One Minute Later

by Susan Lewis

  She laughed, joyfully, and knew that the sensations in her heart had nothing at all to do with anything but pleasure.

  As soon as they got home Vivi went into her room and closed the door. To make doubly sure she couldn’t be overheard she put on some music, then rang Michelle.

  ‘I’ve had a call from Josh,’ she told her, aware of how ragged her limited breath was making her voice. ‘He wants to see me and I want to see him, but …’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to him,’ Michelle interrupted. ‘He rang to get your number. Please tell me you didn’t turn him down.’

  Surprised, and suddenly wanting to laugh and embrace her best friend like she never had before, Vivi said, ‘I didn’t, but …’

  ‘Listen,’ Michelle said firmly, ‘I know what you’re thinking, but let’s be frank about this, shall we? He knows what’s going on with you and he still wants to see you. So what’s the point in trying to deny the attraction you feel for one another?’

  Vivi’s swirl of emotions was so mixed and unsteady that she could hardly connect with even one. ‘So you noticed?’ Her smile grew to a point where it couldn’t get any wider.

  ‘Noticed?’ Michelle spluttered. ‘We could have lit up the whole town with the chemistry going on between you two the other night.’

  Vivi bit her lip, wanting to laugh and cry and heaven only knew what else. ‘I’ve told him to come tomorrow when you’re supposed to be with me. Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. I’m guessing that means you’re not going to tell your mother?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It’ll only worry her … God knows my heart’s already in enough trouble, she won’t take kindly to me putting it in the way of even more.’

  With tenderness in her voice, Michelle said, ‘He’s a wonderful man, Vivi. Far too good-looking, of course, and he’s got a whole list of flaws that include being impulsive, annoyingly clever and a hopeless timekeeper, but he’s different, special in a way that’s hard to put into words. The best I can manage is that if we were having this conversation about anyone else I’d be worried. I’d even be trying to talk you out of it. As it’s him … Well, let’s speak again tomorrow after you’ve seen him.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  VIVIENNE

  Present Day

  It was just after eleven when Josh arrived the following morning, so he was hardly late at all, Vivi noted as she watched him getting out of his Land Rover. She guessed Michelle had told him that Gina didn’t like her sick daughter to be alone for long in case something happened, so perhaps that was the reason for his arrival only ten minutes after her mother had left for The Salon.

  She was standing at the front door ready to greet him as he came across the drive towards her. Though she was ludicrously pleased to see him, a part of her was nervous, anxious even, and yet she also felt calm and confident in a way she hadn’t expected, certainly not for a first date, if that was what this was.

  He wore his smile as unselfconsciously as the faded jeans and old grey polo he’d no doubt had for years, and as he came closer she felt the magnetism of him already reaching her. She wondered if he had that effect on everyone, or if it was just her.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, holding her eyes in a way that dispensed with the need for a handshake, or a friendly kiss on the cheek. It was an embrace all of its own.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, and stood aside for him to come in.

  She showed him through to her room, feeling thankful that the bed was no longer there like a relic from Miss Havisham’s world. ‘I made some coffee,’ she said, gesturing towards the tray on the table.

  He went to the open front window, taking in the view and the gentle sea air, dampened by a drift of fine rain. She could feel the masculinity of him in this essentially feminine room, was aware of the hard muscles of his arms and back that filled out his shirt, the length of his legs, the dark hair that curled over his collar. Then he turned and regarded the tray she’d set out, and seemed puzzled for a moment. ‘What are you having?’ he asked, apparently registering the single mug.

  Gesturing to the white china pitcher, she said, ‘Iced tea. Strawberry flavour. I don’t do much caffeine these days. You’re welcome to join me.’

  His eyes returned to hers, and the irony in his smile sent her gently to the stars. ‘I’ll have a manly coffee,’ he quipped. ‘Black, no sugar.’

  Embarrassing herself, she said, ‘I might have some manly biscuits to go with it.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What are manly biscuits?’

