Posy smiled politely but Karen found her own joke so funny that she erupted into a loud chuckle.
‘So… can I get you anything before dinner?’ Karen asked. ‘Tea, coffee…? Perhaps an alcoholic drink? You’re welcome to take it from the bar and sit anywhere you like.’
‘You know what?’ Posy said. ‘A gin does sound nice round about now.’
‘Gin it is,’ Karen replied with a smile. ‘I’ve got all sorts – in fact, I have a very nice orange and lime-flower one that’s brand new to me. I haven’t tried it yet but the guests who have say it’s lovely.’
‘That does sound amazing,’ Posy said. ‘I’ll give that one a go.’
‘No problem,’ Karen said. ‘Right this way.’
Posy followed her out of the room and down a narrow corridor which opened up into a bar area. It was every bit as cosy as Posy would have imagined – dark wood panelling and varnished floor, heavy silk drapes that kept out a little more light here than they did in the bedrooms, the upholstery on the chairs a matching oriental print. It was very much in keeping with the rest of the house, the only difference being it was slightly more restrained and functional down here than in the bedrooms and the lounge, where Karen had really indulged her inner hippy.
‘So…’ Karen began as she poured a measure of gin into a glass behind the bar while Posy took a seat on a high stool at the other side to wait. ‘Did you drive straight here today or have you been visiting first? You said you’d got up early?’
‘We went somewhere first,’ Posy said, taking the drink from Karen. ‘Could you charge it to our room?’
‘Of course,’ Karen said.
‘Oleander House… do you know it?’ Posy asked, recalling now that Sandra had known Karen. She took a sip of her drink and spared a fleeting moment to appreciate that it was very good, just as Karen had promised.
‘Oh, yes!’ Karen said, her attention wandering to a spot on the bar top. She pulled a cloth from beneath the counter and rubbed at it for a moment before turning back to Posy. ‘I know them well – we get our cider from them of course. Have to keep things local, don’t you? Always have a natter with Giles or Sandra when they come to deliver. I didn’t know they’d started doing tours for the public.’
‘They haven’t – we were visiting… They’re family.’
Posy took another appreciative sip of her drink and pondered for a moment how strange that sentence sounded. Family. That’s exactly what they were, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to thinking of them that way.
‘Oh!’ Karen looked keenly at Posy now. ‘I didn’t know they had people in London; they’ve never mentioned it before and you’d have thought they would, me being an ex-cockney and all.’
‘I thought I recognised an accent,’ Posy said, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation in a new direction. While there was nothing to hide, she wasn’t ready to have the conversation just yet. It was a long and complicated story and she was still very much processing it herself without sharing with a complete stranger. ‘Have you been here a long time?’
‘Oh yes, about thirty years now. Ray and I visited Glastonbury and we loved it so much we knew we had to live close by one day. This place came up for sale and it seemed like fate, so we sold everything we owned in London and moved here. It was tough getting going in the early days, I can tell you, but we wouldn’t be anywhere else now.’
‘Thirty years?’ Posy asked.
Karen smiled. ‘Makes me sound very old, doesn’t it?’
‘Not at all,’ Posy said. ‘So if you’ve been here that long you’ll know someone who lived here… John Palmer?’
Karen’s appraising look was keener than ever now. ‘The Palmers left a long time ago. Friends of yours?’
‘Not really. I just wondered if you knew them.’
‘Not terribly well,’ Karen said. ‘Kept themselves to themselves after—’
She stopped mid-sentence and stared at Posy for a moment before shaking herself. Posy felt a hot kind of panic suddenly burn through her and wondered if her innocent question had given away more than she’d wanted to. Could it be that her landlady had figured everything out? She was being paranoid, surely?
‘What did you do before you moved here?’ Posy asked hastily, changing the subject and hoping that the one she’d chosen would put the idea of affairs and secret love children out of Karen’s mind.
‘Sculpted. Not much money in it, though – at least, there wasn’t for me, but it might just be that I’m not very good.’
‘So you trained in art?’
‘Saint Martins.’
‘Wow! They wouldn’t have me,’ Posy added with a small laugh, relieved that they seemed to have moved on from the subject of John Palmer. ‘Not for the fine art course I wanted to do, so I opted for interior design instead. I do love it now even though it was my second choice.’
‘A fellow creative? It’s a shame you’re not staying longer. It would have been lovely to chat art into the night.’
‘Mum’s a potter – works for herself, has a studio and everything. She does OK but you’re right, it’s hardly a stable income.’
‘All creative industries are sadly undervalued,’ Karen said sagely. ‘I dabble a little here but the guest house keeps me too busy to do much and I can’t complain about that, because it enables me to live in this beautiful house in the most heavenly place on earth. Have you been into Astercombe yet?’
‘Where’s that?’
‘The village. It’s not very big but it is very pretty. It has a couple of darling little art and craft shops and a very good bakery.’
‘Perhaps we’ll have a look tomorrow,’ Posy said.
‘If you were staying longer I’d be able to give you lots of leaflets and ideas for tours and day trips. So you’ve been to Somerset before then?’
‘No – this is our first time.’
