by Sharon Booth
She hurried as fast as she could manage in her high wedges towards the car. 'Can I help you?'
As the man straightened and turned to face her, her heart did the quickstep, and she had to physically stop herself from murmuring, "Wow".
Dark gypsy curls, flashing brown eyes, a tall, toned frame, highly kissable lips ...
Staring at him, she stilled. Welcome to Yorkshire, Eden Robinson.
'Honey Carmichael?'
Eden gasped. It couldn't be. Old MacDonald had never looked like this in her picture books. This vision couldn't be more than thirty-five, for a start. 'Eliot Harland?'
'Aye. That's me. Wondered where you'd cleared off to.'
'I thought I'd have a look around,' she said weakly. 'Take in the sights.' Though she needn't have bothered. Standing before her was the prettiest sight of the day by a mile. And even tastier than a freshly baked scone with clotted cream and jam. Eden couldn't think of a higher accolade than that.
'Right. So, you didn't think to stay in the car 'til I got here?'
'What for? I was only across there.' She waved her arm in the general direction of the teashop and felt several drops of rain land on the back of her hand as she did so.
'And how would I know that? I didn't have a clue what you looked like, remember? Your dad told me to make sure you got here safely, and you buggered off the minute you got here. You should have stayed put and waited for me.' He glowered at her.
Really, Eden had never known what a glower looked like until that moment, but there was no mistaking it. He was glowering more than the sky, and goodness knows, that was glowering pretty badly itself. He stood there, all dark and brooding, seemingly not noticing the rain that had begun to fall steadily. His dark eyes narrowed at her, and she swallowed.
So, this was her fate. She was to spend eight weeks in a remote farmhouse in the wilderness of Yorkshire, in the company of Heathcliff. Eden would have felt intimidated, but she wasn't Eden. Not anymore.
She was Honey Carmichael. And Honey Carmichael was more than a match for the dourest of men.
Chapter Six
Following Eliot's Land Rover in the Beetle, Eden barely had the opportunity to register the landscape around her. She was too busy trying to stay calm, as the car climbed to ever greater heights. She hoped the roads would be smooth and wouldn't damage the suspension. Honey would kill her if she knackered the car, especially since it had only just come out of the garage, newly-repaired after Joshua's unfortunate accident.
In front of her eyes, the windscreen wipers worked hard, trying to clear the glass of the rain that was falling hard and fast. This wasn't what she'd imagined, at all.
When Eden did dare to take her eyes off the Land Rover for a moment, she wished she hadn't. They were high in the hills, and she could see the river way below her in the valley. From up there, the landscape seemed to be punctuated with Lego brick-sized stone huts, and what looked like tiny toy sheep in the distance. She couldn't believe there were actual sheep up so high. They balanced on the hillside, looking down at her, or wandered at the side of the road. Fleetingly, she wondered why their fleeces didn't shrink when they got wet. The woollen jumper her mother had given her for Christmas certainly had. There was one of life's mysteries, she thought, while clutching the steering wheel and praying she'd make it safely to the farm where the Harland family lived.
Eliot drove slowly ahead of her, for which Eden was thoroughly grateful, particularly as the cars began a steep descent into the valley. They passed a village, or rather a hamlet, called Upper Kell, then headed out again, following the line of the river for what felt like forever, though it was actually only ten minutes. They drove through a much larger village called Ravensbridge, which seemed to be far more civilised, but unfortunately, Eliot didn't show any signs of stopping. He carried on, out through the village and back into the wilderness. As they continued along, Eden caught the odd glimpse of the river, which had narrowed considerably by that point, as well as a church steeple in the distance. Next, the village of Camacker was upon them, a charming little place with a riverside car park that seemed full even in the dismal weather, a pub, teashops, and even an art gallery.
