“Freddy and I will be there as well to cheer you on,” Aunt Betty said. She looked at me. “You know the old expression—‘Football is a gentleman’s game played by ruffians, and rugby is a ruffian’s game played by gentlemen.’”
I thought about American football. There was nothing gentlemanly about it so I figured she was using the common name for soccer in the rest of the world, which was definitely more apt since they used their feet so much, you know, when they weren’t flopping on the ground trying to get a foul. There was no flopping in rugby, thank God. Plus, Harrison in shorts. What’s not to love?
* * *
* * *
The pitch, as it turned out, was in a city park northwest of Portobello Road. Viv, Fee and I closed the shop and took the Underground to the nearest stop. It was a short walk from there in the dreary weather. The high was fifty-seven degrees Fahrenheit or thirteen-point-nine if I was going by Celsius, which my brain even after three years simply couldn’t grasp. Thirteen, in my mind, was like crazy Minnesota or Nebraska cold. Of course, having moved to London from Florida, fifty-seven felt pretty cold, too.
We carried a thick, plaid wool blanket to sit on and a backpack full of food, including a thermos of hot tea. As we crossed the tree-lined grassy lawn toward the playing fields, I could just make out the pitch. Harrison’s club wore red and black colors, which I knew from seeing him launder his uniform. The other team was in green and white. If we were judging by color, I thought the red and black definitely made more of a winning statement.
When we arrived at the sideline, I saw my two very best friends, Andre Eisel and Nick Carroll, who were already seated in folding chairs with a plaid blanket spread in front of them. They were the first friends I’d made when I moved to London and I simply adored them.
“Scarlett, over here!” Andre stood and waved. He was tall and built, with dark skin, close-cropped hair and a rogue’s smile. The diamond stud he wore in one ear flashed at me almost as brightly as his grin. A photographer by trade, he owned a studio down the street from our hat shop, although his partner, Nick, wasn’t a photographer but a dentist.
Nick waved a large red and black flag at me and when he stood, I noted he had completely decked himself out in Harrison’s team colors, with red pants and a black rugby shirt with a fat, red stripe around the middle. This didn’t flatter his rounded figure, but really, who was going to notice when he paired it with an enormous red-and-black-striped velvet top hat, which sat low on his brow and added about a foot to his overall height?
“Nicholas Carroll, where did you get that abomination?” Viv asked. She stared at the hat as if it had done something more to offend her than merely exist.
We were all wearing red and black hats as well, because Viv insisted that we always wear hats when out in public so as to advertise the shop. I really didn’t mind today because it kept my ears from freezing. I had chosen a black bucket hat with a big red rose for embellishment. Fee had donned a felted newsboy cap in red with a black band, and Viv wore a festive tam in a Fair Isle pattern of red and black with a large red pom-pom on top.
“Whatever do you mean, Viv?” Nick asked. He doffed his hat, making his thinning reddish-blond hair stand on end as if it, too, were outraged by the insult to his chapeau.
“That!” Viv pointed to the hat in his hand. “Where did you get that? The Non Stop Party Shop?”
“Right in Kensington,” he agreed.
Viv gave him a dark look. “I bet it leaves a black sweat ring around your head.”
“Ah!” Nick gasped and looked at Andre. He lifted the hat and pitched forward, shoving his head in Andre’s direction. “It hasn’t, has it?”
“No, love, you’re fine,” Andre said. He grinned at me and opened his arms for a hug.
Next I hugged Nick, who still looked worried. “Don’t listen to Viv,” I said. “Your hat is festive and fun and there’s nothing wrong with that. You know how she gets about hats in general and her hats in particular.”
“Hmm, rather like I am about teeth, I expect,” he said.
“Exactly.”
Fee and Viv hugged our friends, too, while I looked for my man among his team. Once I spotted him my heart did that fluttery thing it always did when I caught sight of Harry. I used to think it was indigestion back when I couldn’t stand him but now I knew better. And today it seemed to do an extra somersault at the sight of him in his rugby attire.
