The Little Orchard on the Lane: An absolutely perfect and uplifting romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  ‘I didn’t do anything special.’

  ‘You didn’t have to; you were just here, great company and lovely to have around. It was enough.’

  Posy was silent for a moment. While she was pleased he’d felt that way about having her around she now felt less than happy about the fact she’d be leaving soon. What would happen then? Would he be able to cope when he was alone again? He had Giles and Sandra, of course, but he’d had them before and it didn’t seem to have helped.

  ‘So Drew wants to come back?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘I won’t cave in the moment you’ve gone.’

  ‘That’s not what I thought,’ she lied. ‘But it can’t be easy. Isn’t there a way to block him from contacting you?’

  ‘I could change my number I suppose.’

  ‘Then why haven’t you?’

  ‘I couldn’t see the point. If he really wants to contact me he’ll find a way.’

  ‘But you’d be stronger if you didn’t have to see his messages.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You need a new man!’ Posy said suddenly.

  Asa burst out laughing. ‘Steady on! I’ll find my own man when I’m good and ready so don’t even think about it!’

  ‘You don’t want to be alone forever.’

  ‘I’m not alone. As long as I have my family, I never will be.’

  His smile was bright and brave – if only Posy could believe that it was genuine.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Posy woke at six the next morning. Common sense told her to skip the make-up and hair-curling and to wear clothes that she didn’t care about ruining, but she ignored common sense. She did the hair and the make-up and, grateful that the forecast was for unseasonably warm weather, donned a pair of cut-off denim shorts and an embroidered smock top in a light cotton. In a teeny concession to common sense she did pull on a pair of stout boots, though only because she really couldn’t get away with the tiny gold sandals she would have worn, and because she had a feeling it would have confirmed everything Lachlan probably thought about her – that she was a pathetic city girl playing at farming.

  She’d made toast but couldn’t eat it, so she grabbed an apple to take with her from the bowl that was always full of them and filled her water bottle as Lachlan had told her to. Then she headed out.

  She’d never walked the lane this early before. There was a different smell than there would be later in the day; fresher, greener. There was a sharp chill in the air while the sun was still a low hazy orb, struggling to crest the hills, and a blanket of mist sat in the hollows of the fields. The hedgerows were festooned with dewy cobwebs and pearly berries and birdsong filled the air. It was like the countryside she knew, only magical, as if some wizard had cast an enchantment over it.

  As she walked and marvelled, it felt like the start of something, like a promise she could snatch from the air and make real, though she couldn’t say what or why she felt that way.

  When she got to the vineyard gate it was unlocked, as Lachlan had said it would be, but he was nowhere to be seen. She checked her watch, and as it was only 7.45 a.m. she figured he was on his way and took a seat in a clearing to wait. She’d worked up a little heat walking up, but now as she sat and waited she cooled down and had to put on the cardigan she’d had tied around her waist. The weather would be good later, but it was September and the dawns were chilly.

  The vines stretched out ahead of her, lit by the hazy sunlight, row upon row with grapes of all hues. Looking at them now, picking them all by hand seemed an impossible task, even more so with just the two of them and limited time. Posy didn’t know much about it, but even she could guess that if they took too long some of the crop would spoil and be lost. She wondered, in that case, why Lachlan hadn’t decided to start earlier – if it had been her place she’d have been up with the sunrise.

  For ten minutes she sat and daydreamed, losing herself in the sounds of birds, the breeze whispering through the vines, even a plane blazing a trail across the dawn sky. The sunlight was warming where it touched now, but the air was still crisp and sharp. Then her eyes picked out a figure dragging a sort of truck slowly along the path and focused to see it was Lachlan. She got up and made her way over, noticing as she did that the truck was already heaving with fruit.

  ‘You started already?’ she asked, looking at it.

  ‘Five thirty,’ he said.

  ‘But you told me eight.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to ask you to come at five thirty – it’s far too early.’

  Posy planted her hands on her hips. ‘For a city girl like me, you mean?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘because you’re good enough to do me a favour and I’m not about to push it.’

  ‘Oh,’ Posy said, the wind gone from her sails. ‘You wouldn’t have been; I’d have come as early as you needed. There’s a lot to do for just the two of us.’

  ‘Pavla has said she’s coming this afternoon,’ he said, handing her a pair of cutters. She looked at them and then at him.

  ‘So I just cut the grapes off?’

  ‘There’s a way to cut and trim,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you. You might be slow at first but it won’t take you long to speed up.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be faster with a machine?’ she asked as she followed him to a vine and he began to demonstrate. ‘There must be machines that can do this – the orchard has machines.’

  ‘I like to do it the traditional way. Gentler… better quality wine.’

  ‘Will you also be squashing these grapes later with your feet?’

  ‘Why – would you want to join in if I was?’

  He didn’t smile but Posy laughed anyway. The image of them both tramping around in a huge vat of grapes invaded her thoughts and she couldn’t help it.

  ‘Probably,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe I’ll fill a bucket later and you can get in as a reward for helping me.’

  ‘I’d only get in if you did.’

