Rumours

by Freya North

  ‘Since I was twenty-one. Almost fifty years. Lady Lydia tells everyone we’re the same age – but there’s seven years between us, in my favour. Sometimes I remind her of that.’

  ‘Wow – do you dare?’

  Stella’s remark wasn’t catty, it was said in awe. ‘When she’s frustrated,’ Mrs Biggins told her. ‘When she can’t open a sticky door, or a jar of pickles. When she found the old iron kettle heavy.’ She paused, looking over at the new electric one that she always boiled when Lydia came into the kitchen, but rarely used. ‘When she feels the cold. That’s when I say to her, I say, “Well, Lady Lydia – I am seven years younger than you.” I don’t say she’s seven years older than me, you see.’

  ‘I see,’ said Stella. She sipped her tea and munched her rock cake, surprised that Mrs Biggins decided to join her in both. ‘Mrs Biggins, where will you go?’

  ‘Go?’

  ‘When Longbridge is—’ Suddenly Stella couldn’t say it out loud. It seemed so tactless, as if the plans were being kept secret from the bricks and mortar for the meantime.

  Mrs Biggins ate thoughtfully. ‘Depends if Lady Lydia has need of a housekeeper, I reckon.’

  ‘She won’t talk to me about where she sees herself, what type of property, which location – she keeps saying, “All in good time.” I worry – partly because I don’t honestly know where someone goes, when they’ve lived their life in a place like this.’

  ‘Hard to imagine,’ said Mrs Biggins. ‘Hard to imagine not being here. Me. Her. Any of us.’

  ‘What if the new people – whoever they might be – want you to stay on?’

  Mrs Biggins looked at Stella as if the suggestion verged on barbaric. ‘It’s the Fortescue family I work for,’ she said. She looked at once uncomfortable and Stella felt bad.

  ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean to offend you.’ Mrs Biggins offered her another cake. ‘Will – my son – says hullo.’

  ‘Nice little lad – you take a cake for him.’ And Mrs Biggins wrapped one in another napkin.

  ‘A piece of kitchen paper will do,’ Stella assured her.

  ‘They’re my rock cakes!’ Mrs Biggins retorted. ‘Kitchen paper will not do.’ And though she put her smile against her mug of tea as if it was the shape her mouth made when she was blowing on hot liquid, she winked at Stella all the same. For a split second, Stella had the urge to tell her about Xander. Just to say his name out loud. Perhaps chat about him. But she felt shy and she thought better of it and the two of them sat there and sipped until, minutes later, they heard Lydia rattling the front door, the bell chiming out.

  Mrs Biggins tutted. ‘She knows the French doors are open – she does this on purpose.’ And she huffed off to open the front door, with Stella following behind.

  After profuse apologies brushed away by the Tompkins but sternly accepted by Lydia, Stella joined them for another tour of the house before she took the Tompkins off to see the stable courtyard. Lydia had said to her not to bother Clarence. He was under the weather, apparently. And she told Stella the Tompkins didn’t have time to see the Lime Grove Cottages today, at which point Stella just stood there and grinned like an idiot.

  ‘I’ve offered to take them next week,’ Lydia told her.

  ‘I can do that,’ Stella said, like an annoying, over-keen school goody-goody. ‘I can do that – let me!’

  Lydia thought, what is wrong with the girl? She preferred Stella when she was deferential and sensible and behaving like a proper estate agent. She didn’t even have a clipboard today – just the silly smile. And she was wearing the sort of pumps that used to be seen only on a tennis court.

  Lydia took her leave of the Tompkins and nodded gravely at Stella. But she was quite taken aback when Stella found a moment out of earshot of the Tompkins to tell Lydia of three forthcoming viewings for the next week. It was suddenly apparent that for Lydia, the Tompkins were her favoured buyer.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll hear – shortly,’ said Stella, nodding over to the library where the Tompkins could be heard marvelling. ‘Perhaps after they’ve seen Lime Grove Cottages.’

  ‘The Hakshimmer people?’ Lydia asked, visibly pulling herself together. ‘Did you speak to them again?’

  ‘Hakshimis,’ said Stella, ‘Sticking at eleven.’