  ‘Jammie Dodgers,’ she said cautiously, and loved it when he laughed. ‘Seriously, I have some digestives. Or I might be able to rustle up a Hobnob or two.’

  ‘Digestives,’ he decided, and to her surprise he came to tilt her face up to the light. The feel of his fingers on her chin was as unsettling as the curiosity in his eyes. He nodded and said, ‘Yep, I was right. They’re the colour of African violets.’ Before she could comment that his eyes were also blue, though darker, he let her go and looked around the room. ‘Sam told me he’d recreated your London apartment,’ he said. ‘You have great taste, in that it chimes with my own, I guess. That’s the only way we judge these things, isn’t it? Would you like me to pour, or just to stop talking?’

  Smiling, she said, ‘No, please don’t stop. If you do I’ll have to speak and I’m not sure what I want to say.’

  Clearly amused, he sat down in the armchair and took the coffee she handed him. ‘Am I allowed to say that I’ve never met anyone like you before?’ he ventured.

  Thrown, she almost replied, You mean someone who’s dying? Stopping herself in time, she said, ‘I’m not sure whether to ask you to explain that.’

  He took a sip of coffee. ‘What I should probably have said is that I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before. It’s hard to be sure when we don’t really know one another, but I do know that I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since the other night – and I’ve come to see you at eleven o’clock on a workday morning, abandoning all other commitments.’

  Though his words were wonderful to hear, so honest and free of the usual games and reticence of first meetings, her eyes widened with as much concern as amusement. ‘What are you supposed to be doing?’ she probed.

  ‘Treating sick animals. However, I have to admit, if I had an emergency I’d be there. Sorry if that sounds …’

  ‘It sounds right,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Are you an animal lover?’

  ‘What’s not to love? Although I have to admit I don’t know much about them.’

  He pondered this. ‘I guess I don’t know your world either.’

  Deciding he was referring to her life in London, she said, ‘This is my world now, quite different to the one I was used to.’

  The interest in his eyes seemed to intensify, and after a moment he surprised her as he said, ‘Are you afraid?’

  Her first instinct was to pull back from the question, try to make light of her feelings, but she could see that he was expecting a truthful answer, and she realized she wanted to give it. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘I’m afraid, especially when my device kicks in. It’s like it’s saying, don’t get too carried away, Vivienne, you haven’t got what it takes to see it through, whatever it might be.’

  He sat with those words, and she knew he’d heard the subtext she hadn’t intentionally included, and was assessing it. ‘Tell me what gets you carried away,’ he said, making it both a tease and a serious question. ‘It would be good to know, so I don’t get us into any trouble.’

  Enjoying the ‘us’ as much as the banter, she said, ‘If I feel it happening, I’ll be sure to let you know. Now, you promised me, the last time we met, that you’d tell me about Deerwood.’

  He looked disappointed, but also curious. ‘You mean you haven’t Googled it since then? I thought everyone Googled everything right away these days.’

  ‘Do you?’

  He laughed. ‘No, I guess
not.’

  ‘I didn’t look it up,’ she told him, ‘because I wanted to hear about it from you.’ This was true, but not only because she hadn’t wanted to go on a voyeuristic – or perhaps masochistic – journey into a world that she’d been trying to tell herself she could never be a part of. She’d remembered how her mother hadn’t wanted to buy fruit there, and though Gina’s behaviour that day might have had nothing at all to do with the farm, Vivi simply hadn’t wanted to connect with anything negative about it.

  She still didn’t.

  He said, ‘I didn’t Google you either.’

  She had to laugh. ‘Because Michelle and Sam had already told you about me,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I have to admit it.’

  ‘Which makes me wonder why you’re here. However, let’s please not get into that. I really, truly, want to know about Deerwood.’

