‘That will be a relief. One less Acorn to worry about so much,’ I agreed.
‘Meanwhile, Gina will be doing most of the cooking, so it’s up to her where she gets things from. I don’t suppose you have a lot of stuff to sell at the moment, anyway?’
‘No, not really—carrots, winter vegetables, that kind of thing. And she can have any amount of jam, relishes and pickles she wants too.’
After a bit more chat she rang off, but I felt much better for having talked to her, even if I hadn’t been entirely truthful about Noah, or informed her that although I’d renounced all interest in men, I went out with a bang.
I was starting half to expect Russell’s late night calls. That night he told me that the mysterious smell from Ben’s studio was permeating the whole building and they think that whatever died did it deep inside one of Ben’s three-dimensional works, though they can’t pinpoint which one…
‘Maybe there was a mass mouse suicide pact?’ I suggested, feeling rather guilty. But I supposed the stink wouldn’t last for ever. Surely eventually it would wear off.
I couldn’t believe I’d done something so vindictive! Perhaps I should have confessed, so he could remove the offending bits of prawn head and help get rid of the smell sooner.
But no, on second thoughts, I couldn’t possibly…
When Russell had been wittering on for a bit, I asked him directly if Mary knew he was calling me so often.
‘Of course she does!’ he said, going all hurt. ‘She would phone you herself, except that she’s still feeling guilty about not telling you about Ben and Olivia—and she’s easily upset now she’s expecting. But I’m sure she’ll get over it once the baby arrives.’
I thought I must have been mistaken about Russell and he was just being kind and keeping in touch.
Chapter Nineteen
Driven
I can’t believe it’s suddenly December! I have barely started preparing for Christmas and, since almost all of my presents are edible, I usually have things well in hand by the end of November.
Still, at least there is not a lot to do in the garden, this month…
‘Cakes and Ale’
I was glad when Libby and Tim returned, because keeping a brave face on everything was a bit wearing and at least with Libby I didn’t have to pretend…though admittedly there were one or two things I’d been holding back on.
I also hoped to astonish her with my svelte new figure, which was entirely due to having lost my appetite, but still filling my days with even more hard work. Now each night I instantly fell asleep with the unconsciousness of exhaustion once my head hit the pillow.
Libby invited me over to see the wedding pictures, which had been awaiting their return, and when I’d admired them she said, ‘I’ve got a couple of Noah’s too—and this came with them for you.’
She handed me a stiff brown envelope with my name on, and inside were two pictures of me, not at the wedding but the first time we had met, on the Green. In one I was barefoot and windblown, clutching Aggie the hen under one arm and doing that angry pointy finger thing at Noah, like a fishwife. The other must have been taken at the moment when I caught sight of Ben in the doorway behind him, for I looked entirely different, my face lit up with love…
‘Noah says I have to wait until Christmas for prints of the rest of his photos,’ Libby said, leaning across to have a look at mine. ‘I might get a second album for them. Those are very good of you, aren’t they? What are you going to do with them?’
‘I thought Aggie might like them pinned up in the henhouse.’
‘You are joking, aren’t you? You can’t possibly do that to photographs by Noah Sephton! They’re worth good money, you know. He’s quite famous.’
‘Money doesn’t mean that much to me, Libs—but relax, I was joking. Actually, I like this one of me with Aggie, even if I do look furious.’
‘It says something on the back,’ she pointed out, and I turned it over. In pencil was written ‘Militant angel!’ It didn’t say anything at all on the back of the other one.
‘You look prettier in the other. Glowing. What are you looking at? It’s not Noah, is it?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘No, it was Ben,’ I said shortly, and turned it face down. ‘I got a job lot of frames from the charity shop the other day and I’m sure there’s one about the right size—so you see, I really wasn’t serious about the henhouse.’
‘I didn’t think you were. In fact, I thought you might treasure it, because I have a strong suspicion that you and Noah got much friendlier than you’re telling me about, Josie Gray!’
‘Well…a bit,’ I admitted. ‘Nothing serious. We’d both had a bit too much to drink and had a cuddle, that’s all.’ I felt myself blushing hotly.
