Sunshine at Daisy's Guesthouse

by Lottie Phillips

  So, no, she wouldn’t call Tom either.

  ‘Um, who’s there?’ she asked, forcing herself to sound confident. ‘Did you forget your key?’

  ‘No,’ came a male voice. ‘Sorry, I know it’s really late. Only I’ve just driven down from Scotland overnight and was really hoping to stay the rest of the night if you have a room free. I Googled you and you’re the first on my list but if you haven’t got space then I’ll try elsewhere.’

  Daisy opened the door and peered through the crack, tentative.

  Her heart leapt. The man on the other side of the door was well over six foot tall and broad-shouldered. He was dressed in a blazer, white shirt, jeans and boots.

  He smiled at her and her already beating heart nearly jumped out of her ribcage. The man was beautiful. She wanted to ask his name and if he had said Adonis she would not have been surprised.

  ‘Alistair.’ He extended his hand.

  She took his hand and was surprised by the strength behind his grip.

  ‘Daisy,’ she eventually managed to get out and as realised he was trying to withdraw his hand, let go. But she continued to stare, mesmerised, into his piercing green eyes.

  ‘Um,’ he said, smiling. ‘Do you have a room? I really am so sorry for getting you up at this ungodly hour. I thought I’d be able to drive on but I’m too tired.’ He rubbed his eyes as if to make his point. ‘I’m heading to London but if I could stop here tonight that’d be great.’

  ‘Of course.’ Daisy, suddenly self-conscious, pulled her robe tighter around her waist, well what she had of a waist. ‘Please come inside.’

  He strode into the hall and by the light of the lamp she had to hide her gasp. The man was even more beautiful than she had realised. His chiselled cheeks and strong jaw line were traffic-stopping. Realising she really needed to try and act normal, she shuffled over to the registration book and checked which rooms had not been taken over by American Bob and Barbara or the Holibobs crowd. An unwanted image of James and Annabelle popped into her head and she pushed it to the back of her mind. Looking up again, she smiled at her new, very welcome guest and said, ‘Yes, we have a room on the first floor. I’m afraid it’s small but it’s en suite and hopefully to your liking.’ To your liking? she thought to herself. She sounded like she was selling the poor Scotsman a sofa at DFS.

  ‘I’m sure it will be perfect.’ He smiled again and, realising she was rooted to the spot , Daisy forced one foot in front of another.

  ‘I’m sorry about my appearance,’ she said as they walked up the stairs. ‘Normally, I’m much better dressed.’

  What was she wittering on about? It was the middle of the night. And, no, she wasn’t normally better dressed, he was lucky he had got her pink fluffy robe and Snoopy slippers because he could have had the baked bean-stained T-shirt of Hugh’s that she insisted could not go to charity. So, whether he could believe it or not, this was the glamorous Daisy.

  Once they reached his room, she unlocked the door, walked in and switched on the lamp. A soft glow fell over the double bed made up in crisp white linen, and fluffy towels sat invitingly at the end. She lifted her gaze from the bed to the ridiculously good-looking Celtic dish who had a wry smile on his face. She reddened. It was probably not a good idea to stare longingly at a bed when Mr World was stood on the other side.

  ‘Anyway,’ she mumbled, ‘it’s all yours and of course breakfast is included.’ She made a mental note to get up earlier than normal and practise cooking eggs. Though, as he was Scottish, maybe he wanted porridge? Or haggis?

  ‘Do you want anything in particular for breakfast? I mean if you’re from Scotland, would you like porridge or stag?’

  He laughed. ‘Coffee and toast is perfect. Thank you.’

  She nodded and shuffled from the room. The flip-flop of her Snoopy slippers dragging over the rug and wooden floorboards was the only sound until she turned in the doorway. ‘Anyway, welcome and see you when you wake.’ She patted the doorjamb with her hand, regretting those words as she imagined her guest lying in bed.

  ‘Och aye…’ she said in a terrible Scottish accent and he belted out a laugh, immediately putting his hand over his mouth as he realised the hour.

  ‘Very good impression.’

