‘This place was some sort of smallholding when we bought it,’ said Betsy, opening a cupboard and squinting at the contents. ‘A misguided couple from Birmingham had taken it on wanting a taste of the good life.’
‘Did they have animals or grow crops?’ I watched her run her hands over the tins and boxes and plastic Tupperware containers, seeking the biscuits by touch.
‘Both. Pigs and garlic.’ She let out a peel of laughter. Her fingers alighted on a square tin and she gave a triumphant sigh. ‘Can you imagine a more pungent combination? Once they’d got the good life, they found they didn’t like the taste after all. Nor the smell. Mind you, I’m not surprised. It took me six months to get the aroma of pig shit out of the stables where you’re living now.’
‘Goodness!’ I raised my eyebrows. It was such a lovely cosy little place; it was hard to imagine it with pigs in. I opened my mouth to say so but she got in there first.
‘Why the surprised tone?’ she tutted. ‘Because I said shit?’
‘No, not at all,’ I laughed. A scratching noise at the front door caught my attention and I turned my ear to the kitchen door to listen. It sounded like someone was sliding a key in.
‘Honestly, why your generation thinks that swearing is the preserve of the young I’ll never know. Even Shakespeare was fond of a good obscenity. My particular favourite is f—’
‘Gran?’
‘Jensen!’ Betsy gasped. She dropped the tin and swept the little liquid alarm from the worktop mug into the drawer.
‘Surprise!’ A man bounded in, grabbed Betsy around the waist, lifted her from the floor and swung her round, pressing loud kisses to her cheek. I couldn’t help but smile, seeing the usually buttoned-up Betsy being whirled round, her feet flying out. I’d never seen her so undignified; but she seemed very happy about it.
Starsky sprang up too, his little tail thumping against the leg of the table.
Betsy hooted with laughter. ‘Good heavens, child, put me down.’
The ‘child’ was a man in his thirties dressed in smart trousers, polished shoes and a pale pink shirt, open at the neck with rolled-up sleeves just below his elbows. His dark blond hair was short at the back but the top was curly, flopping over one eye, giving him the look of a 1950s film star – charming with just a hint of mischief. He was taller than Betsy, which wasn’t hard, and athletic-looking – a lean build, so much more natural than the ginormous shoulders and biceps Harvey was so proud of.
He lowered his grandmother to the ground and she pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek before patting her hair back into place.
‘Silly boy,’ she chuckled, her cheeks rosy. ‘You gave me quite a fright.’
‘I rang the doorbell, but no one came so I used my key.’ Jensen spotted me at the table and smiled enquiringly. The dog couldn’t contain himself any longer and jumped up Jensen’s legs for some attention. He obliged, scratching behind the delighted dog’s ears. ‘Hello, boy.’
‘Battery’s dead and I couldn’t find the right screwdriver to replace it,’ said Betsy.
Jensen and I spoke at the same time:
‘I’ll do that.’
‘I can sort that.’
Jensen turned his attention to me. ‘My apologies, we haven’t been introduced.’
Wow. Jensen was one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen. Piercing navy blue eyes, dazzling smile, lovely teeth. I felt an unexpected ping in my chest. If I hadn’t been completely sworn off men after escaping Harvey’s clutches I may well have embarrassed myself by morphing into a swoony giggling girl. As it was I managed to keep perfect control.
‘I’m Lottie Allbright,’ I said, getting to my feet and returning his smile.
‘Jensen Butterworth.’ He shook my hand. ‘Lovely to meet you.’
Unexpectedly, the touch of his hand – warm, dry and somehow assured – sent the butterflies in my stomach into a tizz. Double wow.
‘Likewise.’ I swallowed.
His jaw had a hint of stubble and he smelled lovely; I probably smelled sweaty.
Why hadn’t I got changed before coming across? Slipped into a dress, or a T-shirt and shorts. Anything other than this polo shirt, still hanging out from when I’d rubbed my mug with it and which must have shrunk because it never used to be this tight across the chest, and these hideous work trousers which were brilliant for keeping thorns and insects at bay, but probably equally effective at keeping male admiration at bay too. Plus, I was hot suddenly. Very hot.
