Being Emerald (Skimmerdale Book 2)

by Sharon Booth

'You're here on business?' His interest was obviously piqued. 'What sort of business?'

  'You're very inquisitive. Do you always grill strangers this way?'

  'Only the ones who are pretty enough to be taken out for lunch.' He smiled. 'Don't look so cynical. I was merely asking a question.'

  'Hmm. If you must know, I'm a wedding planner.'

  He grinned. 'Really?'

  'Does that amuse you?'

  'The whole wedding planner thing amuses me,' he admitted. 'We had one for our wedding, and I swear I could have done a better job of it myself for half the price. These huge, fancy weddings are such a waste of time and effort.'

  'Everyone deserves the fairytale, don't you think?'

  'Frankly, I think it's self-indulgent claptrap, but I wish you luck. I take it you're working for a local couple?'

  'Yes, I am,' she said, feeling quite put out that he had already poured cold water on her brilliant new — if temporary — business venture. 'At least, they're from Skimmerdale, but not this town. They live on a farm near Beckthwaite.'

  He frowned. 'A farm near Beckthwaite? You don't mean the Harlands, by any chance?'

  'Yes.' She narrowed her eyes. 'You know them?'

  'Yeah, I know them.' He considered this information. 'So, Eliot and Eden are actually going through with it. I never thought they'd get that far.'

  Emerald's stomach fluttered hopefully. 'Really? Why ever not? They're love's young dream, aren't they? Quite sickening.'

  'On the surface maybe, but there's a lot of baggage there, Miss —' His eyes lingered on her face, and she saw a distinct gleam in them. She felt a little frisson of excitement. He was no Eliot Harland, but he wasn't bad looking and, after all, it was ages since any man had looked at her in that way. Yes, he was wearing a wedding ring, but what the hell. It was only a harmless flirtation, after all. It would never go any further.

  'Carmichael,' she said. 'Emerald Carmichael.'

  'Carmichael?' She wasn't sure if it was the lighting in the café, but she was sure his pupils dilated. 'I don't suppose you're related to Cain Carmichael?'

  She sighed. Great. Another fan of her father's. Bloody hell, and when she'd finally started to enjoy herself. 'Yes, I'm his daughter, but if you think I'm going to get you his autograph or —'

  He shook his head. 'It's not that. I've just put two and two together. I knew you were staying at Fleetsthorpe with your brother, but I didn't realise you were also the wedding planner.'

  Emerald stared at him. 'How do you know I'm at Fleetsthorpe with Jed?'

  He pushed his own cup away. 'You met my wife recently. Beth?'

  'Beth? She's your wife?' Emerald tilted her head to one side, considering. They seemed a pretty unlikely couple, in her view. 'Well, this whole wedding planner business was her idea.'

  'It was?'

  'Yes. Didn't she tell you? Eliot and Eden don't have the time to organise a wedding, and I — er, I was looking for a business opportunity. Beth suggested I take over the planning of their nuptials, so we could all get what we wanted.' She frowned. 'I'm surprised she didn't say.'

  'She mentioned that you and your brother were staying with the Harlands. Other than that ...' He shrugged. 'We don't discuss them much.'

  'Oh?' Now her own interest was piqued. And why was that, she wondered. Considering how close Beth seemed to be to Eliot and Eden, it was odd that she didn't discuss them much with her husband. Come to think of it, she'd never mentioned him, and Emerald had never seen James Fuller at the farm, either, even though Beth seemed to visit regularly. There was a story there, she was sure of it.

  His finger circled the rim of his coffee cup. 'The Harlands and I have little in common.'

  'I can imagine.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'Well, you don't seem the sheep farm type,' she observed. 'And since Eliot and Eden seem to think about little else, I shouldn't think you have much to talk about.'

  She gave an inward shudder. Life at Fleetsthorpe had become even more dreary lately, with the imminent lambing season. She'd been quite appalled the other day to open her bedroom curtains and see Eliot and Eden herding what looked like thousands of sheep through the farmyard into the huge barn opposite the house. Apparently, the elderly ewes and first-time mothers-to-be were going to lamb indoors. Emerald couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Sheep had been giving birth since — well, since forever. She sometimes thought the Harlands deliberately made it seem harder work than it was.