  An hour later he was stretched out in a lazy way in the armchair, having finished two coffees and several biscuits, and was seeming as comfortable as if he were here every day. ‘So now,’ he said, with a luxurious yawn, ‘having gone from eight residents when the project started fifteen years ago, we’re up to around thirty at the last count and if I know my sisters, it won’t stop there.’

  Loving everything she’d heard so far about his sisters, his mother, grandparents, aunt and uncle, indeed everything that made up a family and existence so different from her own, she said, ‘OK, let me get this straight. Your mother oversees everything, but she’s mainly involved with the farm. As is your uncle Nate. Your sister Hanna runs the social integration – or residency – programme; your other sister, Zoe, organizes the health and fitness side of things. Your grandfather is – what did you call him? An organic engineer?’

  He laughed. ‘His words. He thinks it’s witty. What he really is, is a brilliant gardener, but he’s in his eighties now – really good for his age, it has to be said – and with half a dozen sizeable greenhouses to take care of, God knows how many raised vegetable beds and a whole orchard of fruit trees, he’s quite happy to take all the help he can get. In reality, my cousin, Perry, runs the organic farming, and the kids – residents – do most of the hard labour. As do the university students who keep turning up for work experience or just for the fun of it, as far as I can tell. They come from all over, pitch their tents in one of the fields, or camp out on the floors of the residents’ blocks if it’s cold or wet, and they actually add a whole other dimension to the experience for the kids who’ve spent most of their lives in care.’

  Entranced by the thought of all that unusual activity and invaluable interaction, Vivi said, ‘What sort of other dimension?’

  He measured it for a moment. ‘Well, to begin with a lot of the students bring music with them and that’s a tremendous bonus to any education – at least in my opinion. Everyone joins in the campfire singalongs, even the shyest or most aggressive amongst them, and we’ve had quite a few kids leave us able to play the guitar, or the recorder, or even a cello, one year. Someone local came in to coach him when he showed real talent. The kids, both privileged and challenged, often bond in a way that they probably wouldn’t even come close to in the wider world. There are no class barriers at Deerwood. There’s just the work and the learning and the gradual understanding of who they are, where they’ve come from and, to an extent, where they hope to go next.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ she murmured. No wonder he loved it so much, she was thinking, it hardly seemed possible not to.

  His voice dipped into irony as he said, ‘That’s definitely how Hanna would like to paint it, as wonderful, even idyllic, but I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that it has its problems. There have been times when we’ve had to call the police to break up fights, or to help remove someone who’s threatening to burn the place down, or blow us all up. Drugs are a constant challenge, but Hanna and her team mostly manage to stay on top of it. The hopeless cases have to go, unfortunately – Deerwood isn’t a rehab centre – so they’re sent to places better equipped to deal with them. I won’t get into the couple of suicides we’ve had, or the attempted murder, but they’ve happened too. It’s never a dull moment on our farm, that’s for sure.’

  Aware of starting to feel breathless, Vivi made herself push past it and said, ‘So what exactly do you do in all this?’ Her breathing would sort itself out in a minute or two, it usually did.

  Watching her, he slid down to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands linked loosely together. ‘I just muck in where it’s needed,’ he replied, seeming more focused on her than his words. ‘I think I told you I have a surgery and office there, so I take on any of the kids who show an interest in animals. This can range from nature night watches – they’re always popular for some reason. Interesting, isn’t it, how kids love going out on an adventure at night? I always did when I was young. Some of our residents have never even been to the countryside before they come to us, so identifying birds and their calls, following tracks, or rescuing something that’s injured seems to fascinate them. I could get into all sorts of parallels here, but I’ll spare myself the embarrassment and just say that there are certain similarities between their own lives and those of creatures in the wild that seem to work very well for them. No one’s gone the whole way to becoming a naturalist or a vet yet, but three of our girls are now working as veterinary nurses, two in Bath and the other in Southampton.’

  Impressed, she said, ‘So it’s like a radic … radically different kind of sixth-form college?’