  Once again, Stella followed the Bentley out as far as the high street. Once again, she turned right when they turned left. This time, however, she didn’t overshoot the turning to Tramfield Lane, parking well in advance of it in a space in the lot opposite the shop. Perhaps Caroline was in there. Perhaps not. Maybe Michael Lazarus’s magical shop was a hum of activity. But, passing by, she saw the sign said ‘Open after lunch’. Mercy Benton’s little cottage appeared quiet but Stella noted all manner of summer bedding plants lining the pathway and she was pleased the new owners were continuing to make it their home. She walked on. She’d chosen to walk because she needed to collect herself though when she saw the sign for Tramfield Lane the charge of adrenalin put paid to that.

  Shall I? Can I really do this? She’d left her phone in the car so as not to be tempted to text Jo because if Jo didn’t reply she might well lose her nerve. Digging her nails into the palms of her hands and taking a couple of deep breaths, she headed up the lane to the cottages, truly not knowing whether she wanted Xander to be home or not.

  He heard the creak of his gate. From the back of the kitchen, he could watch unseen Stella walking down his path. The real-life Stella, walking a zigzag down the straight path to his door, hair in a pony-tail, squinting in sunlight, moments away from seeing if he was at home. And he wondered, shall I be in – or not? He’d been for a short run, he was showered and changed. He had no plans. But he hadn’t planned for this. He’d meticulously planned to turn up at Stella’s earlier that morning and claim it was on the off chance. He’d decided on it the previous day, whilst sitting at work staring at the tuna mayo sandwich brought to him by Mrs Gregg who then asked him, intermittently during the afternoon, whether he was all right.

  Xander couldn’t see Stella now. She must be at the front door; perhaps hovering there as he was hovering here. Would he be able to say – to ask – what he’d primed himself to, earlier that day? Did his question have a sell-by date of that morning – a caveat that it had to be said on her doorstep and not his? He waited for the knock. He waited a long time for the knock. He was just wondering whether to venture over to the front door and see if perhaps she’d gone, when the knock finally came. A shy, single tap followed by two more assertive raps.

  Just offer her a coffee. Or tea – she had tea last time. But look at the time. It’s lunch-time. Perhaps suggest the pub. Nice weather – a walk? Or just start by saying hullo. Or hi. Or, add her name. Just open the bloody door and see what bloody happens.

  Open the door.

  Open the door.

  Xander opened the door and they both said hullo at the same time. Then Stella made a strange and inadvertent snort sound while Xander simply stood like a lummox as he struggled with what to say or do because no thoughts came to him though he scrambled to locate any.

  ‘Did you want the loo?’

  Dear God, let her see the funny side of it.

  Stella made much of biting her lip and scrunching her eyes and groaning in a genuinely mortified way, but Xander just laughed, realizing that what he assumed was such a stupid bloody thing to say was actually just fine.

  ‘Did you want the loo?’ he repeated, eased by Stella visibly wracking her brains for a larky response. ‘Because I’m told it’s the highlight of your day. Nothing comes close.’

  Stella just stood there, outwardly dumbstruck while inwardly grasping for the best response. She’d told Jo that having a pee when you’re bursting is better than sex. She certainly wasn’t going to say that to Xander. Say something! ‘I’ve just been at Longbridge,’ she said. But that sounded boring so she opened her bag for him to see the napkin concealing something lumpy.

  ‘Is that for me?’

  ‘It’s fo
r Will, actually. Mrs Biggins’ rock cake.’ She wished she hadn’t followed it by saying ‘Yum’.

  Both Xander and Stella turned when the Georges walked by and called hullo to him. Then they spent a few moments concentrating on the emptiness of the lane. Stella gave the type of sigh that said, well, I ought to get going I suppose. So Xander pulled himself together because he knew he really wanted her to stay.

  ‘Would you like to come in?’ he asked her. ‘Or are you in a rush? Apparently you’re stroppy when you’re in a rush. So you must always be in a rush because I’d assumed you were just stroppy – full stop.’

  Stella huffed. ‘I’m not stroppy!’ she protested. ‘You’re the moody one, thank you very much!’ But she grinned. ‘And no – I’m not in a rush.’ And she all but stomped past Xander and into his house while they both laughed a little too heartily.