  'I wouldn't have had you down as the sheep farm type, either,' James said. 'Yet you obviously get on with them.'

  'I never said I got on with them,' she said. 'At least, I certainly wouldn't say I got on with her.'

  The gleam in his eye had returned. 'You mean Eden?'

  'Saint Eden, surely?' She tutted. 'It doesn't matter.'

  'Oh, but it clearly does.' He smiled at her. 'She's annoying, isn't she?'

  Emerald felt soothed. Finally, someone else could see it. 'Yes, she bloody is, but no one else seems to get it. They all think she's perfect, and she's not.'

  'Oh, I know she's not. I could tell you some things about Miss Robinson.'

  'Really? Like what?'

  'You do know how she and Harland met?'

  Emerald wrinkled her nose. 'Of course I know. My darling sister blackmailed her into pretending to be her, so she could run off and shag some married man.'

  'Hmm. Blackmailed her indeed. Don't you think she could have said no? I hardly think she's a paragon of virtue. And then she went behind Harland's back to let Beth see the children, even though he specifically told her not to.'

  'What?' Emerald found it hard to believe that Eden would go against her precious Eliot. 'Are you sure?'

  'Positive. At the time, Eliot wanted the children to have nothing to do with Beth, but Eden felt sorry for her and sneaked them out to meet her. Not just once, either, but on several occasions. I told Beth she was wrong to do that, but she wouldn't listen. I almost felt sorry for Harland, especially when I realised he'd fallen for her.' He shook his head. 'There's another side to Miss Perfect. I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her.'

  'Really?' Emerald was warming more and more to this man with every word he uttered. 'Me neither. Eliot deserves so much better than her, but he's blind to her and, even worse, so is my father. Do you know, Dad's even paying for their wedding?'

  James leaned forward, elbows on table, chin propped in his hands. 'You're kidding!'

  Emerald's eyes widened. 'Wow, your wife doesn't talk to you much, does she? Big church wedding, all paid for by Cain Carmichael.'

  'Why is your father paying for it?'

  'Because Eden has him wrapped around her little finger and, let's face it, they can't afford it. They're always broke and —' She stopped, frowning. 'I probably shouldn't be saying all this stuff. Dad would kill me and it's not fair on Eliot. He's a decent sort. For a farmer,' she added hastily, in case he was more perceptive than he appeared.

  'I'm sure he is decent, deep down. Of course, I doubt very much that Daisy would agree.'

  'Who's Daisy?'

  'Daisy is a local woman. When Eliot's first wife died, she stepped in and kept Fleetsthorpe afloat. Did everything for him — cooked and cleaned, cared for his children, all so he could get on with earning a living.'

  'Another saint,' Emerald said grumpily.

  'They had an understanding, if you get what I mean.'

  Emerald stared at him. 'An understanding? You mean, Eliot and this Daisy were —'

  'In love and set to marry. Oh, there was no official announcement, but it was known throughout the village.'

  'What happened?'

  He sighed. 'What do you think happened? Eden came along and pushed Daisy well out of the picture. Turned Eliot against her, wrapped him up in her web of deception. Poor Daisy was heartbroken. She cleared off to Leeds. Couldn't stand seeing him around, flaunting his new relationship.'

  'Bloody hell! I had no idea! She really is a bitch, isn't
she? Eden, I mean.'

  'I'm afraid Eliot has no idea what she's capable of. Love is blind, as they say. You know, Miss Carmichael —'

  'Emerald.'

  'Emerald. You know, Emerald, I've enjoyed being with you this afternoon. It's made a real change for me. Maybe,' he placed his hand over hers, 'we could do this again some time?'

  Emerald looked down at his hand, noting it was his right one and not the hand with the wedding ring gleaming on one finger. 'I don't think so,' she said, removing her own hand and reaching for her bag.

  He looked surprised, evidently not used to rejection. 'Why on earth not?'

  'The question, surely, is why on earth would we? The only thing you and I have in common, Mr Fuller, is that we both dislike Eden Robinson. It's hardly a basis for a flourishing friendship, is it? Always supposing it's friendship you were seeking, which I doubt, somehow.'

  His mouth dropped open. He eyed her curiously for a moment, then smiled — a genuine smile this time. 'You're quite something,' he said, almost grudgingly.