She wondered if they were anywhere near the farm yet. Living near this village wouldn't be so bad, she thought, but even as it crossed her mind, they left the cottages and shops behind and moved out into open countryside again. She barely registered the next cluster of buildings, in a village called Beckthwaite, having given up hope of ever reaching Fleetsthorpe and growing increasingly tired. They had been driving for almost three quarters of an hour, although the milometer showed that they'd driven less than twenty-one miles. The tarmac road in and out of Beckthwaite had long since been left behind, and as the road got rougher the farther out they went, the Land Rover's wheels began throwing water and mud in the direction of the Beetle. Eden dreaded to think what state Honey's precious car was in.
Eventually, they came to a fork in the track, and Eden saw an old wooden signpost pointing left, with the word Fleetsthorpe roughly carved into it. The road wasn't the only thing that branched off at that point. The river seemed to split itself in two, also, and a stream appeared to be following the road.
Noticing they'd begun climbing slightly again, Eden realised the stream was actually running down from the hills to meet the river. She hoped they wouldn't be driving all the way back up those dratted hills again. They were more like mountains, and she felt she'd punished Honey's car enough.
To her relief, they made a sudden right, and ahead of her, through her rain-lashed windscreen, she saw what could only be Fleetsthorpe. It had to be. There was nothing else around.
Eden followed Eliot's Land Rover along the track, over a stone bridge that carried them across the stream, past a jumble of old barns and sheds, and on into a farmyard.
They bumped into a roughly half-tarmacked yard, and she thought he could at least have tried to avoid the small potholes he seemed intent on driving over. It was as if he was deliberately trying to soak her car.
To the left of them stood a stone farmhouse. A narrow flagstone path led from the door and along the front of the house, to a garden that was closed off by a stone wall. Eden could see a line of — it had to be said — rather dingy washing, which didn't fill her with confidence. Pointless waste of time that had been, hanging out washing in such weather.
Opposite the garden loomed a huge barn, made of the same grey stone as the house. Between the garden and the barn was a rough earth track, all boggy and full of puddles. Evidently the money for the tarmac hadn't stretched that far. Where the garden ended, she saw more stone outbuildings, and in the distance, behind them, loomed the hills — dark, menacing, threatening.
It couldn't have been more different to the pretty Cotswolds farms she'd left behind, and her heart began to thud as she stared into the charcoal and purple distance, feeling almost claustrophobic. She looked at the drab net curtains hanging at the windows and took a deep breath, wondering what she was letting herself in for. If the outside of the farmhouse was this bad, what would it look like inside?
Eliot climbed out of the Land Rover and slammed the door shut, and a black and white dog appeared at his side, as if it had been waiting for him, which it probably had.
Eden stepped tentatively out of the Beetle, avoiding the small sink cover she'd inadvertently parked right beside.
She didn't even have time to close the car door, before the farmhouse door opened and two little girls, no more than nine or ten, raced outside and threw themselves at Eliot. Though Eliot wore a green waxed jacket, the girls were in summer clothes, and Eden wondered if they possessed coats, or if they'd developed waterproof skin living out in the wilderness.
'All right, all right.' Eliot laughed, hugging them to him. 'Watch what you're doing. Nearly had me over then.'
He put his arms around them, and they all turned to look at Eden. She felt like a fool, standing there all shivering and wet in Ben de Lisi wedges and a thin cotton jacket o
ver a short Ted Baker dress. Honey had insisted it was what she would have chosen. In contrast, Eliot's girls were far from dressed up. In fact, it was fair to say the girls' T-shirts could do with a good wash. So could their hair, by the look of it. Even brushing it would be a start, and she found herself wishing she'd ignored Honey and gone for the jeans and trainers she'd wanted to wear.
'Go on in, girls,' said Eliot, nudging them gently towards the house. 'You'll get soaked. Ask Daisy to put 'kettle on while I get this lass sorted.'
The girls obeyed him, sidling past Eden with wide eyes. She suspected they'd seen nothing like her before. She self-consciously twisted a strand of her newly-highlighted hair and watched their father with wide eyes.
'Well?' he said.
Eden started as he suddenly took a step towards her. 'What?'
