by Sharon Booth
She shook her head. 'A friend.'
'Ah.'
'What about you?'
'I'm here all alone,' he said, placing his hand on his heart, as if the fact greatly saddened him and he needed her sympathy.
She rolled her eyes. 'Now, that really is sad,' she said. 'Why would anyone come here alone?'
'I had some business to take care of and thought I'd combine it with a short break away from home.'
Honey's mouth twitched in amusement. 'What business? You look as if you've just left the sixth form.'
He looked rather wounded. 'For your information, I'm twenty-four, and I'm one of the directors of a charitable organisation. I work damn hard.'
'Hmm, if you say so.' She tried not to laugh. He probably volunteered in an Oxfam shop, bless him.
'So, this friend,' he said, obviously trying to sound casual, and failing dismally. 'Male or female?'
'As if that's any of your business!' Honey couldn't believe the nerve of him. She didn't know him from Adam, and he wanted her life story. He could whistle.
'Oh, come on. What's the harm in telling me that, at least? You must know why I chose this table to sit at. You're a very beautiful young lady.'
'I know. Doesn't give you the right to pry into my private life, though.' She stabbed at a tomato, frowning when she noticed it was already beginning to wrinkle. Lovely. She didn't think she'd bother with the salad, such as it was. Dare she risk the panini?
'Is that the bacon and brie?' He shook his head. 'I had one yesterday. I wouldn't bother.'
'Thanks. I'd come to that conclusion myself.' She pushed the plate away and leaned towards him, resting her chin on her hands. 'Look, who are you? What exactly do you want?'
'I just saw you and thought how lovely you were,' he said, all wide-eyed and innocent. 'I thought I'd like to get to know you a little. Is that a crime?'
'No. Suppose not.' At least he was talking to her, which was more than Crispin ever did. And he was rather nice to look at, she had to admit that. Spending the afternoon with him would help to pass the time, and if it annoyed Crispin when he found out, well, it served him right. He should never have abandoned her to go to some pathetic village fete. 'So, how do you propose to get to know me?'
His face flushed a little. 'We could go for a walk on the beach?'
She screwed up her nose in disgust. 'Boring. I've been on that damn beach every day, and I hardly think it's going to change and become interesting just because you're there, too.'
'Ouch. You really know how to boost a man's confidence.' He put down his cup. 'Even the coffee's rubbish.'
'Hmm.' Honey thought for a moment, then picked up her bag. 'I know somewhere that makes better coffee, and we could, er, talk in private.'
'Really?' He looked thrilled. 'Where?'
She stood up. 'Well, come with me and you'll find out.'
As they left the café, she thought that, really, it was all Crispin's fault, so she couldn't be blamed for the way things had turned out. Anyway, she wouldn't tell him, so he needn't fret about it.
As Teddy took her hand, she felt a frisson of excitement that she hadn't felt for days. She had a feeling she was about to catch up on her orgasm quota, and maybe she'd encourage Crispin to go back to Windleby-on-the-Weir again, quite soon.
Chapter Eighteen
Eden had had a busy morning, preparing chicken chasseur for the evening meal, cleaning the house, and working her way through three large piles of washing. George had finally fallen asleep after lunch, and Ophelia and Libby were — after a morning spent cleaning out the henhouse and riding Flora — settled on the sofa, reading their books. Taking the opportunity, she headed out of the back door into the garden, to hang out some washing. It was a bit cold, but it was dry and there was a good strong breeze, so it shouldn't take long to get the washing dried. She put down the basket and took a couple of pegs from the bag that was hooked on the line. A group of walkers passed by the bridge and called a greeting to her. She waved cheerfully before lifting a towel from the basket.
Five minutes later, as she pegged one of Eliot's shirts on the line, she heard someone cough behind her and spun around in fright, expecting to see one of the hikers. Her face relaxed into a smile for a moment, when she registered James Fuller's face, then she remembered Eliot's reaction to their meeting and felt anxious again.
'Sorry. Did I make you jump?' He pushed open the garden gate and came to stand beside her. 'Here, let me help you.'