  Emerald rolled her eyes. 'And flattery won't get you anywhere.' She stood up. 'I think we're done here.'

  'Think about it, Emerald.'

  'It's Miss Carmichael to you, actually. Thanks for the lunch and sorry about the coffee.'

  She tutted as he thrust a card into her hand. 'Take this and think about it, please, Emer — Miss Carmichael. If you change your mind, my number's right there. Just a drink or a bite to eat sometime. No strings.'

  'Don't hold your breath. Bye, Mr Fuller.'

  She left the café, thinking what a bloody nerve he had and how all men were the same. Except for Eliot, of course, which was just her luck. Trust her to fall for someone so doggedly devoted, so loyal and straightforward. Fancy him falling for someone like Eden! At least James Fuller agreed with her on that little matter.

  She smiled to herself, remembering the glint of lust in his eyes as he'd leaned over to hand her his card. He had a damned cheek, especially when they'd been discussing his wife. Even so, she ignored the waste bin at the end of the street and tucked the little card into her coat pocket. Just in case.

  Chapter Fifteen

  'But you see what I mean, don't you?' Ophelia tugged at Jed's arm as they stood in the yard, admiring the rather pretty pony before them. 'Look at her feet! Aren't they dangling?'

  Libby's feet were a little below the pony's girth, he had to admit, but he didn't want to get involved in Ophelia's second pony campaign. He figured Eliot and Eden had enough on their minds without worrying about buying a new pony. 'It's not that bad,' he fudged. 'And ponies are very strong. I'm sure Flora has no trouble carrying Libby.'

  'That's not the point,' Ophelia said. 'Point is, she looks proper daft.'

  'Oh, thanks, Ophelia.' Libby glared at her sister. 'Good job there's no one around to laugh at me then, isn't it?'

  'No use having a go at me.' Ophelia shrugged and patted Flora's dapple-grey neck. 'It's Mum and Dad you need to be having a word with. I can't fight all your battles for you.'

  It had occurred to Jed to offer to buy a pony for the girls himself. He could certainly afford it, and it had seemed like a good way to thank Eden and Eliot for their hospitality. Luckily, he'd run it past Cain first, and his father had soon put him straight.

  'Eliot ain't the sort you can do that for,' he'd advised. 'Them's his kids, and he's proper defensive over being able to buy stuff for them. Leave it to him to sort out and stay well clear.'

  Jed had taken his advice and was trying hard not to let sentiment get in the way of common sense. 'So, are you going to help me paint the dormitory today or are you too busy riding?' he said.

  The girls looked at each other. Ophelia pulled a face. 'Really?'

  Libby said, albeit reluctantly, 'If you need our help ...'

  Jed laughed. 'I'm kidding. Go on, get yourselves out of here.'

  They looked relieved. 'See you later, Jed,' they called as Flora clip-clopped out of the yard and they headed into the fields.

  Jed was entering the barn when he heard someone calling hello. He turned, his heart doing a most unexpected skip as he took in the sight of Beth, pretty as a picture in cropped jeans and a floral cotton shirt.

  'Hey! Great day isn't it?' He grinned to himself as he realised he'd already fallen into the habit of discussing the weather with everyone he met. His English roots were wrapping themselves around him, slowly but surely. It wasn't a bad thing. 'If you've come to see Eden she's gone into Harrogate. Something to do with kitchen supplies.'

  'Oh, right.' Beth looked a bit lost. 'Has she taken George with her?'

  'Nope. He's at the birthday party of one of the kids from nursery.' He glanced at his watch. 'I said I'd pick him up when they're done, since Eliot's so busy, but I've got a couple of hours yet, so I was gonna carry on painting the dorm.'

  She seemed wistful, somehow. 'I suppose I should go home then,' she murmured, sounding reluctant. Then her face brightened, and she said, 'Unless, of course, you wouldn't mind some help.'

  'You?' He couldn't help but laugh and was rewarded with narrowed eyes and folded arms.

  'What do you mean by that?'

  'Sorry but, seriously? Have you ever painted anything before?'

  Beth admitted, obviously embarrassed, that she hadn't, which didn't surprise him. He doubted she'd ever been without money in her life. Her sort of folks had the cash to pay people to do such menial tasks for them.