Ah-ha! Just wait till I see Noah Sephton!’ she exclaimed. ‘I told him to keep an eye on you, not seduce you!’
‘It’s not his fault. Because I looked OK, he didn’t think I was seriously upset about breaking up with Ben. And what’s more, I told him I wasn’t, so you can’t really blame him. No, if anyone was doing the seducing, it was me,’ I confessed, ‘though if he hadn’t tried the peapod wine, he’d probably have managed to resist.’
‘Josie, that’s so unlike you!’ Her blue eyes were round with surprise. ‘But I suppose it was just the rebound and the booze—and thank God it wasn’t Rob Rafferty, because that would have been much worse.’
‘Oh, Libby, I’m still amazed he asked Pia for my phone number!’ I said, diverted. ‘I mean, I don’t at all want to see him again, but the fact that he fancied me was so good for my morale!’
‘Don’t get carried away, because apparently nothing even vaguely female is safe from him,’ she said dampeningly. ‘But Noah— I mean, you’re not his usual tall, leggy young blonde. Maybe he really likes you?’
‘No, I told you, it was the peapod. He did phone me to see if I was OK later, though, after he ran into Pia in London, which I suppose was kind of him,’ I added grudgingly.
‘I’m still cross with him,’ Libby said. ‘You were vulnerable and a one-night stand was the last thing you needed.’
‘Actually, you’re quite wrong, Libs. I felt a bit horrified when I woke up next morning, it’s true, but after that, I felt much better about everything and more able to cope. It was like a catharsis.’
‘I hope you didn’t tell him so?’
‘I may well have done…I certainly remember saying making love with him had proved to be a sort of emotional enema,’ I admitted. ‘He sounded a bit peeved.’
She giggled. ‘I wish I could have seen his face! But if you’re sure you’re all right, I suppose I’ll have to forgive him, though won’t it be a bit awkward if I invite him to stay now?’
‘Not really. I probably won’t need to see him, will I? And I’m sure he’ll be as happy to forget about it as I will, because Pia thinks he’s still going out with that model, Anji. I feel a bit guilty about her.’
‘Don’t be. You didn’t know. Pia’s probably got it wrong anyway, because I had the distinct impression he’d gone off her.’ She was still looking a bit worried.
‘Really, it wasn’t important, Libs,’ I assured her.
‘Except as a catharsis?’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Oh, Josie!’
When I got back home I did find a frame to fit the fishwife photo, but I slid the other one in behind it—the old, glowing version of myself, hidden for ever. Then Libby rang my mobile, in a panic because it had occurred to her that my having slept with Noah might have had unforeseen results.
‘It didn’t,’ I assured her. ‘I thought of that; I’m not totally stupid.’ Then I confessed that I’d destroyed the Chinese herbal medicine she’d gone to so much trouble to obtain for me, on the night I found out about Ben’s affair.
‘I don’t think it would have had any effect anyway, really, since clearly I’m barren. I was clutching at straws. But I could have given it to you’, I said, before remembering that I really didn’t want her to even think
of getting pregnant until I’d spoken to her mother!
If I thought I’d been whizzing around keeping myself busy, it was as nothing to the way Libby threw herself into organising Old Barn Receptions: she was like a human whirlwind.
She applied for planning permission and the usual licences, investigated the possibility of having civil marriages performed in the house by a registrar, and negotiated with a catering firm in Ormskirk I’d discovered. Movable Feasts offered organic wholefood event catering, which she was a bit dubious about at first, because she seemed to think that it meant vegetarian. I pointed out that I’m not vegetarian, let alone vegan, just because I try to eat a healthy, wholefood organic diet.
Anyway, they had a business meeting, hit it off and have struck a deal. Now Libby was compiling a glossy brochure, with very clever artist’s impressions of what the interior of the Old Barn would look like when it was finished. I chose which of my cake photographs to include in the back section, where she recommends me among other suppliers, including Hebe Winter for rose petal confetti, the couple who make handmade paper invitations and Dorrie’s floral arrangements. The Graces also feature as the purveyors of heirloom embroidered wedding tablecloths for under the cake.