‘Lottie,’ said Betsy, suddenly tight-lipped, ‘is our new vineyard manager. Amongst other duties.’
He stared at me. ‘Sorry, I, er, I wasn’t expecting … Gran hasn’t mentioned anything about you.’
I realized I was still holding on to his hand.
‘Sorry,’ I said, releasing it. Now I wasn’t just hot, I was embarrassed too which meant a whole new level of attractiveness: my neck and chest had done its rashy thing.
‘Lottie.’ Jensen scratched his chin. ‘Hello, pleased to meet you.’
‘Clearly,’ said Betsy, looking between the two of us and smirking. ‘You’ve told her twice.’
Jensen pushed the dog off his leg and gave his grandmother a look somewhere between bewilderment and frustration. ‘Can we talk in—’
‘Tea?’ said Betsy loudly, interrupting him. She marched back to the kettle, took out another mug, reached for the drawer and hesitated. Starsky retreated to his spot under the table and closed his eyes with a contented snuffle.
I knew exactly what she was thinking: that she couldn’t use her magic alarm with Jensen there because he’d ask too many questions. I decided to come to her rescue just this once. I completely understood why she didn’t want to admit any failings in her health to her beloved grandson; she didn’t want to worry him and five minutes ago I’d have probably sided with her. Now, having smelled her fridge, I couldn’t condone her deception. At this rate it wouldn’t be too long before some sort of disaster occurred and I didn’t want that on my conscience; coming to the Butterworths’ was supposed to signal an incident-free time for me.
‘You open the biscuits,’ I said, handing her the tin, ‘I’ll make Jensen his tea. Or would you prefer coffee?’
‘Coffee please,’ said Jensen, jingling coins in his pockets. After his exuberant entrance his demeanour had changed completely: his smile had been replaced by a weary frown. ‘Gran—’
‘I didn’t hear your car on the drive,’ said Betsy, blatantly ignoring him and wrangling ineffectively with the lid of the tin which I could see was sealed with clear tape but she presumably couldn’t. ‘Such a lovely treat to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure? Oh, this infernal lid!’
Betsy shoved the tin at Jensen who caught my eye with a flicker of amusement.
He picked at the end of the tape, peeled it off with a flourish and prised off the lid.
‘Could have sworn I’d already removed that,’ said Betsy innocently.
I turned away, spooning coffee into Jensen’s mug to hide my smile.
‘My car doesn’t make much noise. Come and look, Gran.’
He beckoned her to the window at the far end of the kitchen which overlooked the yard.
‘What am I looking at?’ she said, pressing her face to the glass.
‘My new car. Just got it last week. What do you think?’
‘Very smart,’ she said, ‘and it’s my favourite sort.’
Jensen laughed. ‘So you know what it is then?’
‘Of course. Silver,’ she retorted, turning from the window, she caught my eye and mouthed, ‘Help!’
I crossed to the window to see for myself. The car was smart: a silver Mercedes, which if I wasn’t mistaken …
‘Is that an electric Mercedes?’ I asked, handing Jensen his coffee.
‘Thanks. Yes, it’s a hybrid.’ Jensen nodded. ‘A new initiative at work to be more eco-friendly. My idea. If we’ve got to be on the road so much, it makes sense to reduce our carbon footprint as much as possible.’
> ‘What do you do?’ I asked.
He sipped his coffee. ‘I work for a global firm of architectural engineers.’
I looked at him blankly and he smiled.
‘So, for example, we’re working on an infrastructure project in Scotland and a sports stadium in Singapore. And I’m a project manager, tasked with integrating all the different pieces of software into each building so everything talks to each other.’
‘He’s very clever,’ Betsy put in.
‘It’s true,’ Jensen said, deadpan. Then his lips twitched. ‘The world of digital systems would collapse without me.’
‘I’m impressed,’ I said, raising an eyebrow. ‘And talking about being eco-friendly, I was looking in the shed today where the fertilizers and pesticides are kept and I was wondering how you’d feel if I looked into some organic alternatives?’
‘Fine by me,’ said Betsy, with a wave of approval.
