‘And where was that?’
He looked at her and grinned roguishly. ‘Well, seeing as we’re up here, I’ll show you.’
‘I wonder whether she remembers you.’
‘I doubt it. I was a pretty uninspiring youth!’
‘I somehow doubt that.’
He laughed. ‘You’re just being nice, Daisy Fane.’
They wandered slowly around the edge of the wood for it was too dark to venture through the trees. After a while they came to a bench set back from the track and sat down. From there they had a magnificent view of undulating hills of farmland as far as the eye could see. It glowed magically in the watery light of the moon. ‘When Dad inherited the estate he put this bench here because of the view. It was his favourite place on the farm. He used to stop and sit here every time he passed it, just to savour the sight.’ Taran sighed deeply, pausing a moment as if seeing it differently now. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ he added wistfully.
‘You’re so lucky, Taran,’ said Daisy with feeling. ‘All this is yours. All this beauty. You can walk for miles and miles and not meet a soul. It’s for you and you alone. And it’s here whenever you want it. Do you know how lucky you are?’
Taran leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his chin. ‘I’ve never thought of it like that. I suppose I’ve always taken it for granted.’
‘That’s natural. We don’t often realize what we have until we lose it.’
At that Taran put his head in his hands. Daisy let her gaze rest on the view, captivated by the curving contours of the hills, stacked one behind the other in diminishing shades of night, and embellished with inky blue trees and tidy hedges. Taran remained with his head in his hands for a long while. At first Daisy thought nothing of it, she guessed he was perhaps trying to sober up, but after a while she noticed his shoulders were shuddering. She realized then that he was crying. She put a hand on his back and leaned forward to see his face, horrified that she had been blithely enjoying the view while he was quietly sobbing his heart out on his own. ‘Oh Taran. I’ve been chattering away here without any consideration for your loss. I’m so sorry. I should have been more tactful.’
He collected himself, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and sitting up. He heaved a sigh. ‘I never appreciated Dad and now he’s gone . . .’ Daisy didn’t know how to reply to that. There were no words that would bring Sir Owen back. She tried to remember what her grandfather would have said, but she didn’t think it was the moment to tell him that his father would always be with him in spirit. That seemed such a cliché, a con, and she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it. ‘We had our differences, he and I, but I loved him,’ Taran continued. ‘Now it’s too late to tell him.’ He stared over the hills and the tears that came again were left to fall in rivulets down his cheeks. ‘I wish I hadn’t been so proud.’
‘I’m sure he knew you loved him,’ said Daisy, wanting so badly to comfort him but not knowing how. She was appalled that she had written him off as being cold and unfeeling. ‘From what I understand, your father was a deeply generous man.’
‘Everyone loved him. He gave people his time and made them feel important. He was a legend, a big man in every way.’
‘You’re right,’ Daisy agreed. ‘He was noble in the true sense of the word.’
‘He was a better man than I am, Daisy.’ Taran’s mouth twisted as he struggled to control his bitterness.
‘That’s not true. Just because you’re different doesn’t mean you’re less.’
‘His farm meant everything to him. Everything. He bought land to expand it and spent all his time in the woods, coppicing, and walking the dogs around the fields. I get it, you know, I do. He loved the land. He loved his home. He wanted me to take it on after he died, but I didn’t expect him to die so soon. I’m not ready.’
‘He wanted you to love what he loved because he wanted to share it with you. You were his only child. It was a life that suited him and made him happy. I’m sure he probably thought it would make you happy too. Ultimately, I suspect he only wanted you to be happy.’
‘But I’m not a farmer, Daisy. I never wanted to be and I don’t want to be now. I don’t know the first thing about running an estate. I’m sure I’d be useless.’
‘Your estate manager would tell you what to do. I can’t imagine it’s that difficult, with the right help. You’re capable of more than you realize. We all are.’
They sat in silence for a long while as he thought about what she had said. Until they began to grow cold waiting for the dawn that was yet to come. ‘You know, this is where I kissed that girl,’ Taran said at last, a small smile creeping across his face.
