Cas laughed. 'She'd soon find out there's no harm in Rosa, if she got to know her properly.'
'So it'll be one of the farm hands? Won't that leave us short with Flick away too?'
'Yes, so I'll have to think of someone else.'
He turned round as Flick came back, carrying a large rucksack.
'I got your car out. You'll need some petrol, so fill up before the motorway. Here's some cash, in case you are short. Have you got your credit cards?'
'Yes, brother dear, and my toothbrush, and some clean panties. Can I take some cake to eat on the way?' she added.
'I've packed some, and some for your mother,' Mrs Thomas said, thrusting a carrier bag into Flick's hands. 'Now, be off with you, and my best regards to your parents.'
Cas went to see her off, and she leaned out of the window.
'Why don't you ask our new neighbour to go with you to Rosa's wedding?'
*
Thelma Rogers chatted non-stop while Lucy was cutting and shaping her hair, and she only had to insert the odd word or question before she was off again.
'I do hope you enjoyed the meeting last night, and will become a member,' she began, going on to enumerate all the advantages and the classes Lucy could attend, and the craft weekends.
'I'll try to come to the meetings,' she compromised. 'But I really don't have time to go to classes. I have a job to do, and my garden needs a lot of attention.'
'Mrs Constantine, who used to live there, used to make wonderful wine from those pears. The apple wasn't so good, but it's terribly difficult to make good apple wine. Perhaps it's the wrong kind of tree. My apple wine is always good.'
Lucy preferred wine that came in a bottle with a nice fancy label. She hadn't the faintest idea how to make it, but she couldn't see herself trampling pears in the bathtub. She didn't say so, however, or she'd have been recruited for a wine-making class.
'You must come and help us with the annual fête,' Mrs Rogers ordered, rather than invited. 'The WIs always do the refreshments, and man the cake stall. Can you cook?'
'Er, not very well. My cakes always seem to burn, and I haven't got used to my new oven yet,' she added hurriedly. No doubt there were cookery classes too. 'I could make the tea,' she offered, to forestall other suggestions.
'Good. The more helpers the merrier, and many hands make light work, they say.'
'What other stalls are there? And when is the fête?'
'It's the middle of June. We have bottles, books, bric-a-brac, and that's only the Bs,' she said, and giggled. Lucy almost chopped off the end of her ear as her head shook. 'Then there are all sorts of games and competitions, some of them have prizes. And donkey rides. Oh, but I wonder if the Thorpe boys will bring their donkeys this year? Cas Finlay has promised llama rides for the children on that animal of his.'
Rosa? Giving kids rides? Lucy hoped she'd controlled her tendency to spit by then, but she doubted it.
'Shocking accident, that was, to Miss Brown,' she went on. 'Alice told me all about it. Lovely girl, Alice. She's only been here a year, since she came to work at Cuticurls, but we're hoping she will marry and settle down. Such an asset to the village, she'd be.'
'Marry?' she managed to get in. 'Er, is she engaged?'
Another ear almost got the chop as Mrs Rogers shook her head violently. 'Not yet, not officially, but her aunt tells me she has hopes.'
She? Was it Alice or Miss Brown who had hopes? Lucy didn't, somehow, want to ask, but Mrs Rogers was in full spate again.
'Your neighbour, pleasant man is he?'
'My neighbour?' she asked, thinking of Doc.
'Bryant, his name, isn't it? He doesn't get involved in many village activities. But perhaps,' she added darkly, 'if all we hear is correct, it's probably as well. He's been in prison, it's rumoured. You need to take care, living so near him and so isolated from the rest of the village.'
She almost choked trying to suppress her laughter. Jeff had implied to Miss Brown that he was a convicted rapist, and it had apparently gone all round the village. She wondered if he knew.
'Oh, I don't think so,' she managed to say. 'I understand he's away a lot, on business.'
'Hm. That's what he says. When's your sister coming again?'
'In a week or two, when her university term ends. She's going to live with me and commute to Oxford, she'll be working with an accountancy firm there.'
'What does a pretty girl like her want working with figures all day? She'd be better off getting married.'