  Posy blushed. The sentence had slipped out before she’d had time to stop it. She hadn’t meant to, but nobody could have heard it and failed to conclude anything other than that she was flirting with him. He gave her a curious look and then guided her hand to a spot on the stalk connecting the grapes to the vine.

  ‘About here,’ he said. ‘See that bulge on the stalk? Cut there; it’s a lot less tough… you leave this much and you don’t damage the fruit or the plant. If you see anything rotten like this’ – he indicated a shrivelled bit of mush – ‘see if you can trim it away. Some of it will be a bit of drying out rather than rot and you can probably keep that. You’ll know it’s rot because it will smell a bit like vinegar and there’ll probably be flies. Basically, if you wouldn’t eat it, don’t keep it. You won’t get all of it first go, but the more waste we can keep out of the crop the better and easier it will be when we come to process it later.’

  ‘How do you know if they’re ready to cut or not? Is this whole lot ready?’

  ‘This section is…’ He swept a hand over the hillside, but Posy was none the wiser as to which area he meant. ‘I’ve checked.’

  ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that.’

  ‘I know, I’m just curious.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ve noticed.’

  ‘So how? Is there a gadget or something? A colour chart? A smell? What?’

  ‘Some people use fancy gadgets but I taste them – nothing wrong with a bit of human judgement.’

  ‘And what are they supposed to taste like?’

  ‘If the brix—’

  Posy frowned.

  ‘The sugar,’ he continued in answer to her silent question. ‘If it’s right you can taste it. Here… try one for yourself so you see what I mean.’

  Posy pulled off a grape. ‘Shouldn’t I wash it?’

  ‘If you can find a tap up here be my guest.’

  There was something like a subtle mocking humour in his eyes
now. He was making fun of her, and while she shouldn’t like it, somehow she did. But she scowled anyway, just for show, and put the grape into her mouth with a defiant jut of her chin.

  But where she’d expected the plump sweetness of her usual supermarket fruit, this one was so tart her mouth instantly puckered into a grimace.

  ‘God, that’s foul!’

  ‘At least you won’t be eating them as we go,’ Lachlan said. ‘That’s one less thing to worry about.’

  ‘That makes a nice wine?’

  ‘It makes a good wine. If you want sweet go and get yourself a carton of grape juice. If you want a quality vintage – there’s your perfect fruit.’

  ‘I can’t believe anyone ever tasted that and thought, I know, I’ll make a lovely drink out of that.’

  ‘Like many things we eat and drink, it’s not immediately apparent why anyone thought it was a good idea.’

  ‘That’s true. Jellied eels for a start – who looked at eels and thought, Yum, they look tasty; even better if I cover them in slime.’

  ‘Haggis,’ he agreed solemnly.

  ‘You’re Scottish! Are you telling me you don’t like haggis?’

  ‘I can imagine how that might come as a shock to an English girl. I don’t like haggis and I’ve never eaten a deep-fried Mars Bar.’

  ‘You’re a traitor to your nation.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll get over it.’

  Posy smiled up at him.

  ‘So let’s have a look at you cutting one of your own,’ he said, scattering her thoughts.

  ‘Right.’

  Posy scooped what looked like a natural bunch in one hand and located the place to cut like he’d just shown her. Bunches on the vine didn’t look as tidy and obvious as the ones she’d seen in supermarkets either, but she supposed they were made to look appealing for the shelves. Here, there were stragglers and spots on the grapes, and shrivelled bits and curling tendrils snaking out all over the place.

  ‘Snip it in that direction,’ Lachlan said, and she followed his hand gesture to separate the bunch from the plant. ‘Good.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it. Ready to crack on?’

  Posy glanced along the row, and then to the next and the next, and then the row after that. ‘I think we better had if we’re going to get this all done today.’

  ‘We won’t be done today, not by a long shot,’ he said, starting to cut at a vine next to the one he’d set her to work on. ‘I’ll be lucky to finish this week, though I need to. But you don’t need to worry about that.’

  ‘I could come again tomorrow.’

  He shook his head slightly but didn’t look up from his task. ‘We’ll see.’

  * * *

  They worked in relative silence for the next couple of hours. Posy didn’t mind it, which was strange because ordinarily she liked chat, no matter how mundane it was. But the sun climbed higher and warmed her back, and as she became absorbed in the comforting repetition of snipping and trimming she was at peace with the world. Lachlan never strayed far from where she was, and if her pace ever slowed his seemed to slow too. Posy sensed perhaps he was keeping a close eye on her work, making sure she was OK, and she didn’t mind that either, though she worried a little she was holding him up rather than helping him.

  ‘You haven’t had a break yet,’ he said after one of these long, easy silences.

  Posy turned to him and dragged the back of her hand across her brow as she took a sip of water.

  ‘Neither have you.’

  ‘I don’t need one.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  She held his gaze, and then he shrugged.

  ‘I don’t want you getting heat exhaustion, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s England… in September. That’s hardly going to happen.’

  He could have pointed out her sweaty forehead and obviously damp clothes, but perhaps he was far too much of a gentleman because he didn’t. Or perhaps he simply couldn’t be bothered to argue.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied patiently. ‘But this is very hard manual work.’

