‘What’s this one?’ she asked as he handed her a bottle. She turned it around to look at the label but by now her eyes were telling her she needed glasses, which was funny because she’d never needed them before.
‘An Austrian blond beer with hints of raspberry,’ he said. ‘At least I think that’s what the menu said.’
‘How many’s that we’ve tried so far? I’ve lost count.’
‘Why are you keeping count?’
‘So I know when to stop.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he said with a grin. ‘Bottoms up!’ He tipped the bottle to his lips and drank. Hattie took a sip of her own.
‘It’s nice.’
‘It’s not bad,’ he agreed, looking at his bottle with approval.
This was the third tent they’d visited so far, all furnished with makeshift bars serving various imaginative brews. They’d yet to visit the food tent, which housed stalls of cheeses, cold meats, salads and sandwiches. There were smaller stalls dotted around the field between the tents, some slowly sinking into the mud of the field, offering barbequed meat, stone-baked pizzas and hot crêpes. But Hattie and Owen had yet to visit any of the snack vendors. Owen seemed intent on trying every single beer the place had to offer before he even considered food. Hattie, on the other hand, thought they’d better soon because if she didn’t get something to soak up all this alcohol she’d be face first in the mud and she wouldn’t be getting up again.
She couldn’t deny she was having a good time, though. It might have been the alcohol, but after the austere silence of Sweet Briar Farm, the noise and bustle of the crowd here was a welcome change.
‘I’m choosing the next beer,’ she said.
‘I thought you were going to let me pick for you. Don’t you trust me?’
Hattie wagged a finger at him. ‘No, I don’t.’
He gave a look of mock offence. ‘I asked you to trust me on the story and that turned out alright, didn’t it?’
‘Beer’s a very different matter,’ Hattie said. ‘But the story was good – I’ll give you that. A bunch of big fat lies but good lies.’
‘It wasn’t lies, it was creative writing. You know all those novels you like reading? They’re all lies too. It’s the same thing, only I start out with something that’s a bit true and make it sexier. Not that I have to make you any sexier, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ Hattie said, and she couldn’t tell if the heat in her face was from the drinking or his comment.
‘Anyway, it was a great story – my editor loved it.’
‘You can say it’s great but I can’t because I’m in it and that wouldn’t be very modest.’
‘I can say it because I wrote it and I don’t care about being modest.’
Hattie giggled. One thing she was learning about Owen was that there was no filter when it came to singing his own praises. It should have been a real turn-off but it wasn’t. She took another mouthful of beer. ‘I can taste the raspberries now.’
‘You look cute,’ he said.
‘Cute?’
‘All drunk and silly.’
‘I’m not drunk. And I’m silly all the time – I don’t need to be drunk for that.’
‘Kiss me.’
Hattie shook her head. ‘I’m not that easy.’
‘Bugger; I was hoping you would be. You do know the only reason I wrote that story was because I fancied you? I was all set to make some excuse to Lance and leave before you arrived but then you walked in and… well, I changed my mind.’
‘I’m sure Jo would be thrilled to hear that,’ Hattie said, but she was blushing again. She did want to kiss him – but she was trying very hard to keep some kind of respectable time limit on things. ‘She was annoyed that she didn’t get to see it before you printed it, you know.’
‘There was no time – I did warn you that would probably happen. We don’t usually let people see what’s going to print beforehand anyway, even when there is.’ He took another gulp of his beer. ‘I don’t know what she’s complaining about anyway – it’s done the job, hasn’t it?’
‘Sure. We’ve had more enquiries than we’ve ever had before.’
‘How many’s that?’
‘About ten.’
‘How many did you have before?’ he asked, laughing.
‘Zero.’
‘Well, ten’s not exactly going to fill Wembley Stadium but it’s ten better than zero.’
‘I suppose it will take time for people to find out about us and we’re a bit out of the way really. People don’t just pass by unless they’re planning to drive their car off the cliff.’ Hattie hiccoughed.