Daisy laughed. ‘It’s a very romantic place. I can see why you chose it.’
He turned and looked at her, his green eyes damp and shiny and gazing at her with gratitude. ‘You’re very kind,’ he said softly.
Daisy felt the air around her still. He had a tender look on his face. His smile was no longer dashing but vulnerable. ‘Thank you for listening.’
‘I’m glad you felt you could talk to me.’
‘I can talk to you.’ He frowned and studied her face, as if seeing it anew. ‘I didn’t realize I could until tonight.’
Daisy realized then that he was going to kiss her. She’d seen that look before. She’d felt the air still around her like this and the change in energy that occurs when two people suddenly connect. She knew she had sobered up, but she wasn’t sure Taran had. Of course she found him attractive. She wasn’t sure, however, that he really found her so. She couldn’t be sure she wasn’t just a sympathetic friend on a bench where he had once kissed someone.
She stood up and put out her hand. ‘Come on, Taran. Let’s get you home.’
He looked up in puzzlement, unable to conceal the disappointment in his eyes. The whiskies had certainly melted his inhibitions. He grinned at her, as if sizing her up and trying to work out what game she was playing. As if he couldn’t believe that she had rebuffed him. Daisy sensed he was about to say something. But he must have thought better of it for he resignedly put his hand in hers and got to his feet. But when Daisy tried to take back her hand, he didn’t let her. They headed off in the direction of the village. Daisy tried to convince herself that it didn’t feel unnatural to walk hand in hand with someone she barely knew.
‘I’m not drunk,’ he said after a while, attempting to hide the unsteadiness in his gait.
‘I know that.’
‘A little light-headed, perhaps. But in a good way.’
‘Me too,’ she replied.
‘Do you mind me holding your hand?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Good.’
‘Are you in a relationship, Taran?’ she asked suddenly, aware that such a question might ruin the moment, but conscious that an attractive man like him was likely to have a girlfriend.
He hesitated, slowing his pace. ‘Kind of,’ he replied uncertainly.
Daisy was surprised by how much his answer stung. ‘What does “kind of ”’ mean?’
‘It means I’m in a relationship I’m not entirely committed to.’
‘Ah.’
‘It sounds callous, but it’s isn’t. We’ve been together, on and off, for about two years. We don’t live together or anything. She’s more like a friend with benefits, if you know what I mean. I’m fond of her, she’s a fun-time girl, but it’s not going to go anywhere.’
His explanation did not make her feel any better. It made him sound cold-hearted and she didn’t want to think of him like that. ‘Does she know it’s not going to go anywhere?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. We just kind of get together every now and then.’
Daisy let go of his hand. ‘You should tell her. It’s not fair to keep a girl hanging on, hoping for a future when there isn’t one.’ She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive.
‘Is that what your Italian did to you?’
She nodd
ed. ‘Kind of.’
Taran put his hands in his pockets. They walked on in silence.
When they reached Daisy’s house, they lingered outside the front door awkwardly, not sure how to say goodbye, and not wanting to. ‘I leave tomorrow,’ he said, a little sadly.
‘I’ll take care of your mother, don’t worry.’
‘I know you will.’ He gave her a long look, as if he didn’t want the night to end. As if he feared that dawn would steal the brief magic they had enjoyed up there on the bench. ‘You’re a special girl, Daisy Fane.’
She shrugged. ‘I can’t turn my back on a person in need.’
‘I realize that.’ He grinned provocatively. ‘Is that what I am to you, too? A person in need?’
‘You’re a friend,’ she replied carefully. ‘An unlikely friend.’
‘Unlikely? I’m not sure I agree with that.’ He bent towards her and kissed her on the cheek, lingering there a little longer than was necessary. ‘Goodbye, unlikely friend.’
She smiled. ‘Have a safe flight.’
He straightened up and stretched. ‘I think I’ll sleep the whole way.’
‘Better if you do.’ She frowned. ‘Are you sober enough to drive?’
‘No, I’ll leave the car at the pub and walk. The exercise will clear my head. Though I’d rather walk with you.’
