by Jessica Hart
But the more she tried to tell herself how much she liked the Thames, the more she remembered the little river that ran through the water meadows. She would stand on one of the great London bridges and remember the bridge in Combe St Philip. In the summer you could lean over the parapet to catch the flash of a fish darting through the clear water, and listen to the sheep bleating on the downs. Walking through Hyde Park, all she could think about was walking along the ridgeway with the valley sweeping away.
It was good to be back in London, but she missed the greenness of the village. She was horribly homesick for the froth of cow parsley along the hedgerows and the smell of the long grass after the rain. For the burble of the river and the peal of bells on a Sunday morning. The clip clop of horses’ hooves and the way old Mrs Middleham tootled her horn at the sharp bend into Church Lane.
She missed the cottage she had felt trapped in for so long. The tiny twisting stairs, her grandmother’s chair. Sweetie’s imperious yowl.
She missed walking up to the manor, through the village and up the long avenue. Letting herself in the back door, clicking on the coffee machine. Holly and Ben, spreading their homework over the kitchen table. She even missed those stupid dogs.
She missed Max. Oh, how she missed him! Flora felt as if she was tiptoeing around on the edge of a black hole, a bottomless, dark and terrifying chasm.
It was hard now to remember that she had once thought herself in love with Rich. She could look at him and feel nothing but mild surprise that they had ever got together at all. He was still a superlative cook, and wasn’t it great to be able to talk about food with someone who wouldn’t be just as happy to settle for beans on toast? It was just that there was nothing else to talk about with Rich. He was passionate about food, just as she had always been, but when he discussed some of the more elaborate dishes he had in mind to serve, somehow Flora found her mind wandering to the simple smell of a Victoria sponge fresh from the oven.
All that time she had missed the buzz of a restaurant kitchen, she had been learning to enjoy cooking by herself, it seemed. To have the time to make each cake individual and play with the ingredients to find the perfect garnish.
The future yawned in front of her. She had no doubt the restaurant would be successful with Rich at the helm. He was flatteringly keen to persuade her to come on board as a business partner, claiming that her skills as a pastry chef and baker would be the perfect complement to his dazzlingly innovative dishes. She could stay in London and become a celebrated chef. It was what she had always wanted, Flora reminded herself. It was what she still wanted.
Wasn’t it?
“When’s Flora coming back?” Holly sighed dramatically and threw her school bag onto the kitchen table. “It’s not the same when she’s not here.”
It wasn’t, Max knew. At least Holly only had to miss her occasionally. He missed her all the time. The first week had stretched to two. She’d sent a polite email telling him that she had ‘stuff to sort out’ and would be back soon, but she hadn’t said when.
The whole house felt empty without her. Every morning Max went into the kitchen and made himself a coffee on that ridiculous machine of hers. He imagined Flora standing next to him, and could almost swear he smelt that light, summer scent, feel her warmth. He could almost feel her nudge him out of the way, and roll her eyes, and her smile glimmered so vividly in his mind that he actually turned his head expecting to see her there.
He missed her with a savage ache that took him some time to recognize: the same sickening sense of loss he had felt as a homesick boy, needing to be home. But he had his home, Max tried to convince himself. How could he be homesick when he was here in the manor?
It was just that it didn’t feel like home any more.
Again and again Max reminded himself of all the reasons why it had been a mistake to get involved with Flora. It hadn’t felt like a mistake, though. It had felt absolutely right. But how could he ask her to give up her life and her ambitions to live with him? She had been clear from the start that she didn’t want to be here. And how could he leave his children and his dogs and try and be part of her life in London? It wouldn’t work.
It was just infatuation, Max decided. And great sex, of course. No wonder he was missing her. But he would meet someone, someday. Someone whose hair smelt of summer and whose mischievous blue eyes were full of sunshine. Someone who could light up a room with her smile, whose warm, lush body could make his senses spin. Someone who could make him laugh and loosen these tight bands around his heart that made it hard to breathe.
Max set his teeth and went through the motions. He sent off a new design and won a new contract. He picked up Holly and Ben and cooked them spaghetti bolognaise, which they hadn’t had for so long they quite enjoyed, although it didn’t stop them moaning about the absence of Flora’s puddings. He chased up the workmen and arranged for yet another room to be decorated. He studied his bank statements and swore. He walked the dogs and too often found himself walking past Flora’s cottage, just in case she had come home, but she never had. She had put the cottage on the market and a FOR SALE sign was already fixed to the wall. It was a pretty little cottage and would sell easily, Max remembered thinking, but even he was taken aback to see a SOLD banner plastered across the sign barely a week after Flora had gone to London.
So this was it. She would be back to cook for Hope’s wedding, but then she would go and once the cottage was sold, there would be no reason for her to come back.
He would just have to accept that and get used to life without her.
Wouldn’t he?