'Thanks,' she muttered, as he handed her another shirt. It seemed all wrong, having him there on Eliot's land, handling his clothes. She felt distinctly uncomfortable.
'I thought I'd bring this leaflet over for the children,' he said. 'Just a few pages about what's going to be on offer during the open day. We're so delighted they're coming. It will do them good to mix with other children. They are rather marooned out here at Fleetsthorpe. All right during term time, of course, but during the holidays they must feel so isolated. I do know Jemima worried about it.'
'Hmm.' Eden knew she would have to tell him. 'I'm afraid they won't be going, after all.'
'Oh?' James raised an eyebrow. 'Why is that?'
'I — Eliot felt that perhaps ...' Her voice trailed off. She couldn't think of a reason that wouldn't offend him, and, after all, the Fullers had done nothing wrong. They'd been perfectly pleasant and obviously cared about the children's welfare. This was all very awkward.
'Let me guess. Eliot doesn't want them at our house.'
'I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on, but that's the gist of it, yes.'
'Sure.' James fumbled in his pocket and brought out a glossy little pamphlet. 'Here's the information, anyway. Perhaps you should show it to the girls and let them make up their own minds?'
Eden shook her head. 'Of course I can't. I'm sorry, Mr Fuller —'
'James,' he interrupted, smoothly.
'James. Yes. I'm sorry, James, but there's no way I can encourage them to disobey their father.'
'Would he have to know?'
'Of course he'd have to know! I couldn't possibly ask them to deceive him.'
He laughed suddenly and stuck the schedule back in his pocket, considering her with a very odd expression on his face. 'Funny that.'
'What is?'
'Your distaste for deception. Very funny.'
Eden swallowed nervously. 'What do you mean?'
'What do I mean? Well. Let me see. After our delightful meeting the other day, I thought I'd do a little research on Miss Honey Carmichael. Just taking a neighbourly interest, you understand. After all, Jemima was our friend, and we wanted to be sure that whoever looked after her children was fit for the job.'
Eden's stomach churned.
'You know, it's a very odd thing.'
'Wh—what is?'
'Well, either you take an appalling photograph, or —' He leaned towards her and hissed into her ear. '— you're not Honey Carmichael, at all.' He stepped back, watching her, and she felt the colour drain from her face.
'It's not what you think.'
'I haven't told you what I think,' he pointed out.
'Please, let me explain.'
'Oh, I insist on it.'
'I do know Honey. In fact, it was all her idea. I'm not some random stranger who turned up on the off chance. It was all planned. I didn't have a choice.'
'You didn't have a choice?' His tone was disbelieving.
'Honestly, I didn't. I work for Honey, you see. Well, strictly speaking, I work for Cain, and he insisted Honey come here to look after the kids, but she didn't want to. She hates being away from the shops, and she's not exactly maternal. I owed her a favour, and she kind of called it in.'
'What sort of favour?'
'It doesn't matter. The point is, she had me over a barrel, and the deal was that I come here and take her place, while she goes off and does … something else.'
'What do you mean? Where is she?'
'I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. It's not relevant,
anyway, is it? The point is, she knows I'm here, pretending to be her, and if you think about it, it's probably a good thing I am. Believe me, there's no way Honey would be standing in a garden hanging out washing. The children are better off with me, trust me.'
'Trust you? Odd choice of words, in the circumstances. There's really no reason why I should trust you. I know nothing about you. Perhaps I should contact Cain Carmichael. Ask him for a character reference.'
'Oh, please don't!'
'Or maybe I should tell Eliot the truth about you and let him find out more about you for himself. I'm sure he'd want to know. After all, we don't want to deceive Eliot, do we?'
He'd used her own words against her. Eden slumped, rubbing her forehead with her hand. She couldn't think of a way out of the situation. Cain would find out the truth and he'd sack her, no question about it. Honey would be livid, and Eliot ... She put her hand over her mouth. Why was it that Eliot finding out was the thing she dreaded the most? Even losing her job and facing the wrath of the Carmichaels paled into insignificance.
