‘My sister-in-law and those two well-meaning buffoons in there are quite wrong when they say that I need help at home.’ She shook her head in irritation. ‘Outside these walls the world is one noisy blur, busy, fast and a little scary, and that’s only in our village; heaven knows what it would be like if I had to venture further afield.’
‘That was how I felt about London,’ I managed to say in a gruff voice.
Betsy shuddered. ‘Ghastly. Anyway, the point is that inside the walls which surround my property, I feel safe, I know where the potholes in the yard are, I know how many steps lead to my bathroom or down to the garden. I can, with a bit of concentration, still work the TV remote and I know what food is in my cupboards, the mix-up with the custard notwithstanding.’
‘I can see that, Mrs Butterworth; your friends were trying to help, but I understand: you won’t require my services.’
‘No,’ she confirmed. ‘But it appears to me that you, young lady, are in need of a lucky break. And that it is, in fact, you who need mine. And do call me Betsy.’
I tried to laugh but it came out like a sort of yodel. I nodded instead.
‘So how about this? You come and live in The Stables, across the way, and in exchange for a wage and your accommodation, you carry out a few tasks around the vineyard.’
‘Really! That would be amazing!’ Without thinking, I gave Betsy a hug and ended up sobbing on to the shoulder of her blouse. I half expected her to pull away; so far she had struck me as a stiff-upper-lip sort of lady. Instead, she rubbed my back. ‘There, there,’ she said under her breath.
‘And The Stables …’ I looked across the yard to the building with a traditional stable door. ‘It is habitable in there?’
She gave a dry laugh. ‘Fair question. Yes; it’s nothing fancy, mind you.’
My heart thumped with relief. ‘You don’t know what a help this is.’
‘Yes, well, it would only be for six months,’ she said, with a return to her brusque manner. She produced a white handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to me. ‘Until after the harvest and then I’m going to consider my options. I can’t afford to pay you a fortune, but I’ll have a word with the accountant.’
‘That’s fine. More than fine.’ At this point, I’d have snapped her hand off just for a fortnight’s lodging. ‘What sort of tasks did you have in mind?’
‘Oh.’ She waved a hand airily. ‘Putting together a jobs rota for the volunteers to cover pruning, mowing, checking the vines for disease. There are always vine supports and fences to be mended, grass to mow and of course the garden at the back of the house too. And looking ahead, organizing supplies and workforce for the harvest. Oh, and a few household jobs which I struggle with.’ She leaned forward, lowered her voice and wagged a finger. ‘Do not under any circumstances tell Marjorie that I struggle. With anything.’
‘Understood.’ I nodded firmly.
‘And the odd bit of driving. If Marjorie can’t take me. That sound okay?’
‘That sounds ideal.’ And it was almost word for word what the job advertisement had said, I thought, feeling my mouth twitch into a smile.
‘That’s better.’ She patted my arm. ‘Now, on you go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ I said, surprised.
‘I thought you wanted to move in straight away? No sense in dilly-dallying.’
‘Oh, yes please.’
‘That’s settled then.’ She looked innocently at me. ‘Besides, the vineyard won’t prune itself.’
Chapter 10
Twenty-four hours after starting my job hunt, I arrived at Butterworth Wines to take up my new position. I parked in front of the winery as before and removed my two suitcases from the back. It was only five days since I’d fled London with them, I’d packed them again on leaving Dad’s on Monday and again this morning at Evie’s. No wonder I was tired.
Evie had been a bit tearful when I left her house and I sensed she was beginning to feel out of her depth. Her application to become a foster carer seemed to be going full steam ahead, which was exciting on the one hand and terrifying on the other. I worried that she was rushing into this without giving herself time to grieve for the breakdown of her marriage but she wouldn’t listen when I tried to talk about it.
Still, I was only a couple of miles away – close enough to be with her in minutes, but far enough away to keep the threat of a repeat visit from Harvey at bay. I’d text him later, I thought, let him know that I’d moved out of Evie’s house so there was no point in him coming back in.