Owen looked thoughtful now as he tipped his bottle to his lips again. ‘Maybe we should follow up – it might help you to stick in people’s minds.’
‘Not more of that cutting-edge label business,’ Hattie said.
‘We could do something on your boss. She’s got to have some interesting backstory, right? Everyone’s got something if you dig deep enough.’
‘Spoken like a true journalist. Not that I know any other journalists…’
‘So, what do you think?’
‘No way. That would be the end of my plans for visitors if we so much as suggested it.’
‘That’s a real shame. It must be so frustrating that she’s so disengaged when you’re trying to help. You’ve got more patience than I have.’
‘It’s the animals I’m trying to help really. I mean, I want to help her but she doesn’t care about that – she hates everyone. But the animals…’ Hattie shrugged. ‘I just want to do something good.’
Owen smiled. ‘You really are the cutest thing…’
‘I know.’
‘So have you told her all this? How you feel? Your worries about what would happen to the donkeys if she went bankrupt?’
‘I can’t. For a start she doesn’t let me talk. She just walks off if I start to ask something serious. She doesn’t want to talk to me unless it’s my turn to do the washing-up. And I’m not supposed to know about the vet’s bill.’
‘Maybe she just chooses not to pay that? Maybe the money situation isn’t as bad as you think.’
Hattie shook her head. ‘I can just tell. I mean, have you seen the state of the farmhouse?’
He studied her for a moment. ‘I don’t understand why you stay.’
‘Honestly, sometimes neither do I. I feel like now I’ve thrown my lot in with her I have to stay. Plus, if I don’t my dad gets to tell me he was right and I was wrong and I can’t be having that.’
He laughed. ‘Now that’s a motivation I can understand.’
Hattie giggled. ‘Is your dad always lecturing you?’
‘He used to, but then I probably deserved it. He’s not so bad these days.’
‘My dad is. He’s always telling me I’m going to amount to nothing. But I think I might be getting to the point where it’s a bit too late to do anything about that now.’
‘Is that really what he thinks?’
‘It’s OK – I’m used to it.’
‘I don’t think you’re nothing,’ he said. ‘You’re cute as hell and a little bit crazy…’ He placed his bottle onto a nearby table and stepped closer. ‘But you know what?’ he added, his voice low and husky now. ‘I find you insanely attractive.’
Before she’d had time to react his lips were pressed onto hers. He tasted of hops or malt or whatever it was that beer was made of and her head swam with drunkenness and craving. She kissed him back, a swell of desire rushing through her.
‘Sorry,’ he said with a grin as his lips left hers. ‘Actually, who am I kidding? I’m not. I’ve been desperate to do that all afternoon.’
‘Hmm,’ was all Hattie could say in reply, still stunned by the kiss.
The sound of an electric guitar being tuned echoed across the grounds.
‘Still want to see that Queen tribute act?’ Owen asked, grabbing his beer again.
Hattie couldn’t care less about a tribute act, Queen or other
wise. All she wanted was to feel his lips on hers again.
‘Sounds like they’re setting up now,’ he added. He took her hand. ‘Let’s check them out and then we’d better feed you.’
‘I think you’d better had,’ Hattie agreed.
‘You’re hungry?’
‘Only for you.’
‘You’re drunk.’ He laughed. ‘Maybe we should feed you first after all.’
‘I’m not, but OK.’
He looked down at her and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m having a great time.’
‘Me too.’
‘I still can’t believe you said yes to me.’
‘Really?’
‘I don’t know… I thought you were out of my league.’
‘That’s mad!’ He’d seemed so confident, so assured that first day she’d met him it was hard to believe he’d harboured an ounce of uncertainty about anything. Maybe that Owen had all been an act. Maybe the real Owen was something very different. Right now, she wanted to find out the answer to that question more than anything.
‘Why is it mad?’ he asked. ‘You’re gorgeous.’
‘Now who’s drunk?’ Hattie giggled.
He took her into his arms and kissed her again, and for one spectacular moment the rest of the world ceased to exist.
