paused for a moment. ‘I suppose I’d better get that photo of your donkeys. It’d be better if I took one of you with them if we’re going to do it properly. Do you think you could take me up there?’
‘Won’t the one on our website be OK?’
‘Not professional enough, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh. Well, if we’re quick I think it would be OK,’ Hattie said, though she couldn’t say she was sure about that.
‘I could drive us up – how’s that? I could get you back quicker that way too.’
‘Sounds good.’
Lance came over to clear their table and Hattie leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Lance; I owe you big time.’
Hattie's Home for Broken Hearts: A heartwarming laugh out loud romantic comedy Page 14