“I’m worried about you,” Stella said when he went to pick up the kids at the weekend. “You’re so solitary, Max. You should go out more. There’s this girl in my Pilates class who’d be perfect for you – what?” she finished, puzzled as Max held up a hand.
“I know you’re trying to help, Stella, but please don’t try and set me up with anyone else.”
Stella looked crushed. “I only want you to be happy.”
“I know you do,” he said more gently, “but you’re not responsible for my happiness any more. We’re divorced. You’re the mother of my children so you’ll always be special to me, but who I see and what I do and what makes me happy ... those things are up to me. There’s only one woman who’s perfect for me – and she’s not in your Pilates class.”
“Flora, I suppose?”
Max nodded. “Yes, Flora.”
He was responsible for his own happiness – wasn’t that what he had told Stella? Max drove home thoughtfully. It was high time he did something about that.
It was a soft spring morning, and the plants were almost visibly unfurling in a haze of zingy green. Unable to sleep, Max had got up early to find some solace in gardening. Flora or no Flora, the garden had to be looking its best for Hope’s wedding.
Max was nervous. For so long he had been focused on Hasebury Hall and on family obligations, and now he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a risk for himself. His father had been the great risk-taker, and look where that had got him. Max had done better playing safe. But playing safe would not bring Flora back.
On the desk in his study, Max had a ticket to London. He was going to get Flora back. He might humiliate himself completely in the process, and probably would, but at least he would know that he had tried.
Ted’s ears were pricked, and Bella lifted her head from her paws and gave a little yip. The decorators must have arrived early.
Reluctant to leave the garden, which seemed to be the only place he knew what he was doing, Max headed inside. He needed a word with the painter, anyway. At the back door, he kicked off his boots while the dogs bustled excitedly ahead in the direction of the kitchen. He frowned. The decorators were supposed to be finishing the drawing room, not hanging around in the kitchen. They had finished painting in there.
He whistled for the dogs, but they didn’t come. He walked down the passage and pushed open the kitchen door.
Max’s heart tripped and his mind went dark, blinded by the rush of joy at the sight of her.
She looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, and when their eyes met, Max felt as if the shackles around his heart had sprung apart to let it float free.
“Hi,” she said with a tentative smile.
“You’re back,” he said stupidly.
“Yes.” Flora had rehearsed what she was going to say, but now that she was here and he was just there, her mind was blank. She didn’t want to talk, she wanted to throw herself in his arms and beg him to never let her go, but she couldn’t do that. She had thought of much better things to say ... if only she could remember them.
She gave the dogs a final pat and straightened slowly. “Can you believe I missed them?” she said. “Do you think I’ve turned into a dog person after all?”
“Bella and Ted think you’ve always been a dog person secretly.”
“Maybe they’re right. It turns out that I’ve been a lot of things secretly that I didn’t realize before.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Well, it seems I’m a secret baker and would rather make cakes than cook wonderful, innovative dishes.”
“Really?” said Max, moving into the room at last.
“Yes, and also, apparently I’m secretly a country girl, and not a city girl at all.”
A slow smile dawned in his face. “That’s a real shame,” he said. “Because I’ve just bought a ticket to London.”
The blue eyes widened in astonishment. “What on earth for?”
“I thought I might have a go at being a city boy.”
“You can’t do that!” Flora stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What about Holly and Ben?”
“I’d have to come back every other weekend, and occasionally during the week, but I can do that.” Max shrugged. “It’s only London, not the other end of the country.”
“But ... but ... Bella and Ted would hate London!”
Max came nearer. “The great thing about dogs, which I think you have to agree makes them superior to cats, is that they just want to be with you. If I’m happy, Bella and Ted will be happy, and I won’t be happy without you, Flora.”
Flora put her fingers to a mouth that trembled suddenly. “Max,” she said unevenly. “Would you really consider moving to London for me?”
“For my whole life, I’ve thought of Hasebury Hall as home,” said Max, setting his hands at her waist and looking into eyes that were starry with tears. “But since you’ve been gone, I’ve realized that home isn’t a place. It’s you.”
“Max,” said Flora. “Oh, Max. Throw away that ticket. Don’t go to London.” She rested her hands on his chest with a tremulous smile. “I’ve missed you so much. I only went to London because I thought you wanted me to go, but when I was there, I realized I didn’t belong there any more. Maybe I never did. All I could think about was how much I missed it here: the village and this house. And you,” she finished. “You most of all.”
“I’ve missed you too,” said Max. “I spent all my time telling myself to be sensible but it was too late. Somewhere along the line, that stupid pretence for the Crown Princess turned out to be real. I was in love with you before I knew what had happened.”
“You love me?” Flora was dazzled by relief and a dawning happiness. She had come back just wanting a chance to stay a bit longer, and now, now he was there and letting go of her waist to cup her face between his palms, and slide his fingers into her hair.
“I do,” he said, dropping kisses over her face. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” And then he found her mouth and the kiss they shared swept away the misery of the past two weeks in a great whoosh of feeling, tumbling them along in joy and relief.