Kate would agree with her, but were all the old tabbies in this place so antediluvian, thinking marriage the only possible career for a girl?
*
Thanks to Mrs Rogers, who insisted she stayed for coffee when her hair was finished, Lucy didn't get home in time to do more than tidy round, make the bed, and wash up. Edward arrived in the middle of the afternoon, having driven down from London. She'd agonised over what to wear, and finished up in some newish white jeans and a sloppy, silky blue shirt. She'd lost the top button and not had time to sew it on, even if she could remember where she'd put it, so she fastened it up high to her neck with an old-fashioned cameo brooch her grandmother had left her when she died. It would not be sensible to show too much cleavage in case it gave Edward the wrong impression. Then she wondered if she was wronging him. Skirts and tight tee shirts were liable to give most men ideas, she'd found, though not, so far, with Edward, who'd always been scrupulously chaste. Though she had, several times, seen his gaze fixed on her legs or her bosom.
When she opened the door he leaned over the Harrods' bag he was carrying to kiss her on the cheek, and smiled ruefully. She almost succumbed then. That apologetic, guilty-looking, boyish smile had in the past made her want to stroke his head and say 'there, there, it's going to be all right'. She hardened her heart. He'd have to do a lot more than smile before he became part of her life again.
She stepped back and gestured to him to go into the sitting room. He hadn't been to the cottage before, and was looking round with, she concluded, watching him carefully, genuine interest. He didn't seem to be critical of the smallness of the cottage, or the steepness of the stairs which led up straight in front of the doorway. His glance was not disapproving, or disparaging. He didn't appear about to make suggestions for improvements. Not until he hit his head on the low beam above the doorway.
'Ouch! Lucy, you need to warn people about that,' he complained, rubbing his forehead and almost dropping the bag.
She felt defensive. 'Have a notice saying "Duck or grouse?" or cut a bit out of the beam?' she asked. Despite the fact he'd called her Lucy the first good impression was fast disappearing. 'Most of these old cottages have low ceilings, I thought everyone knew that.'
'Oh, Lucy, I'm not complaining,' he said, untruthfully. 'Don't let's fight the moment I get here. I've been so looking forward to seeing you again and mending our relationship.'
A memory of her grandmother sitting in her fireside chair, busy darning grandpa's socks, or mending sheets and pillow slips came into her mind, but she didn't think that was the kind of mending he meant.
'I was disappointed, hurt, when you couldn't come,' she explained. 'I'd gone to a lot of trouble with a special meal, and it was all ruined. I admit I was furious you put business before me.'
'I know. But I won't again. And to make it up to you how about we go out this evening? I saw what looked like a rather good restaurant as I came through the village. I don't want to lose your friendship, Luce.'
She glared, her goodwill evaporating, and he saw it.
'Oh, dear, I do keep forgetting how you hate that pet name. I'll try to remember, but I do it because it's something special, intimate, between us. Dear Lucy, take these, and can we sit down?'
He chose an armchair and she took the one facing him. He handed her the Harrods' bag, and she took out a couple of bottles of wine, expensive French ones, not supermarket plonk. She was starting to thank him when he fished a long slim box out of his pocket and handed i
t to me.
'Just a small apology,' he said.
It was obviously a jeweller's box. Not, she was relieved to see, one of those square ring boxes. She opened it cautiously and Edward, beginning to relax, laughed.
'It won't bite,' he said.
It was a delicate silver chain with a pale blue stone pendant in a simple silver setting
'Oh, Edward, it's lovely. What is the stone?'
'A sapphire. It's the birth stone for September, and that's your birthday, isn't it?'
She was impressed he'd remembered. 'That is so thoughtful, Edward. And it's a lovely setting.'
'When you wear it, remember me. Sapphires are said to be worn by royalty for good luck. And they are supposed to protect against snakes.'
She laughed. 'I don't think that's a problem in England.'
He grinned. He did look attractive when he relaxed like this. Normally he was too serious. It was his grin that had drawn her to him, the first time they'd met after Karl's death. It wasn't until their first date she'd seen his serious side.