‘Such a good idea, if you think people will be prepared to pay so much for a tablecloth, dear,’ Lily said doubtfully, when I suggested it.
‘People are prepared to pay for lovely, handmade things, and the price takes into account all the time you will spend embroidering and Pansy crocheting the edging.’
‘Well, if you really think so, perhaps we will start to make a stock of them now, ready, so that we will just have to personalise them with the happy couple’s names as the finishing touch.’
I wished that I could lay in a stock of cakes ready too, but I never knew what shape or size I would need next. But then, that is why I enjoy making weird and wonderful cakes and I would hate the monotony of turning out three-tiered white confections.
Lily is also going to provide A Stitch in Time, a sort of have-needle-will-travel emergency service, for any last-minute crises to the bride or bridesmaids’ dresses.
By the start of December the brochure proofs had arrived—Libby certainly doesn’t let the grass grow beneath her feet—and I went over to Blessings to help her go through them. Very grand it all sounded too.
‘For weddings at St Cuthbert’s church in Neatslake, the services of a vintage Bentley and chauffeur are available for a small extra charge, to drive the happy couple back to the reception at Blessings,’ I read.
‘That’s me,’ said Tim, beaming. He’d arrived home a little while earlier and immediately changed into jeans, trainers and a fleece gilet. His white-blond hair seemed to be going in six directions at once, due to his habit of running his hands through it when excited or worried about something.
‘We’ve had to organise special insurance for that,’ Libby said, ‘and bought yards of silk ribbon to decorate the car, because chances are that Tim will only be driving the happy couple the few yards back from church when it rains, so they’ll get soggy each time.’
‘Do you know, darling,’ Tim said, turning to Libby, ‘I think there might still be a chauffeur’s uniform or two in the attic!’
‘I think that would be going a bit too far, Tim. A smart dark suit will do and, goodness knows, you’ve got enough of those for work.’
‘I expect the uniforms are made of that stiff sort of wool that itches anyway,’ he agreed, though with a shade of regret. I suspected he liked the idea of dressing up.
‘My job will be to organise everything on the day and make sure it runs smoothly,’ Libby said. ‘And Josie is my second in command.’
‘So what am I doing, apart from driving the car if requested?’ asked Tim.
‘Ensuring Dorrie has enough flowers and foliage for her table decorations beforehand, either from the garden or the florist in Sticklepond. Then you will be doing the meeting and greeting at the receptions,’ Libby told him, ‘which you couldn’t really do dressed as a chauffeur. That’s really your forte and you will be brilliant at it—making sure everyone has a drink, showing them where in the gardens they can take the best photographs, that kind of thing. Just like a host at a party, really.’
‘Oh, right!’ Tim said, looking relieved. I’m not sure quite what he thought Libby would have had him doing.
‘Before the wedding season, the most important thing you can do is help Dorrie get the grounds picture-perfect again, especially the lawns and rose garden nearest the barn. We’ve had to take soft-focus pictures for the brochure, but by next spring I hope it will all look much better. When I contacted Glorious Weddings magazine they were very interested in doing an article about the business, maybe in the June issue, so I’m sending them a brochure as soon as it’s printed. It will be great publicity.’
‘And you get a mention in the article they did about my cakes,’ I reminded her. ‘That one’s supposed to be out in March.’
‘Yes, that’s true. Perhaps we should advertise Old Barn Receptions in the same one? It all means lots of lovely coverage—and if advance bookings are good, which I’m sure they will be, then you can give up the soliciting and garden full time, Tim.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ he said wistfully, but not unhopefully. ‘Do you really think it will work?’
‘Absolutely! Remember all the trouble I had finding anywhere for our reception, though admittedly it was short notice and late in the year. But there’s clearly a dearth of places in the area, and Blessings will be terribly classy too: the place for receptions. “Reception to be held at Blessings, Neatslake”’, she added grandly. ‘I mean, how good does that sound?’