‘Oh, but I thought—’
Karen seemed to think better of finishing what she’d started to say and Posy guessed that she’d been about to come out with something about them visiting Oleander House, particularly as Posy had told her they were relatives.
‘It is lovely, though,’ Posy said. ‘I mean, what we’ve managed to see of it is gorgeous. We’ll definitely come back.’
‘Well, you’ll find plenty to see when you do.’ Karen glanced up at the clock and made an apologetic face. ‘I’m sorry – you don’t mind if I get on, do you? Dinner is fast approaching and I want to make sure everything is ready.’
‘Oh, God, of course not! Don’t mind me; I’ll just finish my drink and go see if my mum is ready to come down.’
‘Take it with you if you don’t want to sit in the bar alone,’ Karen said as she made her way out. ‘I can always collect the glass when I clean your room tomorrow. And if your mum is very tired we can always arrange to bring your dinner for you to have in your room – it’s no bother.’
Posy couldn’t deny it was a tempting offer. She was quite tired herself now and it would be far easier to hide in her room. But they’d come all this way and it would be a shame to waste the opportunity to make the most of their visit – which included making the most of Karen’s lovely guest house.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but I think Mum would rather come down.’
‘It’ll be fine either way. I’ll see you shortly unless I hear otherwise.’
Posy watched her leave the bar and, as the space then suddenly became unbearably silent, she decided that she would take her drink upstairs after all.
Chapter Four
There was no ham, no cheese, no croissants, no smashed avocado or huevos rancheros… breakfast at Sunnyfields Guest House was decidedly no-frills and very full English, but delicious nonetheless. Posy couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten so well in a morning. Usually there was time for a slice of toast on the run if she was lucky; some days she’d reach for a banana and stuff it into her bag to eat mid-morning and sometimes it was literally eating dry muesli from her h
and as she strode to the Tube station. If it was up to her, she’d go without, but Carmel would never let her.
So Posy pushed her plate away this morning absolutely stuffed and a little stunned that she’d faced a plate containing two Lincolnshire sausages, locally sourced bacon and eggs, tomatoes, beans and hash browns and had managed to conquer it very convincingly. All there was to show the plate had contained a breakfast at all was a thin sliver of bacon rind pushed to the edge.
Posy’s best friend, Marella, would have been utterly horrified to see it. Her idea of breakfast was taking a peek through the window of Pret a Manger as she ran past for work. Carmel said that was why she was so thin, but Marella was someone who could never sit still and had to be doing everything at a thousand miles an hour, and Posy thought that was more likely the reason she didn’t put on weight. Posy said Marella was lucky because, although perfectly slim and healthy, she didn’t have to watch what she ate to stay that way. But Marella said that Posy was fortunate because at least she could produce a decent cleavage with the right bra, while Marella had a couple of pimples that didn’t even deserve a bra. And so they agreed to disagree on who was the luckiest.
Dinner the previous evening had been in a similar vein. There had been a choice of beef and ale pie, roast chicken with seasonal veg or butternut squash and sage bake. Hearty fare meant to fill bellies and soothe souls, not to bedazzle and confuse with odd flavour combinations and pretentious little piles of nothing. Not that Posy had anything against a bit of experimental cuisine, but what Ray and Karen served to them in the dining room of Sunnyfields seemed very apt and perfectly suited to where they were. Dessert had consisted of locally grown strawberries and ice cream, chocolate cake or gooseberry tart.
Posy and Carmel had planned to check out at 10 a.m. and then head over to Oleander House, but Karen had told them she wasn’t in any rush to get them out as nobody had the room booked for a day or so and suggested they might want to delay their checkout and use the extra time to take a wander around the local area.
Posy had been keen on this idea, if only to get a feel for the place that had already become so significant to the story of her beginnings. But Carmel occasionally suffered with a touch of arthritis and this morning she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to accompany Posy on her exploration. Posy had reassured her that she was fine going alone, and Karen had chipped in that if they fancied something more relaxing still, she had time to do an Indian head massage. Posy had been quite tempted by this too, having never had one before, but ultimately felt a bit silly at the thought of someone rubbing at her head and declined the offer.
Carmel, on the other hand, had been all for it. So, as soon as breakfast was cleared away and Karen had a spare hour, she arranged to see Carmel in her private sitting room and Posy decided to take a walk to explore the place her biological parents had once called home.
* * *
Even by 10.30 a.m. the sun was high and hot, far too hot for spring. Posy stepped out onto a lane bordered by high grass and dense hedgerows, the sounds of bees and crickets coming from them. Occasionally the odd car would make its way down the narrow track, but always respectfully slowing as it passed Posy, giving her as much room as possible. Despite the heat shimmer on the tarmac, visibility was good and the traffic was light, and she didn’t feel at all worried that she was walking on the road.
After only a few minutes the rooftops of Oleander House could be seen. She’d had no idea their guest house was so close. As they were heading there later to see the family before they went back to London, at a fork in the road where one direction led to Oleander and the other somewhere totally unknown, she decided to take the path that would surprise her.