He went on. 'They are also said to have the power of transforming stupidity to wisdom. Not that you need that,' he added hurriedly as he saw her expression. 'Unless it's wisdom to forgive me and let our friendship grow into what I hope will one day be more.'
Ugh! He sounded really Victorian, but she could see he was sincere, and wisdom or not, it was a lovely pendant. She tried to smile with proper appreciation, and stretched her arms up to fasten it round her neck. Edward leapt up to help, coming behind her, and just at that moment another button flew off, leaving her shirt gaping and displaying a considerable amount of the lacy, plunging bra she'd worn. It also, because the bra was minuscule, displayed rather more of her than she wanted.
She heard Edward's intake of breath, and his hands came down over her shoulders to grab her breasts. At that moment Doc's two collies burst into the room.
*
Chapter 7
Edward jerked his hands away so quickly another two buttons parted company with the shirt, and it was left secured only with the brooch at the neck and one button at the waist. The collies bounded over to her just as Doc walked in.
Grabbing the edges of her shirt, and knowing her face was bright red, Lucy tried to pat both the dogs with one hand. The smaller one, the bitch, suddenly noticed Edward and headed for him, her plumed tail wagging furiously. She sat in front of him and lifted one paw, as every politely brought-up dog should, but her tongue was busy licking his hands, until, with a gesture of disgust, he held them high out of her reach.
She clearly took this as an invitation and leapt up towards them. Edward stepped backwards and tripped over a small footstool which Lucy had shifted into a corner when she'd been vacuuming, and forgotten to put back in front of the armchair. This was fun, and seconds before Doc ordered her to sit the dog had leapt on top of Edward and was licking his face, giving it a thorough wash.
Lucy was trying not to laugh as Doc took two strides across the small room and began to help Edward to his feet. The collies, banished to the opposite corner, looked on with interest. This was a great new game.
'I'm so sorry, I was shutting the kitchen door and before I knew it they'd come in here. Were you hurt?'
Edward's hair was ruffled, as well as his temper. Lucy could see several fawn-coloured hairs on his dark suit, and his expression was a mixture of embarrassment and fury.
'Thank you for your concern. I banged my head on the bookcase,' he replied, and she could tell from his precise enunciation he was reining in his temper with great difficulty. 'Fortunately not in the same place as I banged it on the door lintel. Lucy, if I may, I would like to use your bathroom to wash my hands. I do not approve of dog saliva on my hands, even less on my face.'
'It's the far door on your right,' she managed. 'There are some clean towels in the airing cupboard. Help yourself.'
'And do you have a clothes brush?' he asked, picking stray hairs from his jacket, and by his tone implying he did not expect her to have such a convenient implement.
'Of course, I'll get you one,' she said, trying to sound as if she had a dozen stashed away, one for every item of clothing. She was thankful for the excuse to escape upstairs and change her shirt, this time for one without buttons or a frontal opening.
She chanced a glimpse of Doc's face as she went past him. He was trying not to laugh, which set her off again as she followed Edward up the stairs.
'I'll make some coffee, as atonement for the inconsiderate behaviour of my dogs,' he said, loudly enough for Edward to hear.
It was clear he had by the stiffening of his back. Lucy hadn't previously known backs could be so disapproving. She thanked her stars when she found a brush at once, and left it outside the bathroom door, knocking to let Edward know where it was. Then she snatched up the thin sweater she'd been wearing that morning and dragged it on. It covered the necklace, and somehow she didn't want to have to display that to Doc.
In the kitchen Doc had, with his usual competence, found coffee and mugs and even the tin where she'd put some of the cake from the WI meeting. Mrs Thomas had insisted on wrapping several of the slices in a paper napkin and giving them to her when they drove home.
'I always make too much when it's my turn,' she explained. 'I'll make Doc some of his favourite ginger cake tomorrow, so he won't eat this.'
He was doing justice to it now, however. As he spooned coffee into the mugs with one hand he was eating the sponge cake with the other. He turned to Lucy, grinning.