Fee stood beside me and followed the line of my gaze. “Nice kit, yeah?”
“Kit?” I asked.
“Their uniforms,” she explained.
“Oh, of course,” I said. “There’s nothing quite like a man in a rugby shirt, is there?”
“Nope, nothing,” she agreed.
We watched as the men warmed up—lots of stretching and strutting, and a few halfhearted attempts to wrestle one another to the ground. Then the referee appeared. Harrison caught sight of us, hard to miss with the hats and all, and jogged over to our blanket. He took his mouth guard out and scooped me close and planted a solid kiss on me, charming me stupid of course, before he let go and exchanged high fives with Nick and Andre.
“Thanks for coming out,” he said. He scanned the crowd. “You haven’t seen Aunt Betty, have you?”
“No,” I said. “She’s probably just running late.”
A frown marred his forehead. “I’m worried about her. This dog show business is getting—”
“Oy, Worthless, get over here!” a voice shouted from the pitch. My eyebrows lifted in surprise at the nickname, but Harry grinned. Clearly, he’d been called worse. He kissed me quick, put his mouth guard in and then jogged back onto the field.
Fee had opened the thermos and was pouring tea into thick paper cups. I glanced at the basket Nick and Andre brought and saw that they were also drinking hot tea but out of real china. I raised a brow in question and Nick tipped his nose up in the air.
“Just because we’re dining al fresco does not mean we’re savages,” he said.
I kneeled on their blanket and swiped a chocolate-dipped biscuit out of a crystal bowl. Nick wagged his finger at me. “That’s not a proper dinner, Scarlett.”
“It’s an appetizer,” I said.
He shook his head and then held up a dish of fat, juicy strawberries. “At least have something healthy with it.”
“Nick, you are a better wife than I’ll ever be,” I said with a sigh.
He patted my hand. “Don’t you worry. I offer lessons.”
I laughed and he raised his eyebrows and gave me a pointed look. Oh, dear.
A whistle sounded as the match began. Truthfully, I wasn’t really sure what I was watching. There was a circular pile of men in the middle and each team had a line of men staggered down their side of the field. Viv was already bored and looking at a selection of pearl beads on her phone, but Fee seemed to know exactly what was happening. In fact, she jumped to her feet and started yelling, although I wasn’t sure if she was encouraging our team or chastising them. Nick bounced up out of his seat and joined her. I was impressed that he managed this without spilling any of his tea.
Andre was sitting in his chair behind me and he leaned forward so that he was half over my shoulder and asked, “Do you have any idea what is going on?”
I thought about bluffing, but what would be the point? I glanced at him and said, “Not a clue.”
He grinned. “Harrison is shirking his duties to make you a proper English wife.”
“Clearly,” I said. “Although, I have managed to put the kettle on for tea without burning down his apartment.”
He raised a brow. “Look at you, getting all domestic.”
I preened just the littlest bit. Cooking had never been my strong suit. Once, I went to heat water in the microwave for tea, and Harrison looked like he’d keel over. I learned quickly that the kettle was the only acceptable way to heat
water for tea and this fact was nonnegotiable.
“All right, I’ll give you the short course on rugby,” Andre said. “That pile of bodies in the center is the scrum.”
“Scrum, got it,” I said.
“In the center of the scrum each team has a hooker,” he continued. I snorted, because I’m mature like that. He gave me a look. I stopped. “The hookers try to hook the ball out to their mates and then the team has to run the ball over the opposing team’s line to ground it for a five-point try.”
“Well, that seems simple enough,” I said. “It’s a bit like American football, you know, except for the fact that there are no helmets or pads—or any safety gear, for that matter.” I tried not to think about this, as the thought of Harrison with a head injury made me queasy.
“That, and in rugby you can ruck and maul, and you only pass the ball to the side or back. Also, the game doesn’t stop at a tackle,” he said.
“It doesn’t?”