  Xander closed his front door. The click of the latch, then simply the silence of the house. The day outside was excluded. Lydia, Will – everyone was where they should be, unaware of the two people standing quietly inside 3 Lime Grove Cottages. Xander and Stella, finding themselves together in a secret stillness away from the world. They looked at each other, heads tilted, smiles soft and instinctively they took a step closer, and closer still so that Xander could cup her face in his hands and Stella could place hers either side of his neck and slowly, very slowly, they kissed.

  As their lips met, anticipation melted into relief. All the awkward clumsiness of moments ago – the talk of stroppiness and the loo and rock cakes and hullo George family – faded as they found each other’s mouths and conversed wordlessly, perfectly. Noses rubbing, tongues flicking shyly at first, soon enough dancing deeply. Hands stroking and feeling. The landscape of muscled arms. Such a strong back. Maybe that word ‘manly’ isn’t so silly. There’s that fragrance – perhaps it’s not her shampoo. Perhaps it’s just her. This is her – this is the gentle curve of Stella’s waist, the soft dip at the base of her back. It was like Braille on a human scale.

  When they pulled away, a little bashful to find themselves in the here and now, they had to focus on something else for a few seconds – Xander on Stella’s silver necklace, Stella on a rivet on the front pocket of Xander’s jeans. And then, they looked at each other. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and she placed her hand over his and pressed her cheek into it.

  ‘Are you in a rush?’ he asked. Tiger’s Eye – that’s where he’d seen the colour of Stella’s eyes. She shook her head. ‘Do you want to – I don’t know!’ He thought about it. ‘Sit? Walk? Eat? Talk? God!’

  ‘Could go for a walk? I don’t know either!’

  ‘A walk sounds good.’

  ‘Good – I’d like a walk.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Right.’

  They paused.

  ‘Or maybe a cup of tea?’ Stella said, wanting to stay right here, in this space in which some crazy magic had just been woven.

  ‘Yes – OK. Or lunch? Are you hungry?’

  ‘I’ve had a Mrs Biggins’ rock cake.’

  ‘That’ll keep you going.’

  ‘You could have the one she packed for Will, if you like.’

  ‘What a dreadful mother you are!’

  And Xander kissed her again because her indignant face made him want to.

  ‘Please have it,’ said Stella, unwrapping the napkin. ‘I’ll ask Mrs Biggins for the recipe.’

  ‘She’ll never give it out,’ Xander said.

  ‘Doesn’t matter – I make a mean fairy cake myself,’ said Stella. ‘Will’s favourite. Cream cheese icing. Hundreds and thousands.’

  ‘Are you pocketing the napkin?’ he asked her, going to the kitchen and putting the cake on a saucer. The atmosphere now light, both at ease; simply together at Xander’s place on a Saturday lunch-time as though it was the most normal thing for both of them to do because they’d done it a hundred times before.

  ‘You bet – I’m hoping to collect the set.’

  ‘Look.’ He showed her a delicate teaspoon engraved with an elegant F.

  ‘You stole Lydia’s silver?’

  ‘Acquired when I was small. Actually, it’s silver plate – see.’ He traced the EPNS letters on the back. ‘Apparently, a solid silver spoon did find its way into my trouser pocket but Lydia managed to appease me with this one.’

  Stella smiled, taking the spoon from him, noticing how lovely his hands were; shapely fingers, nice nails.

  ‘This morning,’ Stella said. ‘When you came to my house. On the off chance?’

  ‘I was going to ask if you wanted to have dinner tonight. You know – if you could find a babysitter.’ Xander stopped. ‘Can you? A babysitter. Would you – like to have dinner?’ He was properly asking a girl out on a date. When had he last done that? When had he last felt this nervous? Ridiculous how nervous he felt! Get a grip, man! ‘The Black Ox in the village is really good. We could go there?’

  An image of her gloriously empty kitchen calendar sprung to Stella’s mind. With the one bloody Saturday – the first in June – glaringly filled in. Today. Red pen. A & J’s 7.30 p.m. Her mind racketed over whether she could cancel Alistair and Juliet. If she could find a babysitter at such late notice. But what about Will? He liked to know well in advance if she was going out. He was looking forward to going to his super-cool older cousins. But Stella had been asked out, on a proper date, by exactly the person she wanted; a man who’d just kissed her and awakened sensations she’d quashed for years and it was all so thrilling and she couldn’t bloody go.