The stable door opened, breaking into my thoughts, and Betsy appeared.
‘Lottie? Is that you?’ She shielded her eyes with her hand although the sun hadn’t yet put in an appearance and a slight breeze was keeping the temperature cooler than it had been for the last few days.
‘Yes. Morning!’ I called. ‘Shall I bring my cases over?’
‘Yes do,’ she said, bending to lift a small white and brown dog into her arms. ‘Welcome to Butterworth Wines, and specifically to The Stables.’
‘Thank you, I’m very glad to be here.’
After hugging her yesterday I wasn’t quite sure how to greet her: a handshake would have been too formal, but I got the impression that she wasn’t normally a touchy-feely person. I held my hand out to the dog instead, letting it sniff me before daring to scratch it under the chin.
‘Hello, little chap,’ I said, guessing it was a male by the silver tag bearing the name Starsky hanging from his collar.
‘Well, someone seems much brighter today,’ said Betsy, regarding me with her head to one side. The little dog wriggled in her arms to be put down and she complied. I bent down, assuming that Starsky wanted to come and see me, but he scampered away inside.
‘So you can …’ I faltered, realizing that the question on the tip of my tongue was a bit personal, Betsy had a prickly side to her personality that I’d rather not invoke. ‘Nothing.’
‘Go on, spit it out,’ said Betsy, grabbing the handle of one of my cases and lugging it over the threshold.
‘Well, can you see my face properly?’ I asked. ‘Sorry, my dad used to say I was nosy. My mum encouraged it as natural curiosity.’
Betsy gave a bark of laughter. ‘They’re both right. And being interested in others is a far better trait than only being interested in yourself.’
That observation made me think of Harvey, who I now realized had only ever had his own interests at heart. I gave an involuntary shudder.
‘I’d say I’m a people person,’ I said, pushing the image of him with his hands crushing my face out of my head. ‘And animals too.’
‘Ted wasn’t fond of pets, so we’ve only ever been allowed one at a time. The first was a rescue rabbit when my daughter was eight, then a succession of guinea pigs, a cat or two and finally a dog who Ted fell in love with at first sight.’
‘Quite a menagerie.’
‘Indeed, but always called Starsky, which our friends found amusing.’
‘Why Starsky?’
‘Because the first Starsky came with his own hutch.’
We both laughed. Perhaps I’d been a bit harsh when I’d labelled her as prickly.
‘And to answer your question, no I can’t. Macular degeneration means that my peripheral vision is okay, but the centre is just a blur. So reading is a bind, particularly small print, and I can’t rely on my sight to recognize people; I use my other senses instead, like smell and hearing and, in the case of handsome doctors, touch if I’m feeling brazen.’ She pressed her lips into a secretive smile and I remembered her emerging from the consulting room on Tuesday on the arm of a good-looking man.
‘And sometimes, like now, I get a sixth sense about a person. Yesterday you gave off a feeling of despair; today I’m getting happy vibes.’
I let out a breath and smiled. ‘I am happy. I can’t believe my luck landing on my feet like this.’
‘Well, come on in, then,’ she said impatiently. ‘Can’t stand here
chatting all morning. I expect you’ll be wanting a look round your new abode.’
I carried my other suitcase inside and found myself beside a small wooden table and two chairs. I set the case down on the quarry-tiled floor and looked around. The layout was open plan: behind the table was the kitchen area – one short run of units with a sink at one end and a cooker at the other and then further along was an L-shaped sofa on which Starsky had made himself comfy, the smallest log-burner I’d ever seen and a TV. A Henry hoover sat in the middle of the floor, plugged in with its cable trailing from the bedroom. Directly facing the front door was another door through which I could see the end of a double bed. The décor was rustic and functional rather than fancy but the original beams had been retained and the whole place felt homely and inviting.
‘Now it’s only small but it should have everything you need.’
‘I love it,’ I said, unable to keep the squeak from my voice. ‘And it’s twice the size of the flat I lived in in London.’