A little further on an old wooden signpost pointed to the village of Astercombe, which Posy recalled Karen telling her about the evening before. It did sound very quaint and appealing, and even though it said the distance was three miles, if Posy walked quickly enough she might be able to take a quick look and still get back in plenty of time for their afternoon meeting with Giles, Sandra and Asa.
Another ten minutes took her to a second fork in the road, but this time there was no signposting and she had no clue which way she was supposed to go to reach the village. She pulled out her phone to see if she could use the map function but was frustrated to find that the signal was so bad she couldn’t get directions on there either. After a moment of indecision, she heaved a sigh and took a wild guess, deciding to follow the path on the left.
The further she went down this way, the taller the roadside shrubs got, until they became trees that threw a cooling shadow over her. And then, as she peered into the gaps between them, beginning to worry that she’d made the wrong choice, the unusual geography of the land beyond caught her eye. She stopped to get a closer look and could see now that the trees also hid a wooden fence, the type you saw on farmland, so low and flimsy that Posy couldn’t really see the point of it. As far as she could tell, the trees themselves offered far more protection from the road than this fence did. Unless, of course, it was meant to mark a boundary of some kind.
Posy found a gap in the trees large enough to fit into and stepped onto the bottom rung of the fence to appraise the fields beyond. She could have taken an extra big stride and been over it in a heartbeat, and she was sorely tempted, just for the hell of it. The wild meadowland, strewn with fire-red poppies, daisies and cornflowers, their colours shimmering in the sunlight, was like something out of a Monet painting and she longed to walk through it, hands brushing lazily against every flower as she went. The only obstacle between her and that hazy dream sequence was a rickety old fence that was hardly keeping anyone in or out and, shaded by the trees as it was, she felt sure nobody would be able to see her get past it anyway.
She paused, shielding her eyes with her hand to look further. In the distance the land seemed to dip away into some kind of gully – at least, she couldn’t see what came immediately after the meadowland and before a hill that was marked out by neat lines running through rows of green. A vineyard? Posy had no idea whether grapes grew in this part of England – though she’d heard that they did grow in parts of the south – but she couldn’t think what else they could be. They certainly looked like vines to her.
Before she could fully process any of these thoughts, she’d hopped over the fence and landed lightly on the other side. Perhaps she wasn’t meant to be here but she hadn’t seen any signs to warn against trespassing, and she wanted to get a closer look. All thoughts of finding the village were suddenly and inexplicably forgotten.
The stiff, dry grasses brushed against her denim-clad legs, and while she was glad of the protection from the odd thistle or bug bite, the sun was so hot as it burned into the back of her neck that she was beginning to wish she’d settled on something cooler to wear. A cute pair of denim shorts and a bikini vest would be her usual choice on a day like this but, not having anticipated such freedom as a glorious walk in a sun-drenched meadow, she hadn’t packed anything like that to bring with her.
Once she’d reached the furthest point of the meadow she’d been able to see from the fence, she was gratified to note that she’d been right about what lay beyond. There was more meadowland, starred with flowers of scarlet, blue, white and yellow, running downhill into a sort of valley, and from down there she thought she saw the glint of sunlight on water, though it was still too far away to tell. If she was very lucky, it would be a crystal-clear, ice-cold stream where she could take a moment to dip her toes and cool down.
The promise of that was enough to get her walking again. It smelled so sweet here in this meadow in the sunshine, like the scents of every perfume shop she’d ever been in all mingled and messed up together in one place – fresh and sweet and spicy. Half the flowers growing in this riot of colour she didn’t even recognise.
A white butterfly with orange-tipped wings settled on something tall close by that might have been a foxglove, and she watched it until it flew away again, delighted by its be
auty. She rarely saw butterflies at all in London – the odd cabbage white or peacock in their tiny backyard but certainly never one like this. Grass in London never smelled like this though, and the air never felt so clean and the horizon never looked so vibrant and vast. A kind of peace like she’d never known stole over her as she walked alone, completely dazzled by her surroundings, and at that moment, if someone had asked her to forsake every one of her worldly possessions to come and live here as nature intended, she might well have said yes.
The grasses rustled and brushed against her arms and legs as she continued down the slope. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a tiny voice wondering if she ought to be here at all. Maybe she ought to have stopped at the fence, content to look but go no further. But the feeling of freedom that being here now was giving her silenced that voice. She hadn’t seen another living soul and she doubted she would: even if she did and they told her she oughtn’t to be there, she’d just pretend to be lost.
A little further still the grasses gave way to lusher greenery and reeds, and now Posy could see that there was water down there – a small pool that had been almost hidden by the vegetation. The water lapped invitingly against a battered wooden jetty, indicating it was clearly used from time to time – perhaps for fishing or something. Posy was sweating now, and though it was hard to see how clean the water was from this distance, if it didn’t look too bad on closer inspection maybe she could sit on that jetty and dangle her feet in it for a while.
So she quickened her step, eager to do just that, sending up butterflies and bees and even a dragonfly from where they’d been quietly minding their own businesses and causing grasshoppers to chirrup their indignation.
The Little Orchard on the Lane: An absolutely perfect and uplifting romantic comedy Page 4