by Jane Linfoot
This is all my fault. I was the one who told him to check out other venues. And to think that five minutes ago, my biggest problem was my bolting nasturtiums. ‘Bloody hell Kip, this is Rose Hill not Vegas.’ Is it bad that my tone’s so downbeat, when he’s embracing two startling new concepts – wedding planners and staff?
He jumps forward. ‘But people love Vegas.’
How is he not getting this? ‘Are they the same people who love Cornwall?’ I can see by his bemused expression he’s hell bent on the stateside vibe.
‘It’s all about attention to detail,’ he’s saying, moving on like he’s on a crusading mission.
At least we’re back to understanding each other. I can’t resist chipping in. ‘Attention and detail are two more areas where you’ll need to raise the bar then.’ Currently he’s failing by a country mile on both counts. It strikes me as an ideal time to slip in my undercover media question. ‘But the magazine coverage will tie in brilliantly. Who’s running it again?’
He closes his eyes as he thinks. ‘London Brides, and Perfect Wedding. And there’s a Cornish Guardian supplement too.’
Kerching. Result. ‘Fabulous.’ I file them in my brain for later, and realise I’m sounding way too enthusiastic. ‘I mean, they’ll really help with the three six five thing.’ Which gets scarier every time I think about it.
Kip forges on. ‘So, I’d like us to get a few off-the-peg styling ideas together, so we can offer some ready-made themed packages.’
I may need to take a vomit break. I try not to pull a face at how gross it sounds. ‘Fine. I’ll coordinate that with my planting visits.’ The ‘us’ part sounds ominous.
‘Great, let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll put you in the diary.’ He’s rubbing his hands like he’s ready to go.
My jaw drops open. ‘Excuse me while I pick myself up off the floor. You finally succumbed?’ I have to laugh. The only good news I’ve heard all morning. Maybe the boy’s coming good after all.
‘Which reminds me, I forgot to mention the booking.’ He couldn’t sound more nonchalant if he were talking about forgetting to pick up Weetabix.
I take back everything I said. ‘The what?’
‘It came in the morning of the wedding fair, which is why it got overlooked. Some friends of friends from London. They’ve got a special licence for a ceremony and lunch here on May 1st, before they fly off to a bigger celebration abroad. They’re sorting the caterers, and we’re looking after all the props and the floral stuff.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘You’ve known for three weeks, and you’re telling me with ten days to go?’
‘Isn’t that loads of notice?’ His expression is miffed. ‘You could be more excited. It’s the Manor’s first wedding – with me at the helm anyway.’
But that’s the scary thing. I’m not so sure anyone’s in control here. It’s as if I’m standing on a drifting ship. And no idea why, but it feels like we’re heading straight for the rocks. It’s just my bad luck I’m stuck with this garden. After all this work, I’m not backing out now. So long as my flowers grow, I’ll have to suck it up, and stay on board until summer.
‘Great.’ I say. ‘Couldn’t be better.’ I’m hoping he picks up on my scathing tone. ‘Aye aye, Captain. Let’s hope we don’t have to call out the life boat.’
As he folds his arms he’s frowning. ‘Are you managing here? With the digging I mean?’
I grit my teeth. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
He takes a second to consider. ‘You’re still in the same corner of the garden where you started. And you sound a bit wound up. That’s all.’
That’s all? ‘I’m growing enough for a bouquet, not a flower festival.’ The patch of earth I’m staring down at is at least the size of a small sofa. It has to be almost big enough. And dealing with an idiot would be stressful. An ignorant, conceited idiot is ten times worse. I round on him. ‘And your point is?’
Even though his brow furrows, he’s sounding expectant. ‘I can always give you a hand if you need one?’
Mr Quick-buck-profiteer? Helping in the garden? I’d rather pull my own teeth. ‘Thanks, but it really won’t be necessary. I’ve totally got this covered.’
From the ‘yeah right’ look he shoots over his shoulder as he sidles towards the door, he’s not buying my bullshit any more than I am. And by the way, me watching his exit has nothing to do with admiring the rear view. I mean, someone’s got to make sure he leaves, don’t they?