'On the other hand ...' He came to stand beside her, leaning casually on the wall, considering her carefully. 'Perhaps we could help each other out, in the circumstances. After all, you seem to be good with the children. I don't think they're suffering. And looking at this,' he added, sweeping his hand towards the line of washing that blew in the breeze, 'it seems you're taking care of all the jobs Eliot fails so dismally at. Perhaps I should keep my mouth shut. For now, at least.'
'Thank you,' Eden murmured, aware there was more to come. What did he mean, help each other out?
'In return,' he continued, 'you could help me keep an eye on the children. I'm not a bad person, Honey, or whatever your real name is. What is it, by the way?'
She hesitated, then swallowed. 'Eden,' she managed eventually.
He raised an eyebrow. 'Eden? How charming. Well, Eden, I care about those children, and so does Beth. We've been more-or-less pushed out of their lives since Jemima passed, and it's not fair. Beth, particularly, has suffered. I think it only fair that, given my discretion, you return the favour and make sure we have regular contact with them.'
'What? I can't!'
'I'm not asking for weekend access, for goodness sake. Just now and then. It's not much to ask. And I think the open day would be a good starting point. Bring them all. Make an afternoon of it. Let the poor little things have some fun, for a change. Why shouldn't they? Beth would adore to see them, and they'd meet up with their friends and have fun on the fairground rides. It's not going to hurt them, and what Eliot doesn't know won't harm him.'
'I'm not sure.'
'Well, Eden, think about it.' He pushed the schedule into her hand. 'After all, what's a little deception between friends?'
'I'll — I'll try,' she muttered.
He nodded, giving her a wide smile. 'Thank you. That's all I ask, Eden. We owe it to Jemima to be part of her children's lives. Eliot has been most unfair to us, but you can help us now, and in return, I'll help you. Fair's fair. Your secret's safe with me.'
'Thanks. I'd better go in, check on the kids.'
'I must go, anyway. Do show them the brochure. I look forward to seeing you all.'
He winked and walked away, making sure the garden gate clicked shut after him.
Eden watched him, her mind whirling. How was she going to get away with this? And how could she bring herself to deceive Eliot, and — even worse — get his own children to deceive him, too?
****
Eden had to pick her moment, of course. It came quite quickly, the next afternoon, which happened to be Sunday. Thankfully, Eliot was in a good mood, having eaten the huge roast dinner she had prepared.
'I can't believe how quickly you've cottoned on to cooking,' he announced, pushing his plate away. 'Like a duck to water. Your dad'll never believe it.'
You're not wrong there, thought Eden. Cain was still calling every couple of days, but Eliot had stopped asking her to speak to him. He still pulled a face and tutted at her when they heard the phone ringing and she made no move to answer it, but he no longer said anything, simply heading into the hallway to reassure Cain that all was well, and Honey was fine and more-or-less behaving herself.
'Don't tell him,' she said quickly.
He raised an eyebrow. 'Why not? I should think he'd be right pleased you've found something you enjoy that you're really good at.'
'Because —' Eden racked her brains desperately. 'Because if you tell him, he'll have me slaving over the oven every night for him, when I get back.'
'But would that hurt? You like cooking. You said yourself you're really enjoying it.'
Eden cringed inwardly, but she couldn't think of another reason. 'Yeah, but that's to keep me occupied while I'm here. I mean, there's nothing else to do here, is there? At least cooking keeps me from going mad with boredom. Back home, I'll have far better things to do.'
'Oh. Right.'
At the disappointment in his voice, she turned away, unable to bear it.
Libby trudged into the kitchen, her boots covered in mud. 'Honey, would you help me groom Flora, please?'
It had been raining all night, and Libby had evidently forgotten the rule about boots in the boot room. Eden looked pointedly at the little girl's feet. There were muddy footprints all over the kitchen floor.
'Look at the state of that now,' she said. 'I'll have to mop that up. Can't Ophelia help you groom her?'
'Ophelia's cleaning tack,' said Libby. 'Come on. It will be fun.'
Fun? Eden shivered. She couldn't imagine anything scarier than being so close to a horse. All those hooves and teeth. Besides, she wouldn't have a clue what to do, and given Honey's equestrian background, she could hardly confess she wouldn't know where to start.