She went to the front door and unlocked it, turning to bid him farewell. ‘Night, Taran.’ Then the dejected look on his face prompted her to add, ‘I had a good time tonight.’
‘Me too,’ he agreed. ‘Night, Daisy.’
And he watched her disappear inside.
When Daisy’s head touched the pillow, Suze raised hers. ‘Hey, you’ve been out all night! What have you been up to?’
‘We went for a walk.’
‘In the middle of the night?’
‘It was so beautiful. I couldn’t resist.’
‘You were drunk!’
‘Tipsy.’
‘And Taran?’
‘Tipsy too.’
‘Did he kiss you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘What? He didn’t even try?’
‘We didn’t kiss.’
‘You wanted to, though. I can tell.’
‘Suze, it’s four in the morning. You should be asleep.’
‘You woke me up, so now you have to give me something.’
Daisy sighed. ‘Give you what?’
‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
Daisy sighed again. ‘You’re impossible. It’s like you’re still twelve.’
‘I’m getting married, don’t forget.’
‘In two weeks’ time.’
‘So give me something.’
‘Then you’ll let me sleep?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, so I like him.’
‘You like him.’
‘Yes, I didn’t realize how much I liked him until tonight.’
‘Thought so.’
‘But . . . there’s Luca.’
‘There is no Luca. He’s an idiot. Move on.’ Suze rolled over. ‘Night, Daisy.’
Daisy smiled and closed her eyes. ‘Night, Suze.’
A few days before Suze’s wedding Daisy accompanied Marigold to her appointment with the clinical psychologist. They sat on the sofa in the waiting room of a white stucco building, which must once have been a sumptuous private house, on the smart side of town. The walls were a pale green, the carpet a restful geometric pattern in muted hues, the low table in the centre neatly laid out with glossy magazines. Marigold was nervous, picking at the cuff of her jacket where a piece of thread had come loose. Daisy was nervous, too. She had sensed for some time that her mother wasn’t herself, but she’d been too afraid to face it. Today she would find out if her fears were well-founded.
After what seemed like a very long time a young woman in an elegant trouser suit appeared in the doorway. ‘You must be Marigold,’ she said, smiling warmly. Marigold and Daisy stood up.
‘Yes, I’m Marigold and this is my daughter, Daisy,’ said Marigold, smiling in the way she did to cover her anxiety, sweetly but without it reaching her eyes.
‘I’m Caroline Lewis. Come, let’s go into my office and have a chat.’
Caroline led them into an office decorated in the same soothing colours as the waiting room. She offered them a couple of chairs, then sat the other side of a large antique desk. ‘Now, I’m going to give you four words to remember, Marigold,’ she said. ‘I’ll ask you to tell me what they are at the end of our session, okay?’
Marigold nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Jogger. Pony. Island. House.’
Marigold repeated the words, committing them to memory. ‘Jogger. Pony. Island. House.’
It seemed easy enough.
Caroline asked Marigold about herself and Daisy watched her mother gradually relax. They talked about the shop and her daily routine as well as going back over her history to the time when she met Dennis. While Marigold talked, Caroline wrote things down in a notebook. Daisy sat back in her chair and listened. Her mother was eloquent and articulate and, as her nervousness left her, she even made a few jokes. Daisy wondered whether Caroline would think them mad to have come because there really didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her mother at all.
At length, Caroline looked at Marigold and asked, in a gentle, compassionate tone, what her memory was like. As Marigold told her about the little book she carried around all the time (and occasionally lost or forgot to consult), the red book she kept beneath the counter in the shop, the Post-it Notes by her bedside for things that came to her in the night that she knew she’d forget in the morning and the list on the fridge door, Daisy began to see that Caroline didn’t think them mad at all. On the contrary. As she scribbled, Daisy sensed that her mother’s symptoms were nothing new to Caroline. She was nodding and mumbling ‘I see’ and looking at Marigold with an enquiring, searching expression in her eyes. The more Marigold told her about her falls, her disorientation, the fogginess in her head, the forgetting of names, people, places and things, the more Caroline’s interest grew. This was her field. The field she knew better than any other, and the very fact that her interest was aroused caused the dread in Daisy’s heart to deepen.