'Are you going to stand there, all gormless, like, or are you going to get your bags out o' the car?'
She almost apologised but remembered, just in time, that she was Honey. She straightened and gave him her best icy stare. 'Really, what sort of gentleman expects a lady to carry her own luggage? It's all right for you, in your farmer's coat. I'm getting wet through here.'
He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his forehead wearily with one hand. 'Aye, and so it begins. Me own bloody fault, I suppose.'
He strode past her and opened the boot. She heard him muttering something under his breath, as he began to pull out Honey's Luis Vuitton suitcases. Eden couldn't blame him. Anyone would think she was going to be staying at a place with no washing machine, as Honey appeared to have packed at least two outfits for every single day she would be away. Although, thinking about the row of washing on the line and the state of the girls' T-shirts, maybe they didn't even possess a washing machine. That thought didn't fill Eden with joy. Would she be expected to do all the washing by hand in the sink? Or the bath? Would there be a bath? God, what if he kept the coal in it? She was almost sure she'd heard of such things before. She felt distinctly Honey-like as her lip curled in horror at the thought of what lay behind the rather shabby door of the farmhouse.
Eliot slammed the suitcases onto the ground, one by one, and Eden felt it only right she reminded him that they were pretty expensive pieces and not meant to be dumped on soggy ground, so could he be more careful with them? She managed to stop short of adding a please. Honey certainly wouldn't have.
He gave her a look that made her wither inside and reminded her of Honey's assertion that she wouldn't spend a single day at Withering Heights. Maybe she hadn't been so wrong, after all. Those brown eyes were flashing in contempt. Eden had made a terrible start, which, in its own way, was perfect. Eliot already despised her. She was playing her part to perfection.
'Get yersen in, then. Don't mind me. I've nowt better to do than run around after some jumped up rich girl, who's way too big for her boots.'
Inadvertently, Eden looked down at her wedges. When she looked up, Eliot was looking at them, too. His gaze took in her bare legs, but he quickly looked away. 'Don't suppose you've even brought any wellies?'
'Wellies? I don't possess any wellies,' she admitted.
'Nah. Didn't think you would,' he said. 'You'd best see if there's a pair of Daisy's in there that fits you. If not, you'll have to go into Ravensbridge and buy some. You'll be worse than useless around here in them things.'
Eden took a deep breath. 'Given that I'm here to look after your children, I shouldn't think I will be needing wellington boots. I don't intend to be tramping through muddy puddles or wading through sheep muck with them. I shall be mostly indoors, surely?'
He stared at her for a moment, then gave a hearty laugh. 'By heck, you've got a shock coming to you. It's the summer holidays in a couple of days. If you think them bairns will be content to sit in front of the telly all day you've got another thing coming. You'll need them wellies, 'cos you'll be outside, rounding up the lasses like I round up sheep. They've been confined to a classroom for weeks. They need the fresh air. And judging by your pasty look, they're not the only ones.'
'Well!' Eden's indignation was genuine. After all, it was her complexion he was criticising there, not Honey's.
'Come on. By the time we get inside, bloody tea'll be stone cold.'
He hoisted a suitcase under each arm, picked up another one with each hand, and nodded towards the Mulberry holdall he'd dumped unceremoniously on the ground. Eden wondered if he had any idea how much it had cost. Would he care, even if he did?
She picked it up and shut the boot, then followed him, stomach churning, as he strode towards the open farmhouse door.
What fresh hell awaited her within those cold, stone walls?
****
The minute they stepped into the hallway, the smell of polish hit Eliot. Daisy had obviously gone all out to make the house look and smell good. The question was, who was it she was trying to impress, him or Honey?
He tried not to show his astonishment at how tidy and neat the hallway was. The grey flagstone floor had been neatly swept. The white walls of the hallway had obviously had a good scrubbing, as there wasn't a trace of the mud or the dirty handprints that had been there when he'd left earlier that afternoon. The girls must have remembered to take their shoes off when they came back inside. He supposed he should do the same, but he was too weighed down with luggage to mess about. He'd just have to mop the floor later.