Eliot watched her, a question in his eyes. She knew another black mark was heading her way, but she didn't know how she could avoid it. Damn.
'Certainly not. I don't groom ponies, thank you very much.'
Libby looked hurt. 'Why not? It won't take us long.'
'You must have groomed your own ponies?' Eliot's voice was challenging. She'd annoyed him, she could tell.
She drew herself up and put on her haughtiest tone. 'Never. That's what grooms are for. Ponies were brought to me clean and saddled. I just rode the things.'
'Oh.' Libby shrugged. 'Okay. I'll do it myself.'
She left the kitchen, and Eden turned away, busying herself at the sink so she didn't have to see the look in Eliot's eyes. 'I'd better get the floor mopped. You really must tell the girls that dirty boots go in the boot room.'
'They don't usually forget.' She heard the scraping of his chair, and then he was beside her, putting his plate on the draining board. 'Reckon I'll head upstairs and do some paperwork.'
'Fine,' she said, her voice brittle. 'Give me a shout if George wakes up from his nap, and I'll come and fetch him.'
'If you're sure it's not too much trouble,' he muttered and left the kitchen.
Eden leaned on the sink and closed her eyes for a moment. They'd been making such good progress, and now she'd had to be a total bitch again. Well, what did it matter? She was supposed to be a bitch. She was supposed to be Honey. What would it achieve to be nice to him? Nothing would come of it. She would never see him again once she left Skimmerdale.
She cleaned the dishes and mopped the floor, then she sat for a moment, wondering how to make it up to Libby. There was no sound from George, and Eliot was still tucked away upstairs in his tiny office, doing some of the seemingly enormous pile of paperwork he had to cope with. It was the perfect opportunity to talk to the girls about the open day.
She took the brochure from her bag, shoved it in her jeans pocket, and headed outside. As she passed the jumble of empty barns and outbuildings, she stopped for a moment, distracted from her task. All these buildings, standing empty. Obviously, not all of them. Some were used for lambing, or for keeping the sheep clean before market or shows, for storing hay and winter feed,
the machinery and tools. But there were a couple of large barns being allowed to crumble away. It was a shame. More than that, it was a huge waste of potential. She thought about the walkers that passed by the farm so regularly. Wouldn't they like somewhere to sit down, perhaps have a cup of tea and a cake, or a sandwich? Wouldn't they perhaps like somewhere they could bed down for the night? How many beds could one barn hold? If they were offered breakfast, too, how much would they be willing to pay? It could be the answer to Eliot's financial worries. It was certainly worth looking into. She would mention it to him, although not today. She wasn't exactly in his good books at the moment.
Remembering what she'd come to do, she sighed. Better get on with it.
The girls, as she'd expected, were in the stables. Libby was brushing a rather smart looking Flora, and Ophelia was sitting on an upturned bucket, polishing a saddle. They looked up as she entered then glanced at each other. Evidently, Libby had informed her sister of "Honey's" condescending attitude earlier.
Eden took a deep breath. 'Sorry about the grooming thing,' she said, leaning against the wall and reaching out to stroke Flora's face with some trepidation.
''S'all right.'
Quite clearly, it wasn't.
Eden tried again. 'Thing is — well — it's all a bit embarrassing, really.'
They stopped what they were doing and looked at her with sudden interest.
'What is?' Libby asked.
'I was never shown how to groom the ponies, or clean the tack,' she said. Well, that was the truth, anyway. She just had to embellish it a little. 'Other people did it for me, and so I have no idea how to do it.'
'Really?'
'Yes. And —' Oh, sod it, in for a penny, in for a pound. '— the truth is, I've lost my nerve around ponies.'
Libby and Ophelia looked deeply sympathetic. 'Did you have a fall?' asked Ophelia.
Eden nodded. 'Yes. Yes, I did.'
'Didn't you get straight back on?' asked Libby.
Eden shook her head.
'Oh, Honey! You should always get straight back on. So, how long is it since you last rode?'
'Gosh.' She tried to remember. There'd been a trip to the seaside when she was about eight, and she'd been persuaded to sit on a donkey. She supposed that counted. 'Years ago.'