When at last Marigold had listed all the many occasions of forgetfulness, Caroline asked her if she remembered the four words she had given her at the beginning of the session. Marigold narrowed her eyes. She searched through the fog in her mind, but saw nothing besides the void into which those four elusive words had vanished. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember them,’ she said in disappointment. Daisy’s heart went out to her. She looked crestfallen.
Caroline smiled sympathetically. ‘Oh, don’t worry. We’ve talked about so many things today. They’ll probably come back to you on the way home in the car.’
Daisy put a hand on her mother’s arm. She was going to tell her that she had forgotten them too. But it would have been a lie. She hadn’t: Jogger. Pony. Island. House.
Caroline stood up. ‘You’re a busy woman with many responsibilities, Marigold,’ she said. ‘Running the shop, your family and all the committees you sit on in the village. I think, perhaps, you do too much. I’d recommend you slow down. Give up some of the responsibilities you don’t need. Concentrate on the things that give you the most pleasure. When you feel foggy, don’t worry. Let it happen. Breathe and it will pass. And rely on your family for support. You clearly have a loving family. I’m sure they will be happy to help you when you need it. Most importantly, don’t hide it. You need support, so let them support you. I’d like to see you again in six months’ time so I can assess you again. In the meantime, I’ll pop a report in the post to you and send a copy to Dr Farah. I gather he’s sending you for an MRI.’ She glanced at her notes. ‘Next week, isn’t it, your appointment?’ Marigold nodded. ‘Good. So, until December.’ She stood up and shook Marigold’s hand.
‘How did you think that went?’ Marigold ask
ed as they made their way to the car.
‘You did very well, Mum.’
‘I didn’t remember those words.’
‘Don’t worry about that. Caroline wasn’t worried, was she?’
‘I don’t suppose she was. Not that she let on, anyway.’ Marigold sighed. ‘She didn’t say what she thought was wrong, did she?’
‘No, she didn’t. I imagine she’ll give her opinion in a letter.’
‘More waiting,’ said Marigold despondently.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Marigold searched for the silver lining. ‘Well, Suze is getting married,’ she said, her spirits lifting.
‘Yes, let’s look forward to that.’
‘And a cup of tea,’ said Marigold, cheering up. ‘I’m looking forward to a cup of tea.’
‘Me too,’ Daisy agreed. ‘There’s nothing quite like a cup of tea, is there!’
Chapter 18
On the morning of Suze’s wedding, Daisy’s phone buzzed with a text. She found herself hoping it would be from Taran. It was from Luca. Her spirits deflated. I’m still missing you, Margherita. The truth was that she wasn’t missing him. Since her midnight walk with Taran she had thought of no one else.
It had been two weeks since Taran had left and she hadn’t heard a word. She wondered why she expected to. He hadn’t said he’d text her. They had met in the pub as friends, and although it had looked like he was going to kiss her on the bench, he hadn’t kissed her. She might have imagined it. After all, she’d been tipsy; so had he. If he had wanted to kiss her it had probably been nothing more than a momentary urge, fuelled by alcohol and grief. It would have meant nothing. Well, at least, not to him.
Daisy had spent most days in the barn drawing, sitting in Lady Sherwood’s kitchen talking over cups of coffee and taking the dogs out around the fields. She had grown to relish those walks in the woods. The bluebells had been spectacular. A sea of blue. Now it was June they were over, but the rhododendrons were still blooming, their giant pink and red flowers waxy in the sunlight. The leaves on the trees and bushes were out too and darkening as they thickened. She loved early summer when everything was so fresh and new. Now when she walked the dogs she took time to sit on the bench where she and Taran had sat. Where Sir Owen used to sit and enjoy the view. Daisy enjoyed it too. To her it was now more than a bench with a view; it was where she had nearly been kissed by Taran.
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