He raised an eyebrow on seeing that even the stair carpet had been vacuumed, then frowned when he noticed that she'd hung a couple of pictures on the walls. He supposed it made it look friendlier, more welcoming, but where the hell had she dug them out from? He vaguely recognised them but couldn't for the life of him remember where he'd packed them away. She must have had a thorough look around while he'd been out.
The white sideboard, which stood against the right-hand wall, near to the front door, looked new. No one would've known it had been piled high with junk that morning. Now, the only things on display were the house telephone, a vase, and a couple of candlesticks, complete with candles. He'd forgotten they had those.
He glanced at Honey. She was wiping her feet on the doormat, staring around and looking surprised, and he felt a stab of satisfaction. No doubt she'd been expecting the worst. He'd seen her face when she caught sight of the farmhouse and the yard for the first time. It hadn't impressed her. He was glad Daisy had got to work, even if it did mean he now owed her an even greater debt of gratitude.
He led Honey down the long hallway, past the stairs, where he turned right, glancing at the large pine bookcase, whose books had been neatly stacked according to size. Turning left again, he led her through the open door at the end of the corridor and into a room he knew for a fact would be the last thing she'd be expecting.
Honey said nothing, but her expression revealed her surprise.
Eliot knew it wasn't a typical Skimmerdale farmhouse kitchen. Jemima had made sure of that. The first thing she'd done when she moved in was hire an architect to make plans, to improve the small, dark room that had once been there. It had taken a while to get everything as she wanted it, and it had been stressful. Their first baby had been on the way, and the last thing they'd needed was a horde of builders, plasterers, electricians and plumbers in the house. He'd had to admit, though, it had been worth it. Three small rooms had been knocked into one, to create a large kitchen with the same flagstone flooring throughout, thick wooden beams, and an expensive oak kitchen.
'You can't deny, it looks miles better,' Jemima had said, and he couldn't. What annoyed him was that, three years later, she'd announced she was bored with the oak kitchen and it was time for an update. So, the units had gone and been replaced with the ones that had stood in there since.
White, wooden units with oak worktops, a huge electric range with ceramic hob, as Jemima had never taken to the old range that had been in there since his grandmother's day, and a Belfast sink — the kind his father had ripped out and replaced with a stainless-steel sink unit to make things easier for his
mother. It all seemed crazy to him, but it made Jemima happy. He'd put his foot down after that, though. No more work on the house. It was fine as it was, and no, they didn't need a bloody loft conversion. She'd sulked for a few days, then she'd found a pine dresser at an auction and nagged him to buy it for her. He had, and peace was restored. She'd stripped it, painted it and filled it with the kind of junk his mother would have put in a skip. She said it was on trend, whatever the hell that meant. He'd never fathomed her out, but it had been worth it to see the light in her eyes and the smile on her face.
He didn't want to think about Jemima, though. It still hurt too much.
His heart lifted as his two daughters ran down the stairs and rushed to his side. He ruffled their hair. Both had the same mop of dark curls he had himself.
'Do you like it?' Libby, his eldest child, smiled at Honey rather shyly. 'Daisy's been working right hard all day, to make it nice and clean.'
Ophelia giggled. She'd never been as shy as her sister, a fact she demonstrated as she leaned towards Honey and confided, 'She said it were filthy and we'd better get it sorted before you got here, 'cos you're proper posh. Are you proper posh?'
Seeing Honey's stunned expression, Eliot interrupted. 'Never mind asking daft questions. Has that kettle boiled? Where's Daisy and George?'
'She had to rush upstairs,' said Libby. The two of them exchanged glances, and Ophelia giggled again.
Eliot's heart sank. What had happened?
'George did a runny pooh. Daisy had to put his trousers in soak.'
They glanced at the Belfast sink, which evidently contained the evidence of George's wrongdoings. Eliot shook his head then looked at Honey, expecting some comment.