Betsy opened all the kitchen cupboards in turn to show me where everything was. ‘And I’ve put a few basics in for you, tea and coffee and so on. But you’ll need to shop for meals.’
‘Thank you. I’m tea only at the moment, I’m off coffee recently, I think I probably overdosed at my sister’s. She mainlines the stuff.’
Evie had insisted on sending me off with a shopping bag and a cool box full of essentials, both of which were still in the car. So at least I wouldn’t have to leave the vineyard again today. Today was about getting my bearings, meeting everyone and hopefully, later on, getting a chance to google how on earth one was supposed to look after vines …
‘As long as you haven’t gone off wine,’ said Betsy. ‘Because you won’t be able to escape the smell of that here.’
I shook my head, opting not to tell her I probably couldn’t distinguish a Chardonnay from a Chenin Blanc.
‘Come through to the bedroom,’ she said, leading the way.
The bedroom furniture was heavy and dark: mahogany bed, wardrobe, drawers and an old dressing table with a three-fold tarnished mirror on top of it.
‘My mother’s old stuff,’ said Betsy. ‘Old-fashioned, I know, but I couldn’t bear to part with it. Particularly that dressing table. I spent hours at that going through her make-up and trying on her jewellery. I was always in trouble for tangling her necklaces.’
‘It suits the room perfectly.’ I smiled, imagining her as a defiant unrepentant child smeared with rouge and bedecked in rows of pearls.
‘Bathroom,’ she said, opening a second door. ‘Or rather, shower room. You’ll have to manage without a bath, I’m afraid.’
‘No problem,’ I said, staring in wonder at the little room, all gleaming chrome, sparkling floor-to-ceiling tiles and a shower cubicle that looked brand new. ‘I always like the idea of a bath far more than the reality.’
Betsy’s lips twitched. ‘Completely agree. All that time spent filling the thing and as soon as I’m in I’m too hot and bored and wonder how soon I can get out without feeling like I’ve wasted all that water.’
She left the room and I bounced my bottom on the bed to test it. It was deliciously soft, the duvet cover was a little faded but all the softer for it and it took all my will-power not to lie down but instead to follow Betsy back out.
I found her about to switch on the vacuum cleaner.
‘I can’t actually see if I’m sucking anything up,’ she admitted, ‘but I’m not taking any chances. The cottage has been empty since January; an entire army of spiders might have taken up residence in the place, for all I know.’
‘Let me do it,’ I said. ‘I might as well start working straight away.’
‘You are starting straight away,’ she corrected me sternly. ‘Pippa will be here in a few minutes; I’ve arranged for her to take you on a tour. Nice girl. Painfully shy but she was a big help to Ted in the early days.’
‘Did Ted pass away recently?’ I asked gently, glad of the chance to ask.
She sighed and sat down with a plop on the sofa. Starsky immediately pressed himself against her, his chin resting on her knee.
‘A month ago,’ she said, gesturing to the other end of the sofa for me to sit. ‘From cancer. But he’d been ill for months before that. He kept it hidden from me at first – not wanting to worry me, he admitted at the end. My damn eyesight,’ she said with a sudden burst of anger, smacking the arm of the sofa. Starsky made a whimpering noise. ‘If only I could have seen properly, I’d have noticed, but my eyes are useless.’
I ignored her directions and sat next to her instead. ‘I’m sorry.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you for not trotting out the same old platitudes. You’ve no idea how much I want to punch idiots who say things like: “he’s at peace now”, or “you mustn’t blame yourself”, or my personal bête noire, “these things happen for a reason”.’
‘My mum died when I was nineteen, she was only forty-four and we had a lot of that,’ I said. ‘I think people feel the need to say something, you know, fill the silences. When really all I needed was someone to simply listen.’
Starsky heaved himself up from Betsy’s lap and relocated to mine. I stroked his head and his ears. His fur was wiry, although his ears were velvety and close up I could see his silvery muzzle. He was an old boy with a melancholy demeanour.