“Nope, whichever team grabs a dropped ball first, can grab it and keep going.”
“Dang,” I said.
I glanced back at the field. Despite the baggy shorts they all wore, I noticed the muscle-hardened legs and defined shoulders and kicked myself for not being a bigger fan of rugby earlier in my life. I scanned the men I could see and noted that Harrison’s friend, or the guy he called his “best mate,” Alistair Turner, was in the thick of the match.
Alistair had become a good friend over the past few years as he’d used his lawyerly abilities to help us out a couple of times. Seeing him on the pitch now, grabbing the oblong ball and running with his unruly shoulder-length black hair flying as he sprinted for the line, I had to check and see if Viv was catching this. Argh! She was not!
“Hey, Viv,” I said. “Look! There’s Alistair!”
Viv thumbed through some more pictures on her phone. When she did glance up, it was with a bored look. I pointed. She heaved a put-upon sigh and glanced at the pitch.
I watched to see if her eyes narrowed or widened in recognition. The woman was stone cold. There was not one indrawn breath of surprise or flutter of an eyelash in appreciation of the man’s athletic prowess. Good thing Alistair was soaring out on the field because here on the sideline, he was crashing and burning.
Chapter 3
“Go, Alistair, go!” Fee was shouting loud enough for all of us. I left Viv to her phone and ran over to the sidelines to add my encouragement.
Out of nowhere a player from the other team appeared. He was closing in on Alistair. I watched as Harry sprinted—seriously, I’d never seen him move so fast—running to intercept the player in green and white. He made a diving tackle, well, I assumed it was supposed to be a tackle, but he mostly grabbed the man by the ankle, forcing him to stumble and then drag Harry’s dead weight. Finally, the man in green and white went down with a bellow as he shot out an arm for Alistair, who neatly sidestepped and doubled down on his speed.
One more brick wall of a man appeared but Alistair feinted to the right and then leapt into the air on the guy’s left, flying the required yardage over the line to ground the ball and score a try.
Our side of the pitch went crazy. I scanned the field, looking for Harry. He was already up and running and he and Alistair did a very manly, cough cough, chest bump at the end of the field.
“That was amazing! Did you see?” Fee cried. She had her hat in her hand and was swinging it wildly as if it were a flag. Nick was on the other side of her, waving his actual flag, and the two of them started chanting, “Thirs-ty Li-ons!”
When they both mimicked a lion’s roar with their fingers curled like claws, I laughed. They were fearsome—not. I turned and found Viv standing beside me. She was frowning at the pitch. Even having known her all my life, I had no idea what she was thinking.
“Impressive, right?” I asked.
“If you like dirty, sweaty, grunting men,” she said.
“Check, check and check,” I replied.
She gave me a look that I’m sure was meant to discourage me, but when I glanced over to where Harry was lining up with his mates—look at me, using the appropriate lingo—I couldn’t help but appreciate the ruddy splotches of color on his cheeks, the sparkle in his impossibly green eyes, and the sweat-soaked hank of hair that fell over his forehead into his eyes. My man was a rugby hottie. Who knew?
The game continued and Andre joined me, taking Viv’s place as she retreated to the blanket. The one thing I noticed without Andre pointing it out was how respectful the players were of the refs. No matter the call, it was greeted with “yes, sir” or “no, sir.” Gentlemen, indeed.
Fee and I took a breather and ransacked our food. The cold evening air was making me ravenous and the sandwiches we’d brought were calling my name with an insistence that could no longer be ignored.
We’d packed a classic ploughman’s nosh of cheese and pickle sandwiches, made with Wensleydale cheese and local pickles nestled between two thick slabs of whole grain bread. It sounds gross, but I’d been converted during my time in London and it was now my go-to sandwich in the middle of the night. Guaranteed to sate the hunger and also give a gal some spectacularly weird dreams.
Just as I was taking my first big bite, I heard a commotion on the field. I chewed quickly as I hurried back to the sidelines. The lights had been switched on and the field had that twilight glow about it where the sky was a soft plush purple and the bare limbs of the trees, illuminated by the field spotlights, reached up toward the sky as if desperate for some springtime warmth.