‘And all the receptions will be as ecologically low impact as possible,’ I said happily, because I’d insisted on it. ‘That will probably be popular. Everyone’s interested in doing their bit these days.’
Gina came in and removed the tea things and Tim went off to have a word with Dorrie. ‘I’d better get back too,’ I said. ‘I need to do a bit more to the Goth cake tonight, though it’s nearly finished. I think it’s quite a success, in a weird sort of way. Once I start helping you with the receptions, what with all the cake-making, baking, preserving, writing my articles, the gardening and delivering the veggie boxes and eggs, there won’t be a second left in the day!’
‘Just as well,’ Libby said. ‘Less time to brood over things. And you’ll be better off, financially.’
‘I’m already rich in all the important things—especially good friends. I don’t need more money; I’ve got enough of that.’
‘Maybe, but like I said, you could go out and buy yourself some decent clothes. You can’t be my second in command looking like an escapee from The Good Life’
‘When I’m not doing anything messy, I’m actually terribly stylish these days, I’ll have you know!’ I said indignantly. ‘Or I am if the boho look is still in. Stella gave me some lovely hippie clothes and one or two of the dresses would probably do for the receptions, once Lily Grace has taken them in a bit.’
‘There’s nothing smart and fashionable about the old hippie look,’ Libby said firmly. ‘No, we’ll go and buy you something new.’
‘But I think I’d be happier, and feel much more like me, in one of Stella’s long Indian paisley cotton dresses and a big frilly pinny,’ I insisted mutinously.
‘I could do you out like a Victorian parlour maid in a long striped dress, if you really want to look retro,’ Libby suggested. ‘Or maybe you could go Elizabethan to match the house, like the re-enactment society in Sticklepond.’
‘I’m definitely not wearing a farthingale, but if you want me to look sort of medieval, I could wear my bridesmaid’s dress?’
‘Yes, and your hair loose, with a circlet…that would look interesting. But then, I would probably have to dress up too. It would look odd if only one of us was, wouldn’t it? So maybe not. We would both be better neatly dressed and blending into the background.’
‘O
K,’ I agreed, thinking that actually it was probably just as well, because after being tossed aside on the night of the wedding, my bridesmaid’s dress had been very creased, though I was working on that. Lily Grace had told me an old trick: you hung the garment in a steamy room to sort of relax the crumples away. It had been in the bathroom ever since, and it did look better every time I had a shower or bath. I just hoped it didn’t get mildew before it was crease free.
I went out by way of the French doors and found Tim and Dorrie standing under a carriage lamp, impervious to the cold and the dusk, discussing the garden.
‘That Rambling Rector has rambled quite out of order,’ said Dorrie. ‘It needs a firm pruning back, and then it should make a glorious backdrop by next year. Now, in front of it, there used to be a magnificent herbaceous border, if you recall, but it’s well and truly overgrown. Disgraceful! I just couldn’t keep it under control at all, and Moorcroft was worse than useless.’
‘Could we salvage the perennials?’ asked Tim.
‘I should think so. Between us we could go right through it and save what we can, then plant it up again next spring.’
The moonlight showed the path through the rose garden to the distant gazebo, which I had noticed on the day of the wedding was sadly shabby and in need of a good coat of paint.
Tim must have been thinking the same thing, because he said, ‘The gazebo would be a perfect spot for photographs of the happy couples. If we get some dry days, I could start repairing and painting that myself’.
‘Harry would give you a hand, with advice, if not anything terribly physical,’ I offered, then, finding it a bit chilly for standing around, went home.
Behind me their voices started up again, debating the merits of whether to try to recut the croquet lawn out of the rough grass.
‘Our Sadie’s sent more photos of what she calls the granddad flat,’ Harry said. ‘It’s come on a treat—nearly finished.’
‘You can’t say she isn’t doing her best to entice you over there, Harry,’ I said. ‘I’m sure you’d be very comfortable. Maybe you should think seriously about it. I mean, I know it would be sad to leave your friends, but think of the fun you would have with all your family, especially the grandchildren.’
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