Jensen frowned. ‘Gran, we probably should discuss the vineyard’s cash flow before we start spending any money.’
‘Says the boy with the flash new car,’ said Betsy crisply, biting into a shortbread finger. ‘Stop worrying and have a biscuit. That always used to work when you were a little boy. Do you remember coming into my room in the middle of the night, Mr Rabbit tucked under your arm, to tell me you’d had a bad dream or wet—’
‘Gran, please!’ Jensen raked a hand through his hair.
‘Sorry, darling, didn’t mean to embarrass you.’ Betsy didn’t look the least bit apologetic, she was smirking. I was beginning to get the measure of this old lady; she was devious and mischievous and I already loved her to bits.
‘That’s a company car, which cost me nothing,’ her grandson continued. ‘I’ve been promoted.’
‘Well done!’ Betsy said in a wobbly voice. ‘Oh, your granddad would have been so proud. And so am I.’
Jensen sat beside her and held her hand. ‘Thanks, Gran.’
The two of them sat lost in their thoughts for a few moments and it crossed my mind that I was intruding and by rights should disappear back to The Stables, but I’d come over to borrow some books and really wanted to get on with some background reading this evening. I’d just have to wait for a suitable opening in the conversation, fetch the books and leave them to it. In the meantime, I ran some hot water in the sink, added some washing-up liquid and began scrubbing the mugs and teaspoons.
‘And the reason I’ve called in is because I’ve got a meeting in Newcastle tomorrow morning and I thought I’d drive up to surprise you and take you out for dinner. Oh, that reminds me, I’ve left something in the car.’
Her head lifted swiftly. ‘Out?’
‘Just a plate of pasta at the Italian in the village, nothing fancy. I’ll be right back.’ He kissed her hand and excused himself to go back outside.
A look of panic crossed Betsy’s face.
‘Oh bother! This is the last thing I need,’ she hissed. ‘I can’t read a menu unless I take my huge magnifying sheet with me. I won’t be able to find the lavatories, or even navigate a bumpy floor without someone telling me where I’m walking. What am I going to do?’
‘What do you normally do?’
She looked stricken and my heart went out to her.
‘I insist on eating at home, but that packet of prawns won’t be enough for his big appetite.’
‘And actually I think they’re out of date,’ I said, glad to have had the chance to tell her.
‘Damn. Quick get rid of them before he finds them; he’ll have me signed up to Meals on Wheels before you can say salmonella.’
I held my nose as I disposed of the putrid prawns and had just taken a deep breath when Jensen reappeared with a bouquet of flowers.
‘These are for you,’ he said, kissing Betsy again. ‘You sounded a bit glum on the phone when we last spoke. I thought you might need cheering up.’
‘Seeing you is enough to brighten my day,’ she said, visibly choked up.
‘Let me put those in a vase for you,’ I said softly.
She smiled up at me, her eyes hazy with tears. ‘You’re very kind.’
‘It’s my job, remember.’ I smiled back.
‘It is,’ she said slyly as if something had just occurred to her. ‘And I’ll need you to come to dinner with us too. Because there are some things I’d like to discuss about the vines while we eat. Why don’t you go and get ready and—’
‘Oh, but Gran!’ Jensen sucked air through his teeth. ‘Lottie, I don’t mean to be rude, but there are also things I need to discuss, about, well, me actually.’ He laughed awkwardly.
Both of them gave me pleading looks. I felt torn. And also tired. The last thing I wanted to do was go out to dinner, especially when I wasn’t wanted by fifty per cent of the rest of the party.
‘It’s a lovely offer, Betsy,’ I covered my mouth to shield a yawn which was only half fake, ‘but it’s been a long day and I’m sure Jensen would rather not share you.’
‘Oh, very well.’ She shot me a filthy look and I felt dreadfully disloyal.
‘If the carbonara is on the menu, I highly recommend it,’ I said, hoping Betsy would realize I was dropping hints to help her out with the menu. I also hoped this would help earn her forgiveness. ‘And the bruschetta to start. And if you want dessert there’s—’
Jensen held up a hand, grinning. ‘Thanks for the tip; I think we’ll find our way around the menu, thank you.’