‘Do you still think I’ve had too much to drink?’ he asked softly.
Hattie opened her eyes. She didn’t reply because she didn’t want to break the spell she was under. Instead, she reached to pull him back and this time she took the lead, kissing him the way he’d kissed her, trying to make him feel what she’d just felt. When she was done, it was his turn to sway on the spot, lost to all but passion.
‘Wow,’ he said finally. ‘Just… wow.’
Hattie looked into those hazel eyes as they smiled down at her and wished all the people around them would disappear so they could be alone.
‘You’re amazing,’ he said, pulling her close again.
‘I know,’ Hattie laughed.
‘And so modest.’
‘Well, I am an incredibly glamorous member of the Paris elite,’ she said with a giggle.
‘Hey, if it worked…’
‘Want to know what I think?’
‘What’s that?’
‘I think there’s two Owen Schusters. One is the spivvy reporter—’
‘Hey!’
‘And the other,’ Hattie laughed, ‘is a very sweet, very sexy, very handsome, total catch of the day.’
He moved in for another kiss. ‘You got me,’ he whispered. ‘Just don’t tell anyone; I’ve got a reputation to uphold.’
Chapter Eighteen
Hattie thought she might just be witnessing a miracle. Melinda was sitting across the table from her without a single small person hanging from one of her appendages. Stu had taken them all on a visit to his uncle in Weymouth where they planned to stay over. Poor uncle in Weymouth, Melinda had said, but it did mean that she got to have her first night off mothering duties in almost eight years. Hattie was thrilled that Melinda had chosen to spend those hard-earned hours with her.
On the table between them was a row of foil cartons containing the dishes they’d ordered from the curry house. They’d had to pay a small fortune for delivery from the next village but some sacrifices were worth making because these were the best curries in the south of England. At least, in Hattie’s humble opinion. Curry had barely reached Gillypuddle yet anyway – Hattie suspected that many of the residents of their village were still blissfully unaware that someone had once brought a thing called a potato back from foreign climes, let alone curry.
Melinda peeled the lid from her korma, while Hattie opened the vindaloo she’d gone for.
‘It’s a good job you’re not seeing Owen tonight,’ Melinda said with a sideways glance at the fiery concoction Hattie was spooning onto her plate.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to see him for a week after eating this.’
‘Let’s hope it’s worth it then.’
‘Oh, it will be.’
‘When are you seeing him next?’
‘I’m not sure. He’s got a lot on this week and he needed to be back in London so we didn’t really fix up a day.’
‘I don’t think I’d be happy with leaving things hanging like that.’
‘I think it’s just the way his job is.’
‘Other people must do that job and still manage to have a relationship.’
‘But they probably don’t live so far away from each other. This is practically a long-distance relationship.’
‘But you do want to see him again?’
‘God yes! We had a great time at the beer festival.’
‘I can imagine,’ Melinda said. ‘I can’t remember the last time I danced to a Queen tribute band in the pouring rain and ate dodgy hot dogs,’ she added dryly.
‘I’m not sure it’s a feature of that many first dates to be honest,’ Hattie agreed. ‘That’s why I liked it.’
‘So it’s no good me telling you that Seth Bryson is definitely single? I have it confirmed from the horse’s mouth.’
Hattie dipped a poppadum into her vindaloo and munched on it. ‘When did you talk to him?’
‘I didn’t; my mum did.’
‘So you didn’t have it from the horse’s mouth?’
‘Well, she had it from the horse’s mouth and then I had it from her horse’s mouth.’
Hattie swallowed her poppadum and grinned. ‘You go wrong without children around you. All your intelligence must go with them.’
‘I think Stu borrowed it to take them to his uncle’s – God knows he hasn’t got any of his own.’
‘Awww, poor Stu. You love him really.’
‘I must do. It’s weird; I am missing them all already.’
‘Well that doesn’t insult me at all.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Melinda laughed as she helped herself to some naan bread.