  He nodded. ‘I guess you could say that.’ Though he continued to speak she was aware of how closely he was watching her, seeming to know that things weren’t right, but unsure as yet what to do about it. ‘It’s wonderful the way so many professionals are willing to share their time and expertise,’ he said, his words forming a bridge over the changing current between them. ‘Some, of course, do it for the kudos and publicity, but most get involved because they really want to.’ He paused, still watching her, seeming to wait for a cue. Or … What was he doing? His thoughts seemed to be … seemed not to be on his words.

  ‘Go on,’ she prompted.

  Still going with it, he said, ‘Our friend Sam has worked miracles in all sorts of ways. He gets the kids involved in all the trades from plumbing, to electrics, to roofing … Those who’re really interested learn how to construct a small dwelling somewhere on the farm, making it as isolated or as close to the main complex as they choose. It’s always temporary, so we don’t have to apply for planning consent. Some have started renovating old caravans, or repurposing disused shipping containers; last year someone even transformed a boat.’

  Enchanted by the amazing opportunities his family had created for so many underprivileged children, Vivi said, ‘I can understand …’ she took a breath, ‘why Michelle says it’s a very special place.’

  ‘You’ll have to come and see it one of these days,’ he told her, seeming to mean it.

  Knowing she’d love to, she said, ‘I’m just wondering what other life experiences you’ve had besides uni, South Africa and Deerwood.’

  Instead of answering, he said, ‘Shall we sit quietly for a while?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m just … It comes and goes.’ With a smile she knew was probably tinged with blue, she added, ‘I hope you’re not avoiding my question?’

  He smiled too and proving that he’d read her correctly, he said, ‘I’m not married, and I never have been, because I’ve never met the right woman, although, as you know, I thought I had for a while when I was in Africa. My sister Zoe, on the other hand, has been more successful. She’s in California at the moment, on honeymoon with her new wife, and learning even more holistic therapies to bring back to Deerwood.’

  ‘So she lives at Deerwood?’

  ‘One way or another we all do. Maybe not permanently, but Zoe’s still got her old bedroom at the farmhouse, and Hanna has the main part of the barn that was first converted into a holiday let by our maternal grand
parents aeons ago. Patty and George – said maternal grandparents – are still in their two-up two-down end of the barn, while Hanna and her husband, Martin – he’s a journalist who came to interview her back in the early days and never quite left – they and their three, soon to be four, children rocket around the rest of the barn. Have I lost you yet?’

  Smiling past the tiredness that was trying to drown her, she said, ‘I think I’m following it all. I was just wondering … I notice how you keep changing the subject away from yourself.’ Was that what she’d meant to say? She wasn’t sure for the moment how well she’d heard everything. Maybe he’d talked about himself more than she realized and she’d failed to take it in. She wanted to stay awake, and to stop him from looking so concerned. He was getting up, coming to … She didn’t object as he eased her down on the sofa, raised her legs gently and rearranged the pillows … It felt good to have him here … Really good, as though he was … She watched him through blurry eyes as he smoothed a calming hand over her forehead and murmured that it was time to rest for a while. She closed her eyes and put a hand over his, holding it to her cheek as though she might absorb some of his strength.

  When she awoke she was still lying in the same place, but it was Michelle on the floor beside her now, playing with Ash. A cool breeze was drifting in through the open windows, toys were scattered about …

  She blinked, trying to get a sense of the time and how long she’d been out. She took a breath, found it came easily, and took another while trying to decide if she felt dizzy, or lethargic, or even depressed.

  There was no sign of Josh and she wasn’t sure whether she felt embarrassed that she’d fallen asleep, or disappointed that he’d gone; probably it was a combination of the two.

  She smiled as Ash spotted her eyes were open and let out a jubilant shriek. ‘Hello, noisy,’ she croaked.

  Michelle turned to sit facing her, holding an excited Ash back before he launched himself onto the sofa. ‘Josh had to go,’ she said, ‘but he wanted me to tell you that he’s never bored anyone off to sleep before.’