Just before he gets there he stoops to pick something out of the grass.
‘Hey Water Lily, which way up do you hang your horseshoes?’ He sends me a grin as he waves one in the air. ‘Ends up, and you catch all the luck and keep it safe. Ends down and the luck flows out to anyone around. Win, win, very like me. It’s your choice …’
Yet another example of Kip wasting time. ‘As if I even give a damn.’ I heave my fork out of the ground, then stab it in again.
He’s laughing now. ‘I know zilch about weddings and yet I’m running them. And you’re in exactly the same boat with gardens.’ He leans across the border, and props the horse shoe in a little alcove in the wall. ‘Let’s go ends up. Something tells me we both need all the luck we can get.’
As his laughter floats up over the top of the wall as he walks away, I make a mental note to get my hands on every available horseshoe in Rose Hill.
Chapter 20
Sunday, 23rd April
Rose Hill Manor: Cold shoulders and muscle tone
Okay, I come clean. I haven’t really got time to be in the garden, with a wedding careering towards me. But at the same time, according to what I’ve read about ‘growing your own’ on the Up the Garden Path Weddings blog, I have to get the seedlings hardened off before they go in the ground. So I’m spending half an hour on a Sunday afternoon to bring over the seed trays with their bright green seedlings, and pop them into the cold frame in the Manor garden to acclimatise. And now I’m doing it, it’s all coming back. Me trundling seed trays along the brick path of our garden in the hand cart my dad had made for me out of an old push chair. From the greenhouse with the paraffin heater the colour of melted chocolate – how did I ever forget that fumey smell that was so disgusting it made me bury my nose in my cardigan sleeve every time I went near? – to the rickety cold frames, made from mismatched windows, discarded from houses all around the village. My dad was such a magpie in that garden. No wonder he drove my neat-freak mum to seek refuge in the razor precision lawns of Heavenly Heights.
‘Cooo-eeeeee … Lily …’
Even though I didn’t hear the roar of a tractor, I still know it’s Fred. I’m actually surprised I’ve managed to make three trips between here and the farm with trays of seedlings before he arrives and pops his head around the garden door.
‘Fred, what a surprise.’ Okay, it’s only a tiny lie. The surprise is he wasn’t here sooner. ‘If you’ve come to congratulate me on my magnificent zinnia plants, they’re over here.’
He knocks the mud off his boots, then wanders down the grassy path. As he leans across the cold frame by the tool shed he’s grinning. ‘Three inches tall, and bushy too. Haven’t we done well with those?’
‘We?’ I give him a little punch on his rolled up sleeve for that, and note that he’s wearing my favourite blue checked shirt, that almost goes with his eyes. ‘Just because you were in the orangery when I found the first seed shooting, doesn’t mean they’re yours.’ Even though the most he’s done is watch me water them, he still seems very interested.
He gives me a wink. ‘You know I’m backing you all the way. It’s called vicarious flower growing.’
Which is another thing I want to talk to him about. ‘Have you noticed I’ve done quite a lot more digging than before?’
He laughs. ‘You have been busy. Two whole borders, and you’re still standing up?’
I half close my eyes. ‘My point entirely.’ Every time I come back, more ground has been turned over. If I’d had
to do that lot myself, I’d be on my knees. I lean in towards him, and drop my voice. ‘So is there anything you’d like to tell me about the secret spade fairy?’ I reckon there has to be, seeing it must be him.
That makes him laugh. ‘If I did it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?’
Okay, if that’s how he wants to play it, I’m happy to go along. ‘Well let’s say it’s fabulously kind of you. And I’m very grateful.’ You might think I’m over doing it, but believe me, it would have taken me years to get that done.
He gives a self-effacing shrug. ‘Really, it’s nothing.’
‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’ If he’s looking like he’s expecting a thank you hug, I’m sorry, but I draw the line at that.
There’s another chortle, and he pats his six pack. ‘It certainly beats going to the gym.’
I rub my hands on my thighs. ‘I’m with you on that. Who’d have thought gardening would tone up your legs?’ My arms too. And my bum. Although I know better than to get into comparing biceps with a lumberjack. Or drawing attention to my butt. It might be a teensy bit tighter, but it’s still a major item. And definitely not for scrutiny.