‘In that case, I suppose I’ll have to get you drunk to take your mind off it.’
‘I don’t really fancy a drink.’
‘What? You’ve got a whole night off and you don’t fancy a drink? What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing.’ Melinda put the lid back on her tub of leftover korma. Hattie studied her for a moment. And then she grinned.
‘No!’ she squealed. ‘You’re not…?’
‘Maybe,’ Melinda said, looking about as sheepish as it was possible to look.
‘Oh my God!’
‘It’s no big deal.’
‘No big deal? Baby number five and it’s no big deal?’ Hattie slapped her hands on the table in excitement. ‘How far along?’
‘About four weeks.’
‘I bet Stu’s thrilled.’ Hattie paused. ‘Or is he?’
‘He’ll be fine when I tell him,’ Melinda said. ‘It’s not like we haven’t done it before.’
‘You haven’t told him yet?’
‘I only did the test this morning and I just haven’t had the chance to sit him down.’
‘Wow; I don’t know whether to feel guilty or honoured that I know this before the daddy does. Are you happy?’
‘Of course I am. But it starts to get a bit routine after number three.’
‘It was planned?’
‘About as planned as any of them.’
‘Well, congratulations. What would you prefer? Boy or girl?’
‘I don’t mind.’
Hattie smiled. ‘I’m chuffed for you.’
‘That’s all very boring now. Nobody else will be a bit shocked or pleased when I announce this one. Tell me about your date instead.’
Hattie gave a vague shrug, trying to play it cool, though the memory of Owen’s lips still lay on hers. ‘It was good.’
‘That means you’re almost definitely in love.’
‘God no!’ Hattie laughed. ‘The man’s trouble – you can smell it a mile away!’
Melinda raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t forget that I know you better than a
nyone. Trouble is your favourite flavour of man.’
‘Not since I grew up,’ Hattie said. ‘I remember now that the trouble flavour of man is what landed me in Paris in a right mess.’
‘But that did end well eventually.’
‘Sort of. For a while. Until I almost burned half of Paris down.’
‘Well I think you should keep this one for a while. If only because he writes such great stories about you.’
‘You’ve read it?’
‘Are you kidding? I’ve cut it out to keep!’ Melinda got up from table and dashed into the living room. A moment later she came back and smoothed the newspaper cutting out on the table.
FROM THE HIGH LIFE TO THE COUNTRY LIFE
Beneath the headline was a photo of Hattie looking windswept as she stood, grinning, next to Norbert. The body of the article went on to give a highly embellished and imaginative account of Hattie’s time in Paris and how she came to be at Sweet Briar Farm.
‘Honestly,’ Melinda said as she reread the article, ‘I had no idea my friend had been keeping her celebrity lifestyle a secret from me all this time.’
‘Very funny. I did tell you it was a bit…’
‘Dodgy?’
‘Exaggerated. But if it works…’ Hattie shrugged. ‘It’ll all be forgotten in a week and I doubt anyone’s bothered to read it anyway apart from us.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Melinda said. ‘Haven’t you been down to the Willow Tree recently?’
Hattie’s face showed the merest hint of alarm. ‘Not since I was in there with Owen…’ she replied slowly. ‘Why?’
‘Let’s just say you’ve been discussed in there. At some length.’
Hattie held in a groan. For some reason she hadn’t really considered the people of Gillypuddle reading Owen’s story. Most of them hardly took any notice of any news outside the village. Now she thought about it, though, it was obvious that Lance would be drawing people’s attention to it. Did that mean her mum and dad had seen it too? She hadn’t heard from them in a couple of days – not since the edition had gone out – and the Daily Voice was about as far from their sort of paper as you could get anyway; with a bit of luck, perhaps they hadn’t. She wasn’t sure what their reaction might be if they did. As long as they didn’t venture into the Willow Tree until the story blew over, perhaps she’d get away with it.
Hattie's Home for Broken Hearts: A heartwarming laugh out loud romantic comedy Page 16