'I'm so sorry. I forgot the dogs had been in the sitting room on Sunday, and might think they'd find you there. I hope they didn't interrupt anything too important.'
He was eyeing her sweater, but somehow she didn't find his scrutiny intrusive. He turned to pour water into the mugs, and put two on the table before sitting down opposite her. She blushed. Honestly, she never blushed. Well, rarely, but today she seemed to be on fire.
'No, Edward's an old friend,' she said. 'Nothing more,' she felt compelled to add, and then cursed herself. She hadn't needed to say that. It sounded like protesting too much, and from the look Doc was giving her he clearly thought so as well.
'Yes,' he said, drawling the word to twice the normal length. 'Did you enjoy the WI meeting last night?'
'It was better than I expected,' she replied, thankful to get onto another topic.
'I understand you have a client, and prospects of more.'
'Did Flick tell you?'
'No, she's had to go to London, her father is ill and in hospital. Mother phoned while she was out. She drove up after she got home last night, so there wasn't time to tell me how it went. It was Alice I heard it from.'
Alice? She thrust away pictures of Doc and Alice together. It was none of her business. Perhaps they'd just happened to meet in the High Street. Or he may have phoned her to ask how her aunt was. There were many plausible explanations instead of the one she'd immediately imagined. Yet he was handsome, eligible, had a wonderful farm which was clearly prosperous, and she was not only incredibly beautiful but a really sweet person.
She heard Edward coming down the stairs and called out that they were in the kitchen. He came in, looking up suspiciously at the top of the door, and missed the small step down. Luckily he recovered his balance instead of sprawling over the floor. She handed him the mug, and guided him to another chair opposite Doc's. Then she sat between them. She felt like a referee.
'Edward's an old friend, Edward Lewis. Doc, Cas Finlay, is my neighbour, he lives at the farm over that hill you can see from the window.'
They nodded to one another. 'A doctor?' Edward said. 'Of medicine? If so I'm surprised you allow your dogs to spread disease by licking people.'
Doc smiled, though he glanced at Lucy with what she took to be curiosity. Was he wondering how on earth she came to be associated with such a boorish man?
'There are more diseases spread through simple lack of hygiene,' he said mildly.
Edward harrumphed. Lucy
had always wondered what that would sound like when she read it in books. Now she knew, and it was terribly pompous. 'Is the farm some sort of tax dodge?' he went on.
How could he be so rude? She was furious, and let him see she didn't like his attitude.
'I'm a farmer, not a medic, and the farm is prosperous,' Doc said. Then he turned to Lucy, and there was a wicked glint in his eye.
She shivered. He seemed to be indicating sympathy for her, astonishment that she could even know such a man as Edward, and determination to rid her of him. Her mind wandered, as she contemplated his motives. Was he, incredible as it might seem, jealous? Did he want her for himself? Or had he just taken a dislike to Edward and thought, as she now did, she would be far better off without him. Then she came back to earth and listened to what he was saying.
'Lucy, I've a favour to ask. Normally I'd ask Flick, but obviously she can't help me. I'm taking Rosa to a stud farm tomorrow, and I need someone else along. Can you spare a few days and come with me? All expenses paid, of course.'
Edward looked from Doc, who was looking remarkably innocent, to Lucy, who was trying not to leap up and fling her arms round Doc, and pursed his lips.
His tone was glacial. 'Who on earth is Rosa? A prize cow? And what does Lucy know about cows? Haven't you a farm hand who could help?'
'Rosa's a llama, and I can't spare a farm hand just at this moment, with my sister away as well.'
Edward looked stunned. 'A llama? In England? Surely they belong to the Andes, not here?'
'They're getting quite popular here, for trekking, or as pets, and for the fibre. They are also good at guarding other livestock, and that's not all their uses. Lucy, I have to get back. Will you come?'
Edward was still pursing his lips in disgust.
'A llama? What a very strange hobby. Can't you delay this trip until your sister comes home?'
'Not really. I want Rosa to give birth in good weather, and can't delay the mating any longer. Lucy gets on well with her, and I'm sure will be willing to help me if she can.'
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