  It was true that it was more strenuous than Posy had imagined, even though everyone had told her to expect that, but there was no way she was going to admit it now. ‘I have my water,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘And if you get too hot, I’m sure you know where to find a pool you can cool off in…’

  Posy stared at him now. He wasn’t laughing or even smiling, but undoubtedly he’d made a joke. He simply continued to pull and cut at the vines in a motion so practised and fluid he was like a machine. She smiled uncertainly. How was she meant to react? Why did he make himself so hard to read? Clearly there was a human being in there somewhere, so why couldn’t he let anyone see that?

  She was about to say something along those lines when she felt a tickling sensation at the nape of her neck. Absently, she reached to scratch it.

  Instantly there was a sharp, needlepoint prick followed by a burning sensation. ‘Ow!’ she cried, and as she reached for the spot there was another strike further down on her shoulder.

  She could only assume she’d been stung, and as she felt another fire-hot pinprick it seemed as if whatever was stinging her was trapped in her clothing. With a panicked squeal she tipped herself over and shook at her top, only to be stung again. This time she ripped her top off and the wasp flew free. She stood in her bra now, her skin burning and tears filling her eyes. It bloody hurt.

  Lachlan stared at her. Maybe he was shocked to see her half-naked in front of him and not giving a damn but she didn’t care.

  ‘You’ve been stung?’

  Stating the obvious, she thought savagely, but she nodded and fetched her top from the ground now to hold over her chest. She didn’t put it on – her shoulder and neck were far too sore.

  ‘Are you allergic?’ he asked urgently.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean you don’t know?’

  ‘I don’t know! I’ve never been stung before!’

  ‘You’ve never been… Where the hell have you been living?’

  ‘I’m just careful!’ Posy yelled. She was in considerable pain now and he wasn’t exactly helping.

  He threw down his tools and strode over to have a look. ‘They’re nasty.’

  ‘You don’t say – they feel nasty!’

  Without another word he swept her into his arms and began to march up the hill with her.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she cried.

  ‘Quad bike,’ he panted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘EpiPen. Quad bike. Just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’

  ‘Reaction.’

  ‘I don’t need it. If I was going to react I would have done by now.’

  ‘You just said you don’t know. Better to be safe. There’s one in the first aid kit anyway…’

  What the hell was going on here? It was like she’d just stepped onto the set of an action film and he was carrying her away from an exploding bomb, not working on a peaceful English hillside. But he was clearly determined about this and she didn’t see that arguing would change his mind.

  ‘I can walk to the bike if I must,’ she said, despite having no idea how far away he’d parked it. She couldn’t see a quad bike anywhere but perhaps it was obscured by the vines.

  ‘Quicker this way,’ he grunted, an unflattering sound which showed how he was labouring under her weight.

  ‘You’ll do your back in – I’m too heavy to carry.’

  He shook his head and carried on.

  ‘I’m hardly going to die from a wasp sting,’ she continued, though right now her skin was burning so much she wondered if she might. But saying this only set Lachlan’s jaw tighter and his strides longer, and a moment later she saw that there was a quad bike parked in a clearing at the end of a row. He set her down on the grass and opened a metal box stored at the back.

  ‘Sit down,’ he ordered.

  She did
so, knowing it was pointless to do anything else. ‘Why have you even got an EpiPen? Are you allergic?’

  ‘No, but I used to have one on hand in case any of the workers were and it’s still in the box. Stop your yammering and let me take a proper look.’

  ‘You’re not going to use the pen on me, are you?’

  ‘Not unless your throat starts to close up. I have some ointment, though – should help to ease the pain.’

  ‘So we came all this way for ointment?’

  ‘We came all this way to be close to supplies if things took a turn for the worse. How do you feel?’

  ‘Stupid.’

  He grunted something that she didn’t catch and took a small tube out of the box.

  ‘I can do it,’ Posy said, holding her hand out for the ointment.

  ‘Let me take a look first,’ he said, holding it back.

  Without waiting for permission he walked behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck as he moved closer. Her head swam with the pain and a sudden rush of excitement as he moved closer still so that she could feel the heat of his body.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked, fighting to keep her voice level.

  ‘Making sure there’s no sting in there.’

  ‘I thought wasps didn’t leave a sting behind.’

  ‘They don’t, but I want to be certain.’

  Then he touched her lightly, and even though it was directly onto a sting as he applied the ointment, a sudden wave crashed through her. She closed her eyes, heart thumping as he moved from one wound to the next. No man’s touch had ever done this to her and she couldn’t think about her stings at all, only that she wanted more. She wanted him to touch her everywhere.

  When he was done he sat next to her, peering intently into her face as he handed her a water bottle. ‘How do you feel? Not struggling to breathe? Throat OK?’

  She nodded weakly. She was struggling to breathe alright but it was nothing to do with anaphylactic shock. ‘I’m fine… that lotion’s done the trick. Thank you.’

  Everything happened quickly after that. They both moved together and met in the middle and somehow they were kissing. Nobody had needed permission and neither had asked. Later, Posy wouldn’t be able to say what had made her do it, only that she had and that he’d reciprocated.