“Are you sure you’ll be happy as a country girl?” Max asked her later, when they were sitting on the bench in the herb garden. Flora had made coffee, just like old times, and the dogs were sprawled on the brick patio, making the most of the spring sunshine.
“Completely sure,” said Flora. “There’s only one problem: I’ve sold the cottage already to a couple who are desperate to move in. It was one of the reasons I came back. The first one was obviously to throw myself at you, and beg you to take me back, which seems to have worked quite well, but I also have to pack up the cottage and need somewhere to put all my things.” She slid a provocative glance at him under her lashes. “I’ve inherited all my grandparents’ furniture, so I’m really looking for somewhere old and maybe a bit empty ...”
Max pretended to consider. “I think I might know just the place,” he said, twining his fingers with hers. “I could let you move your stuff in here. There’s plenty of room, but there would be a couple of conditions, I’m afraid.”
“Oh? What sort of conditions.”
“First, you’d need to move in with all your stuff.”
Flora tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I think I could manage that. What’s the second condition?”
“I’m not happy about lying to the Crown Princess,” said Max. “I think we should make our engagement real, so there’s no risk to her seating plans at Hope’s wedding.”
“Ooh, does that mean we get to plan a wedding of our own?”
“I was thinking we could elope,” he said, and Flora laughed and kissed him.
“I don’t mind what we do, as long as we do it together.”
“So you’ll marry me?”
“Of course I will.” Flora sighed happily and leant against him. “Haven’t I had a crush on you since I was fifteen?”
“I thought you were over that?”
“Nope, turns out that I was pretending about that too,” she told him. “What a relief to stop pretending about everything and just tell the truth!”
“What about your restaurant, Flora?” Max made himself ask. “I don’t want marrying me to mean giving up on your dream.”
“You’re my dream, Max.” For once the blue eyes that looked into his were perfectly serious. “That crush I had wasn’t real, but this is. I still want to cook, of course, but I’ve realized that I don’t want to go back to the pressure of a top kitchen. I want to make simple, delicious food that people really want to eat, and some beautiful cakes for special occasions.”
She gestured to the kitchen garden, bursting with growth, and to the walled garden beyond where the herbaceous borders still needed another few weeks before they were at their spectacular best. “I thought this would be a perfect place for a garden centre. Why don’t you stop sending plants off to die of neglect, and grow plants for gardens in those greenhouses instead? And then I could run a little café that would be a cut above the usual sandwiches and millionaire’s shortbread. What do you think?”
Max eyed her with respect. “I think you might have something there, Moonflower Dreaming. But you’ve got a royal wedding to cater before you can start planning a café.”
“I know, and I’m keen to get to work,” said Flora. “I had such a good idea for canapés when I was in London. Lucky I’m marrying a man who can give me my fantasy kitchen!”
Max smiled and got up, drawing her to her feet so that he could lead her up to his room. “Speaking of fantasies ...” he said.
Three days later, Max staggered into the manor with the last of Flora’s belongings from the cottage. Incredibly, the tiny house had produced an immense amount of furniture, pictures and books that were now cluttering up the great hall until a home could be found for it all.
Max had grumbled throughout the process, of course. “You can’t really want all this rubbish?” he said at regular intervals, but Flora would just pile another box into his arms and tell him not to drop it.
“I know you’re just pretending to be grouchy,” she said. “You can’t fool me now. Beneath that crusty exterior, you’re a pussycat really.”
“A pussycat?
” Max pretended outrage. “I’m a dog man all the way through, as you well know.”
“I think I could convert you to cats,” Flora said. “In fact, I was thinking it would be nice to have a kitten around the place to keep Ted and Bella in order. We could call it Fluffy or Cuddles or something so you could enjoy calling for it,” she added with an innocent look.
“Over my dead body!” said Max, but he was fairly sure there would be a kitten ruling the roost before long, whatever he said. He would have to make it up to his dogs somehow.
Now he edged into the hall, a huge cardboard box in his arms, and negotiated his way through the chairs, empty drawers standing on one end and packing cases oozing bubble wrap. “This is the last one,” he announced. “Where do you want it?”
Flora looked up from where she was unwrapping her grandmother’s china onto a corner of a table. Bella and Ted were enjoying themselves hugely, pretending there were rats in the discarded balls of scrunched-up newspaper at her feet.
“What’s in it?”
“Lead weights from the feel of it ...”
She jumped up to open the box and peer inside. “Granny’s recipe books!”
“Great,” sighed Max. “More cookery books. Just what we needed. I’m going to have to build an extension at this rate. I cannot believe you need all this stuff,” he added, looking around the hall, which had once seemed so cold and empty, and remembering how appalled he had been when he had helped Flora carry in all her kitchen equipment the previous November.
“How long did you say you were moving in for?” he asked with a mock scowl, and Flora smiled as she leant across the cardboard box to kiss him.
“Forever.”
The End