‘Of course. In that case, I’ll, er …’ I cleared my throat. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Lovely to meet you, Jensen.’
‘You too,’ he said.
‘Well, bye then.’ I didn’t quite know how to take my leave and ended up doing a weird arch shape with my hand like a windscreen wiper and cringed all the way across the yard.
At least I was bound to have made a lasting impression on the lovely Jensen, I thought pragmatically, the question was: what sort?
Chapter 12
Back inside, I hooked open the top half of the stable door to let the warm evening breeze blow through and set to work unpacking. I was arranging my toiletries in the bathroom when my mobile rang. It was Evie in a high state of excitement.
‘Oh my God, Lottie, you’ll never guess who’s just called.’
‘Dad?’ I said, catching a glimpse of my face in the bathroom mirror. There was a streak of mud under my chin which Jensen couldn’t have failed to see. I sighed. ‘Oh great.’
‘Well, yes, actually he did call,’ said Evie, sounding confused. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, not wanting to complicate matters further. ‘Sorry, I was talking to myself. How was he?’
‘Having a ball, by the sound of it. Said he’d met loads of women.’
‘Really?’ This was so out of character for Dad that I abandoned my packing and walked through to the living room to sit down and give Evie my full attention.
‘You won’t believe this.’ Evie snorted. ‘He had a flat tyre and got rescued by a choir of Belgian nuns on their way to Lourdes for a concert who dropped him off at a garage to get help. He said he felt like an extra on the set of Sister Act.’
We both laughed, imagining Dad squashed in the back of a minibus singing hymns with the Belgian sisters. My heart twisted with love for him. I wished I’d had more time at home with him before he’d left on his adventure; I’d barely seen him this side of Christmas. Still, I was glad he was enjoying himself.
‘I told him you’d got a new job and moved out,’ she went on.
‘You didn’t mention anything about Harvey turning up?’
‘God no,’ she said with a shudder in her voice. ‘I didn’t want to worry the old boy.’
I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Anyway!’ The excitement in her voice was back. ‘You’ll never guess who else has phoned and asked me to dinner at the Italian in the village?’
‘Who?’ I crossed my fingers …
‘DARREN!’ she squealed.
I laughed. ‘And I t
ake it you’re pleased about that?’
‘Very. I’ve got a really good feeling about it. What if he’s come round to the idea of fostering and he wants us to try again?’
‘You still really love him, don’t you?’ I said, thrilled that there was still a chance for them.
‘I do,’ she said softly. ‘I know we’ve had our ups and downs, but when Harvey turned up on Tuesday and I went to call Darren, I realized what a huge hole he has left in my life. It broke my heart. If he wants to move back in I swear I’ll jump on him at the table.’
‘That I’d love to see,’ I said. ‘In fact, I could have seen it. I was invited out to dinner there myself this evening.’
‘By whom?’
‘Jensen Butterworth, Betsy’s handsome grandson.’ I could feel my cheeks lifting as I talked. ‘He turned up out of the blue this evening in his brand-new car, smelling divine and with the loveliest bouquet—’
Evie squealed again. ‘You fancy him; I can tell by your swoony voice!’
‘If I wasn’t so metaphorically bruised and battered by my ex, I probably would; but let’s face it, Evie, I need a break from relationships for a while. So don’t encourage me.’
She conceded that I had a point and we discussed her outfit possibilities for a few minutes before ending the call. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to slump down on the little sofa. I stretched my arms to the side of me and planted my heels on the rug to anchor me. I suddenly had an image of me and Evie doing snow angels in deep fresh snow outside our back door in our pyjamas. We’d thought Mum would go mad, but she’d run to fetch the camera and took pictures of us instead. Giggling to myself, I replayed the motion again now, my legs and arms flailing like a starfish.
‘Lottie? I’ve brought you— Oh, sorry, I’m interrupting … something.’
My eyes flew open to find Jensen hanging over the open half of the stable door, looking startled.
‘Yoga. Helps to release tension from the spine.’ I jumped to my feet, pressed my hands together in prayer over my heart and did a small bow, hoping to disguise my burning face. ‘Namaste.’
A Vintage Summer Page 12