Fred’s beaming expectantly and gives me a little shove with his shoulder. ‘So what have you got planned for the rest of the afternoon?’
Shit, I didn’t think this through. ‘Maybe more digging?’
There’s another shoulder shove from Fred. ‘Although as you say, you are unexpectedly ahead of the game in that area now.’ If the shoves get any stronger someone’s going to end up in the cold frame along with the cosmos. ‘If you’ve got a spare half hour, seeing you’re so well on the way with the garden work, why not come down and see Rock Quay?’
‘I’m not sure …’ Even as I open my mouth, I know I can’t say ‘no’ here. Not when he’s put in so much effort for me with the digging. No idea how he fitted it in between all his building and his animals either, which makes it even more special.
‘Come on.’ Luckily for me and the cold frame, he’s now just nudging my elbow with his, and he’s upping the persuasion. ‘I’ve been admiring your seeds for weeks. Now it’s your turn to croon over my apartments. And I could throw in a cream tea?’
I think this guy just found the cheat sheet to my heart. ‘Put like that …’
Anybody’s for a piece of cake? Guilty as charged. And dammit that I’m wearing my third best black jeggings and not my second-best pair.
Five minutes later, we’re in his pick up, zooming towards St Aidan.
Chapter 21
Sunday, 23rd April
At Rock Quay: Succulents and triangular bread
‘You’ve done a great job here, Fred.’ I have to hand it to him. He’s nailed every detail at Rock Quay, from the etched glass door numbers, to the lemons on the hewn wood platters and the cacti on the coffee tables. And I’m very pleased I came, because looking around’s made me see Fred in a whole new light.
We’re in our third apartment now, and because they’re in a converted warehouse, they’re all slightly different. In this one, with the floor to ceiling windows rolled back, the immense living kitchen runs straight out to the balcony. I’m leaning on the stainless steel hand rail, looking out across the harbour, to the twinkling sea beyond. We’re talking high ceilings, and vast living areas, with a fabulous blend of old and new, and wall to wall luxury.
‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you to move in?’ Fred’s working his wounded puppy look to the max here. ‘Or go out with me properly.’
I’ve been making my excuses since the moment we walked through the first monumental front door. Although I have to admit, that more than once I’ve had a brain flash, imagining how it would be if I were tucked up in a chunky king sized bed, watching Fred coming out of the slate clad shower, in nothing but a low slung towel.
‘If I were grown up enough to want to settle down, it would be my first choice. And I’ve told you already, I never go out with anyone I haven’t known for at least six months.’ My trouble is, once I’d unpacked my stuff into Fred’s wall of wardrobes, I might never want to move again. As it is, Jess’s attic, with my shirts hanging on a piece of plumbing pipe, feels comfortingly temporary. Which is exactly what I need. Once autumn’s here, I can up and go as soon as the right job comes along, and I won’t feel the wrench. Apart from missing the views from my tiny porthole windows obviously, which I’m making a big effort not to get too attached to.
After a couple of hours of pushing, he appears to be taking my rejection with a shrug and moving on. ‘So how does the Harbourside Hotel sound for afternoon tea?’
And finally. He’s so quick to latch onto things, I can’t think why he’s taken so long to get the message about me not going out with him or wanting one of his flats.
To bring you up to speed, the HH is the ultimate in five star luxury, sits on top of the hill behind the harbour, and takes its name from its view. It’s where Thom and I had our wedding do. Fred’s definitely pulling out all the stops with that choice. Everyone knows the teas by the beach at the Surf Shack are to die for. Whereas if you were looking for sophistication rather than downright deliciousness, mostly you’d head for the Yellow Daisy Cafe, or the Sugar Stop up in town. The Harbourside not so much. It’s the local equivalent of going for tea at The Ritz.
‘Have you won the lottery?’ I’m asking because it’s seriously pricey. Like it costs arms and legs. At least.
He’s sitting on the polished concrete work surface, kicking the heels of his Timberlands on the dark oak island unit. ‘It’s where I take all my prospective clients. I’ve sealed many a deal over cucumber sandwiches in the Harbourside Terrace Room.’ He pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘Although I promise today is totally without ties.’