  She giggled, blushing. ‘Awful but thank you for being so kind.’ Daisy turned and quietly shut the door behind her, leaning up against it. She could almost feel his electric presence through the wood. A movement off to her left caught her eye and she saw James emerge from the dark.

  ‘Everything OK?’ His voice did not sound at all friendly.

  ‘Yes, why?’ she whispered, moving towards him.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘A new guest. Alistair drove from Scotland overnight and needs to get to London but he’s too tired to drive any further.’

  ‘You seemed to be getting on well.’

  Despite the poor light, she could see James frowning.

  ‘Well, I mean, he’s been here for all of five minutes and I think it’s only right to be welcoming.’

  James’s voice softened and he stroked her arm with his hand. ‘Yes, quite right.’ He paused. ‘You going back to bed? Or do you fancy a late night cocoa?’

  She smiled. ‘Well, there’s an offer I can’t refuse.’

  They padded quietly down the stairs, into the hall and through to the kitchen. Only once the door was shut and the standard lamp switched on, did they talk. She realised it had been a long time since she had seen James out of a suit or jeans and a shirt. He wore a white T-shirt and long plaid pyjama bottoms. The T-shirt was stretched tight across his chest and she remembered his olive skin and how toned he remained to this day, his pecs rippling as he carefully placed mugs on the table and started to warm milk on the Aga.

  ‘I like your slippers.’ He smiled warmly. ‘Cute.’

  Cute. Why was she always cute or bubbly? As she had said to Lisa, these were adjectives for those women carrying one pound too many.

  ‘I have some very demure leather slippers upstairs and a silk kimono.’

  ‘Really?’ He raised a brow, unable to hide the look of disbelief on his face.

  ‘You know I don’t,’ she sulked, ‘but I like to pretend there’s a sexy, classy side to me.’

  He stirred the milk with his back to her but at her words, he turned, his face serious. ‘You are beautiful, Daisy, never think otherwise.’

  The atmosphere grew thick with a heavy tension. Daisy shifted in her chair and for the second time that night tightened the belt around her dressing gown dreaming of a slim waist like Annabelle’s.

  James spooned out cocoa and added the warm milk, before stirring the drinks and handing Daisy a delicious looking cocoa. There went another centimetre of her waistline, she thought, but not caring too much as she sipped at the velvety chocolate drink.

  ‘You are a fine cocoa maker, I will give you that.’

  He smiled and sat in the chair next to her. ‘Ah, that’s the joy of many a late night in the office. You get good at the oddest things. I’m also a dab hand at making a bed out of a swivel chair and a desk.’ He laughed. ‘It’s all in the angle.’

  Daisy smiled. ‘I remember Hugh saying that. I was always amazed at how he could make a bed out of anything. He honestly could sleep standing up.’

  ‘Yep, if you’re tired enough, you’ll find a way.’

  Daisy realised for the first time in a long time she was talking about Hugh without a wrenching at her heart. Maybe the pain was beginning to soften, lessen. She had been told countless times it would but it was hard to believe in the midst of raw grief.

  James had read her mind. ‘I’m the same, Daisy, I feel the same.’

  ‘How did you know…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘What I was thinking.’

  ‘Because…’ He paused. ‘When you think about Hugh you get a beautiful shine in your eyes and I could tell they weren’t filled with the same hurt.’ He took her hand. ‘Because it’s getting a bit easier, isn’t it?’

&n
bsp; She nodded. ‘Yes, slowly. Thanks to you, to Tom and Lisa. You’ve dragged me kicking and screaming through hell and I actually feel like there might be light at the end of the tunnel.’

  James looked at her over his mug and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘I think there is too.’

  ‘But I’ll never forget him, you know.’ Her tone was defensive. ‘I won’t stop loving him either.’

  ‘Of course not.’ James lowered his gaze and stared into the remnants of his cocoa. ‘Just do what makes you happy, Daisy, that’s all that really matters.’