‘Poor mutt,’ Betsy crooned, running her hand down his back. ‘He was Ted’s shadow. I’d never have believed that dogs could suffer from depression, but I think that’s what it is. He’s lost his lust for life. He doesn’t know what to do with himself without Ted. You and me both, boy.’
A single tear dropped from Betsy’s face into her lap.
‘It’s still all very new,’ I said, squeezing her hand lightly. ‘The best piece of advice I had after Mum’s funeral was to just focus on getting from A to B then to C and not look any further than one step at a time. I hope that doesn’t make you want to punch me.’
She snorted with laughter and wiped her cheek. ‘It makes me glad you came to Butterworth Wines, child. Now yesterday you told me what you’ve run from, but what is it you want from this next part of your life?’
The question took me by surprise; it was such a change in direction.
‘Me?’ I thought about it for a moment. ‘I want to feel safe and secure again, I— That makes me sound pathetic.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s honest. I like honesty. Go on.’
‘I want to build a home. I think of myself as a homemaker at heart but somehow I’ve never had the chance to be that person. I want to build a home which will be a happy safe place for my own family one day.’
‘My grandson used to call my house his happy place, where he felt safest.’
‘Jensen?’
Her face softened. ‘Apple of my eye. The irony is that he now thinks I’m not safe here and would really prefer it if I sold up and moved out.’
I bit my lip but decided not to comment. Jensen had a good point; there might be plenty of volunteers around in the daytime to keep an eye on things, but with her failing eyesight, how could Betsy possibly be safe at night on her own?
‘I suppose he’s just looking out for you; with your eyes being—’
‘He doesn’t know about that,’ she cut in sharply. ‘And I want it to stay that way. Understood?’
‘Um, yes,’ I said, taken aback. ‘Understood.’
Her breathing had quickened but before either of us could speak again there was a knock on the cottage door.
‘Come in!’ Betsy called.
A slim girl in her mid-twenties with dark brown hair showing under a floppy sunhat edged timidly round the door and raised a hand self-consciously. She was wearing a floaty summer dress and trainers. She was pale and freckly with perfect cheekbones. It could only be Pippa.
‘Pippa, come in and meet Lottie, our new vineyard manager.’
‘Hi.’ I smiled and waved before remembering that part of my role was the management of the staff. I’
d never actually managed anyone before, but I was sure Betsy would expect a bit more from me than simply grinning inanely and waving. I jumped to my feet and strode towards this young woman, hand extended.
‘Lovely to meet you, Pippa. Betsy has just been telling me what a big help you’ve been to Ted over the years.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Pippa’s hand fleetingly touched mine, she dropped her head and two fat tears promptly slipped down her face.
‘Don’t say that,’ I said with a jokey laugh, ‘I’m relying on you to teach me about growing vines.’
‘Viticulture,’ she said with a watery smile. ‘That’s what it’s called.’
‘You see,’ I said, nudging her with my elbow. ‘I’ve learned something already.’
‘I’ll leave you to get to know one another while I finish the hoovering,’ Betsy said, hauling herself from the sofa.
‘I think if it’s all right with you, I’d like to see the vines first?’ I guided Pippa out of the cottage. I’d been hoping to unload the rest of my things from the car, but that could wait.
‘Sorry about that. What must you think of me, weeping when Betsy introduces us?’ Pippa mumbled, pulling a tissue from her pocket and pressing it to her eyes.
‘That’s nothing,’ I said, glancing sideways at her. ‘I wept on Betsy yesterday during my interview.’
‘Really?’ she said, sniffing.
I nodded. ‘I needed a job and somewhere to live urgently, and didn’t think I’d have a chance of getting this one, given my lack of experience. I was so grateful that Betsy gave me the opportunity.’
‘That makes me feel better. Ted was like a father to me; I’m permanently tearful at the moment.’
‘Then it’s only natural that you miss him.’
She smiled sadly. ‘My own parents were quite old when I came along. And since they died, Ted filled the gap.’
A Vintage Summer Page 10