Now he’s cleared that up, I’m more enthusiastic. ‘After all that gardening, I’m starving.’ I’m momentarily forgetting I haven’t actually done any work yet, but whatever. A stand stacked full of sandwiches and sausage rolls and fancy cakes? Who gives a damn where we eat, my mouth’s already watering. Big time.
Fred’s arms are folded. ‘Actually, I took your mum and David there earlier this week.’
A sudden gust of cold air off the sea blows right inside my padded jacket and makes me shiver. ‘Really, whatever for?’ Although given the rate David throws logs on my mum’s fire, it’s not really a surprise. They probably won the outing for being Fred’s most massive wood consumers.
He’s staring at me as if I’m dense. ‘We went there after I showed them around the penthouse here, of course.’
My frown has nothing to do with keeping the sun out of my eyes. ‘Why did you do that?’ I’m guessing it’s Fred showing off again. I get that he’s proud of his achievement, but you’d think he’d have better things to do with his time. All this fruitless running around, no wonder he’s behind schedule with his work at the farm. And if I’m a teensy bit disappointed it isn’t just me he wants to show off his flats to, I’m not going to admit it.
‘The penthouse would be the perfect place for them to move on to.’
Hang on? If he doesn’t stop kicking his feet, I’m going to have to tell him to stop. I turn to face Fred, and lean my back on the rail. ‘Why would my mum move on? She’s got everything she needs in Rose Hill, and David’s milking it to the max.’ The words are so high and hoarse, they almost get blown away. My mind is whirling. ‘Anyway this development is exclusively for young professionals. You said so. It’s way too stylish for old people.’
Fred shrugs. ‘Obviously I told you that, because you’re young. But it works equally well for a more senior demographic. The over sixties love their funky interiors.’ He waits a few seconds for that to sink in.
‘And were my mum and David interested?’ Saying their names together in a sentence has me swallowing back the sick. Living in a flat by the coast? Where the hell would they put their garden gnome? And the tiniest last thought, I barely dare let loose. What the hell would happen to Heavenly Heights if they came to St Aidan?
Fred’s biting his lip. ‘That’s where you come in, Lily. Now you’ve seen Rock Quay for yourself, I hoped you’d have a persuasive chat with them. Throw in some positive reinforcement?’ He pushes his hair back. ‘Shifting that penthouse would transform my finances.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. If my eyes were wide before, they just turned to saucers. ‘Like my mum listens to me. In any case, I really can’t see her moving.’
Fred’s smile tells me he knows better. ‘They’re very keen. The thumbs up from you will be all the encouragement they need. It happens a lot. Fresh starts by the sea. New beginnings without the baggage.’
I want to scream that it bloody doesn’t happen where we live. Not that I’ve ever heard of anyway. We’re not talking about leaving city grime. Rose Hill’s the kind of desirable village where people fight tooth and nail to get a house. Once they move in, they stay there forever. At least. The way my stomach just dematerialised, I may have to make a dash for the travertine-clad wet room.
I clear my throat. ‘We’ll see.’ I say it through gritted teeth. Over my dead body, in other words.
‘What’s wrong? You look like you swallowed a sour apple.’ As Fred jumps to the floor, he’s rubbing his hands, and laughing. ‘I assumed you’d want the best for them. You’re not a teensy bit jealous they’re happy are you?’
Despite the blue and brown checks of his shirt looking fab with his tan, for once the combination isn’t making my knees weak at all. To be honest, my knees already feel as if they’re going to give way for every other reason.
‘Bollocks to jealous, I can’t believe you’re exploiting them, Fred.’ There’s no point not saying what I feel here.
As he shakes his head, he turns the ‘wounded puppy’ to full strength. ‘You should be thanking me for flagging up what your mum and David want. If they’ve fallen in love with Rock Quay, it’s only because it’s so right for them.’ He comes over to the balcony, slides his arm around my back, and squeezes. ‘Don’t worry, Lily pad, after a couple of scones with clotted cream, you’ll be loving the idea as much as they do.’