  That heavy, almost charged, atmosphere had once again descended on the room and Daisy was suddenly highly aware that James still hand her hand in his. He followed her eyes and squeezed her hand gently before releasing it.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said eventually, ‘I should probably try and get some sleep. You too.’

  ‘Yes.’ She felt as if in a dream, like everything had taken on a surreal quality. ‘Yes, I need sleep too.’

  She got up, pulled the tie on her dressing gown even tighter – though it couldn’t get much tighter without her asphyxiating herself – and shuffled awkwardly from the kitchen, Snoopy on the left following Snoopy on the right.

  Once she was curled up in bed, she thought about the strange events of the last couple of hours. She wasn’t sure her heart could take much more emotion or, for that matter, testosterone. Daisy Ronaldson, she thought to herself, maybe there’s life in the old dog yet. Then revisiting the subject of dogs she thought of Annabelle, and the quiet and beautiful calm was quickly replaced by a feeling of vulnerability. If she had known how her world would have been rocked by the arrival of her bed and breakfast guests, would she have agreed to the whole venture?

  Her mind turned to Alistair and with a smile on her face, she realised, yes, it was quite exciting to never know who was about to turn up on your doorstep. She heard James quietly padding to his room opposite and then a creak from the bedroom next door: Alistair’s room. She was sandwiched between two gorgeous men and she couldn’t say fairer than that.

  Chapter 11

  Daisy moved about the kitchen in the morning with a skip in her step. She had been up since 5 a.m. trying to perfect the poached egg.

  ‘How frigging hard can it be?’ she muttered aloud as she dispensed of another hard yolk into the bin. She remembered an episode of Chris Evans’ breakfast show about poached eggs. They had even interviewed Delia Smith and she had suggested putting cling film over the pan, or was it cling film over the eggs? And were they cooked yet or still raw? Where was Delia when she was needed? A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Daisy’s face and she moaned with frustration. She remembered her conversation with Annabelle about her ovaries and clunked the slotted spoon into the pan.

  He had said that he just wanted coffee and toast, though she wasn’t even good at that. Luckily Tom was a dab hand at the coffee machine Hugh had bought. To Daisy it looked like an unidentified flying object but Hugh had described it as ‘a thing of beauty’. How something that was essentially plastic and had lit up buttons with a long silver nozzle could be a thing of beauty, she had no idea.

  Three hours later Alistair came down the stairs, by which point there were no eggs left and the coffee machine was complaining of a blockage.

  He looked beautiful. Beautiful. The man had had incredibly little beauty sleep for such a god.

  She pushed her hair back and retied her ponytail. She had put on the sexiest jeans she owned – admittedly they were a little tight around the middle but she had chosen a low cut black lace top in a bid to move attention away from the bulge and more towards the chest.

  ‘Alistair,’ she said, in as husky a voice as she could manage, though it hadn’t come out quite as intended and instead sounded like a cat with a trapped fur ball. She tried again, more normal this time. ‘Alistair, did you sleep well? I’m afraid we’re out of eggs. What would you like for breakfast?’

  He smiled broadly at her. ‘Just coffee and toast. Us Scots don’t need anything in particular.’

  She blushed ever so slightly and glanced up at James who had just come into the kitchen.

  ‘Well, even more embarrassingly the coffee machine has decided to have a paddy this morning but James will make you some in the percolator.’

  James put down a couple of plates – eggs untouched – and looked up at her with the strangest look. Eventually he nodded and silently went about making coffee. Why was he being so awkward with their guest? She started to chatter nervously to make up for the dreadful silence.

  ‘So, do you come from the Highlands or the Lowlands?’

  She popped two slices of fresh farmhouse bread in the toaster.

  Alistair laughed. ‘Glasgow.’

  ‘Right,’ she giggled awkwardly, not knowing if that answered her question. She picked up her now cold cup of tea and took a deep gulp.

  ‘Next you’ll be asking me,’ he said in what could only be described as a beautiful and perfect lilt, ‘if I wear underwear under my kilt!’

  A snort of embarrassment built in her throat and she spluttered her tea over her aforementioned black top. ‘Oh. Oh my.’