  She looked down and rubbed the spoon as if hoping for a genie. ‘I’m going to my brother’s tonight – they’re having a few friends over. Will and I are staying the night.’ She looked forlorn. ‘I can’t cancel. I’m sorry.’

  ‘So you’d’ve said no – if I’d asked you on your doorstep.’

  ‘If I hadn’t been on the loo,’ Stella said. Then she looked at Xander. ‘But that would have meant I wouldn’t be here now.’ She paused and smiled. ‘And there’d have been no kissing. And no planning. None of this would have happened.’

  He looked at Stella, sitting on his stool, in his kitchen. An odd sight indeed, but a welcome one. He went over to her and pulled her close to him, sinking his mouth into hers, wishing she didn’t have to go. He wanted to talk the afternoon away, walk with her, eat with her. Take her to bed. God, he wanted to take her to bed.

  ‘I’m going to have to go,’ Stella whispered against his lips, eyes shut.

  ‘I know,’ he whispered back. ‘Right now?’

  ‘Now-ish,’ she said, darting her tongue along his lips and thinking she’d rather be in a rush to collect Will if it meant she could kiss Xander for a little while longer.

  ‘Go,’ he said, kissing her fast on her cheeks, her chin, her lips. ‘I don’t want to make you late.’

  ‘Will you call? Soon?’

  He nodded. ‘We can postpone dinner. We can rebook it.’ Reluctantly, they headed away from the kitchen. Stella picked up her bag, Xander liking the way she wore it across herself, like a school satchel. And then he raised his eyebrow at her. ‘Er – my spoon, madam? Are you intending to pilfer that too?’

  She hadn’t realized. It was so dainty and so warm and so snug in her hand. She gave it back to him and, eyes dancing, she stood on tiptoes and kissed him. ‘What would Lydia think if she knew you’d been kissing me and kissing me?’

  Xander looked at the spoon as he rotated the stem between his thumb and forefinger. What would Lydia think? What would she say – because she’d certainly have something to say about it. Sometimes, though, with Lydia, what she thought and what she said didn’t necessarily correlate. And what had he just done? What was he doing, finding so attractive the woman who was wreaking havoc through the village and trampling all over his memories? He looked at her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said thoughtfully. And he couldn’t stop himself weaving her pony-tail through his fingers as he led her to the door. ‘I honestly don’t
know.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alistair felt so proud of his little sister as Stella breezed into his sitting room full of people. She looked just lovely. He wasn’t sure if she’d had her hair done, or was using some new expensive magic mascara, or if she’d filled out a bit, or was wearing a new outfit, but something was different and whatever it was she looked really radiant. She greeted the Hendersons and the Griffins warmly and gave Rupert a good long handshake and easy smile when they were introduced. And she hugged Juliet tightly. She was chatty and effervescent and Alistair said to Juliet, you know what, I think she’s turned a corner, I think she’s back in the game, I think she’s ready to put herself out there and reel them in. Juliet just slapped him on the backside and said, for God’s sake, don’t go on about there being plenty of fish in the sea. But Alistair just shrugged and said, Rupert is a catch, and they left it at that.

  beans on toast. Xx

  Stella had felt her phone vibrate. Surreptitiously, she took it from her pocket, placed it in her lap and read Xander’s first-ever text to her, while sitting at Alistair’s table having thoroughly enjoyed Juliet’s hors d’oeuvres and the lively company. She thought, how can my heart miss a beat just by someone telling me they’re eating baked beans! She thought, how am I meant to reply! Rupert was talking at her about something or other and she managed to nod at him across the table while trying out sentences in her head. She tapped out a fair few, assessing how they looked on screen but deleted them all. What should she say! Come on, Inspiration!

  I know!

  and for pud? Sx

  She thought it was an accidental nudge, but when it happened again, Stella realized it was her brother kicking at her leg under the table. Juliet’s incomparable roast duck had been placed in front of her and everyone else had already started, so Stella quickly slipped her phone back in her pocket hoping to feel the buzz of a reply soon.

  It came in the middle of Rupert recounting something quite funny about his hiking holiday in Guatemala.

  thoughts of you. Xx