  Not that he blamed her for that. He'd never been short of money, either, and any work that his family had needed doing they could have hired help to do it. Luckily for him, two of his stepfathers had been hands-on kind of guys and had taught him the value of — and the fun in — doing the work for yourself. At least he had that to be grateful for, he mused, even if they'd turned out to be prize jerks in other ways.

  He surveyed Beth thoughtfully. Maybe it would do her good to get stuck in to hard graft. She always looked so lost and unsure of herself. Whatever it was that was weighing her down, getting down and dirty with a paintbrush might do her the world of good. Speaking of which ...

  'I don't want you to get paint on that nice top you're wearing,' he told her. 'Wait there.'

  He rushed back into the house and shot up the stairs to his attic bedroom, where he rummaged among his belongings to find an old, rather creased checked shirt. Okay, it needed ironing, but it was clean. He ran back downstairs and into the kitchen, stopping to collect something from a dish on the windowsill, then he crossed the yard and handed the garment to a bemused looking Beth. 'Put this on. It'll protect your own clothes.'

  She raised an eyebrow but did as he said, shrugging on the shirt and fastening the buttons. It buried her, but it would do the job.

  'I grabbed this, too,' he said, handing her a bobble. 'One of Eden's. I figured it would be better to tie your hair up.'

  'You think of everything,' she said, smiling as she gathered her hair into a pony tail. 'There. Do I look okay?' She spread out her arms and did a little twirl.

  Jed thought she did more than that. She looked real cute. Beth was always a picture of elegance and sophistication, with her flawless skin, large, dark eyes and long brown hair. Seeing her in this rather odd outfit, her hair tied up, it was like seeing her for the first time.

  Something tugged at his heartstrings, and he felt a fleeting surprise. It had been ages since that had happened, and he hadn't expected it to happen again for a long, long time. 'You do,' he managed. 'I guess I'd better show you how to paint.'

  She laughed. 'How to paint! How hard can it be?'

  'Oh, you have a lot to learn,' he said, shaking his head and leading her into the dormitory, where cans of emulsion, rolls of masking tape, and paint pads, trays, brushes and rollers were stacked up against the wall. Beth looked around, obviously taking in the size of the room, and he saw the first trace of doubt in her eyes. Somehow, he knew he'd not manage to get much painted that afternoon, what with trying to show her how to get a flawless finish. It didn't matter.
Some things were more important.

  ****

  Cain's throat felt sore. Slumping into the white leather sofa in his lounge, he sucked on a lozenge and reflected on the miserable day he'd had.

  It had all started so well. Sun King were an up-and-coming band, earning growing respect from insiders in the industry, and gaining more fans every day. Working with them would introduce him to a whole new generation, as well as boosting their credibility and getting both parties some welcome publicity — at least, that was the theory.

  They'd seemed a nice bunch of lads at first. A bit wet behind the ears but he'd met worse. One of them had pissed him off a bit by telling him his grandad was a huge fan of Cain Carmichael's music — his sodding grandad! — but other than that, all seemed well. The song they were working on wasn't exactly a rock classic, but Cain supposed it would be popular with the bits of kids who listened to their music. Sun King, it seemed, could do no wrong anyway.

  When it came to his turn to lay down vocals, he'd given it everything he had. He was convinced he'd done a cracking job, but a few takes later he was beginning to wonder if there was any pleasing them.

  The worst bit was, he sounded a hell of a lot better than those little shits, with their reedy voices and nasally tones. Anyone with even one ear for music could tell that. Yet he'd seen them, muttering to each other, rolling their eyes and exchanging amused looks, as if he was some sort of joke. Like they were doing him a favour!

  One of them — Kent, he said his name was and a proper Kent he looked, too — said he thought Cain wasn't getting it.

  You'll bleeding get it in a minute, mate, Cain thought, trying not to scowl. 'Trust me, I've bin around long enough to know how to sing a fucking chorus,' he'd snapped.

  They'd all looked at each other then, then over at the producer, who'd suggested another take.

  'You're not interpreting our lyrics,' one of them grumbled. Quentin, his name was. Honestly! Cain didn't know what musicians had come to. They drank mango smoothies and snacked on hummus and crackers. There wasn't a joint or a bottle of Jack Daniels to be had. He wasn't having any fun at all.