  Alistair handed her a tea towel off the side, apologising profusely. ‘Gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…’

  Their fingers brushed as the tea towel was passed between them and she felt a jolt of electricity. Their eye contact lingered, Daisy’s eyes on his lips, as his tongue wandered the outline of his mouth seemingly in slow motion.

  A loud clunk to her left alarmed her and shook her back to the now. James had placed, no, slammed down Alistair’s coffee causing it to spill all over the farmhouse table. Wordlessly he left the kitchen and Daisy could only apologise.

  ‘I’m not sure what’s got into him,’ she said, her hand rubbing the base of her neck. Was it really only eight-thirty in the morning? She felt like she had been up for hours and for no reason whatsoever as they had run out of eggs and the eggs she had cooked turned out to be as edible as a dog’s breakfast. A tad cruelly, she thought to herself that that couldn’t be true as Annabelle hadn’t touched it either. Although, frankly, Annabelle could have James, she did not want to associate herself with someone who was quite so rude. She recognised this might have been a bit rich coming from her after the last few days but it was James who had disciplined her and told her to be nice to the paying guests. Well, he should have been taking a leaf out of his own book.

  ‘Listen, I’m so sorry.’ She passed her hand over her forehead, letting it rest there. ‘We are normally much more, um, professional than this.’ Well, she wasn’t sure that was strictly true either.

  ‘Ach.’ He smiled kindly. ‘You weren’t expecting another guest so I totally understand. I really appreciate you letting me stay and I’m pretty sure I should be on my way now. So, if I could just pay the bill.’

  She wanted to shout, ‘No, have it free! On me! We’re all a complete bunch of imbeciles and quite frankly someone so beautiful as yourself should never have to pay for anything.’

  Instead she chose, ‘Of course. But we will not be charging you for breakfast obviously.’

  ‘Oh no, you charge me whatever you need to.’ He started to walk from the kitchen and Daisy walked as sexily as she could behind him, though highly aware of the now cold material of her top clinging to her bosom and the way her belt was digging into her muffin top. Once she had figured out how to use the credit card machine – Tom had tried to teach her but she could never remember which button came first and, so far, had taken one thousand pounds out of Tom’s account when she had meant to type in ten – and had offered Alistair a complimentary chocolate about a million times, she decided she really had better let the poor man go. He had started to shift his weight from side to side in a bid to make a move.

  ‘Well, listen, thanks so much for knocking on my door this morning.’ Had she actually just said that aloud? ‘It’s not often we get Braveheart land up on the doorstep.’ Daisy, be quiet, you’re making
it worse.

  ‘Well,’ Alistair said, picking up his small overnight bag sat by the door, ‘I’ll be passing this way on my return journey to Glasgow if you’re around.’

  It was his turn to look embarrassed.

  ‘I mean I know it’s your guesthouse, but I meant if you haven’t gone away.’

  She almost laughed. Going away would have suggested a life. ‘No,’ she said with the most certainty she had felt about anything for a while. ‘I will most definitely be here. I have no plans.’ She paused. ‘Ever.’

  He smiled. ‘Perhaps you’d like to have supper with me, say on Friday. Have you got a spare room for Friday?’

  She already knew they did but she was so overwhelmed with excitement, she dived head first into the book, pretending to study it hard. She could hear Tom’s voice: play it cool, Daisy. No, that doesn’t mean turn Ice Queen, it means aloof.

  ‘Um, we are very booked up.’ She looked up to register Alistair’s disappointment. ‘No, nothing.’

  What was she going on about? Maybe she was deploying Ice Queen again.

  ‘Oh no,’ she continued, putting her hand dramatically to her forehead. ‘What am I talking about? That’s the following year.’

  Why couldn’t she have said week? Year? Great. Less Ice Queen or aloof, more lacking any form of intelligence.

  ‘Great,’ Alistair said, clearly bemused. ‘Can I book?’

  She momentarily looked up to the ceiling, waiting for some sign of approval from Hugh but instead she noticed the paintwork on the ceiling roses was flaking and there were cobwebs she couldn’t reach.