Running across the patchy dry grass was one player who was clearly shorter and hairier than the others. Freddy! He had his eye on the ball and was not about to give it up to the man holding it. With yips and barks, he hunkered low and raced down the field after the player, who glanced over his shoulder with a look of stark surprise.
I saw Harry and Alistair run after the dog. Aunt Betty was down the field, holding a leash with no dog attached, looking as if she had no idea how that had happened.
“I say, isn’t there a height requirement for club rugby?” Nick asked Andre, who started to laugh. “I mean, he’s got the speed but he’ll be shortchanged if he gets the ball.”
Andre clapped his hand on Nick’s shoulder and quipped, “That’s a low blow.”
Nick started to chuckle and so did I. Unable to leave it alone, I just couldn’t help myself. I wedged myself in between them and said, “It’ll be the height of disappointment for him.”
They stopped laughing and looked down at me. Nick shook his head with a pained expression and Andre pressed his lips together. I could tell he was trying not to laugh.
“You know that was a good one.” I poked him in the ribs with the hand not holding my sandwich. Then I took another bite.
“Cheese and pickles? Excellent, pet, come along,” Nick said. He threw his arm around my shoulders and led me downfield. “You, or more accurately, your sandwich, is going to be bait.”
“But I like my sandwich,” I protested. “It’s my favorite.”
“Please, we have Scotch eggs and sausage rolls in our basket and there’s plenty for everyone,” Nick said.
“And wine,” Andre added.
That tipped the scale. We approached the field.
“I say, what’s he doing now?” Nick asked.
Freddy was running this way and that. He seemed to be circling the players on both teams, trying to draw them into a tighter and tighter circle, with Harry and Alistair winding in the tightest as they tried to catch him without hurting him.
“I think he’s herding them,” I said. “Are corgis herd dogs?”
“Judging by this, I’m going to say ‘yes,’” Andre said.
“We’d better help them, because I don’t think he’s going to tire out anytime soon.” Nick said. “And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you.’”
“Fine.” I
lowered my sandwich and cried, “Freddy! Here, Freddy, I have some Wensleydale cheese for you.”
Aunt Betty waved to me from downfield. I assumed she was giving me the okay, and I waved back.
“Cheese, Freddy!” I cried again, louder this time.
And don’t you know, that dog heard me, even over all the racket of the players and the crowd. One minute he had the big oval ball in his sights and the next thing I knew, he did a flip in the air, impressive for those stumpy little legs and worthy of something from The Matrix, and then he was coming at me like a bullet.
Low to the ground, his paws churned up the hard turf as he ran. Any herding of the players was forgotten as he locked in on the cheese.
“Is he going to stop?” Nick cried.
“He’s not slowing down!” Andre yelled.
“Ah!” they yelled in unison and abandoned me as I moved the sandwich to my side; just as Freddy was closing in, I tossed it high and wide. Again, he made a midair correction and snatched the sandwich before it hit the ground. He landed on his feet and continued to chomp my sandwich as Harry and Aunt Betty came running over.
Harry grabbed the leash from Aunt Betty and clipped Freddy while he scarfed down the last little bit of my cheese and pickles. It wasn’t very nice of me, but I hoped the pickles gave him heartburn.
“Brilliant, love, just brilliant,” Harry said. Then he kissed me on the head. “Are you all right? He didn’t nip you, did he?”
“No, I’m fine,” I said. I looked at Freddy. “I hear there are sausage rolls in the area. Let me be clear, they are mine.”
Freddy wagged his tail, and Aunt Betty, wheezing a bit, said, “Thank you, my dear, that was quick thinking.”
“No problem.”
Harrison handed Aunt Betty the leash and I noticed that her lip wobbled just a bit.
“Are you all right, Aunt Betty?” I asked. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
Buried to the Brim Page 3