‘You’d get too attached to your foster children?’
She wrinkled her nose and nodded. ‘So now we’re focusing on adoption.’
I grinned. ‘And when do Skipper and Roni arrive?’
‘At the beginning of October. But that’s not what I mean. We’re going to register to adopt a child of our own.’
I pulled her towards me and hugged her tightly. ‘That’s fantastic. I’m so pleased for you. You’ll be a brilliant mum.’
She dashed a tear from her cheek and beamed. ‘And so will you.’
‘If I wasn’t pregnant I’d be proposing a toast with champagne. But I could rustle up a glass of fizzy water?’
‘No thanks, but funny you should say that, I’d like to buy a nice bottle of Butterworth fizz while I’m here to go with our celebration dinner this evening. I’ve left Darren marinating squid in chilli and kiwi juice.’
I rubbed my chest. ‘Just thinking of that is giving me heartburn.’
She gave a snort of laughter. ‘In that case you would not like the main course: garlic chicken and spicy noodles.’
‘Not right now, no,’ I said, wincing. ‘Although after the amount of fibre my colleagues have fed me today, I don’t think I can face any food at all.’
Her face became serious for a second. ‘You’re doing so well, you know. You’ve completely taken pregnancy in your stride, no fuss, no drama. When I was pregnant – briefly – I was so uptight and paranoid that every little thing would damage the baby that I couldn’t enjoy it. And then of course …’ She gave me a wan smile. ‘It was over.’
‘I’m not that calm,’ I said, stroking my tummy. ‘You should have seen me earlier when the baby moved for the first time.’
‘Wow.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Is it moving now?’
I took her hand and guided it to my bump, pressing it firmly against my jersey dress. I watched her features soften in amazement and wondered whether I’d be brave enough to do this with Jensen next week.
‘That is incredible,’ she whispered.
‘Isn’t it?’ I looked at her through watery eyes. ‘I’m in love with it already.’
Evie’s own eyes were moist with tears when she met my gaze.
‘Tell Jensen how you feel,’ she said suddenly. ‘Even if he’s offered this new job. I didn’t tell Darren how much I loved him and I nearly lost him for good. Don’t make the same mistake.’
My stomach fluttered nervously, although now I didn’t know which was me and which was the baby. I pictured Jensen’s face as he’d watched the baby move on the scan four weeks ago; he’d been so excited. But he was excited about the prospect of this promotion in Cape Town too and it wouldn’t take a genius to guess which he’d choose: a new job in South Africa in a career that he loved versus staying in England to help bring up somebody else’s baby. Despite Clare’s words of encouragement earlier, I couldn’t see my happy ending coming any time soon …
Chapter 26
As the train pulled into London St Pancras station, the butterflies in my stomach had switched to turbo-mode. It wasn’t the baby; it was the impending live appearance on national radio coupled with a lunch date with Jensen.
After the warmth of the train, I shivered as I stepped on to the platform. The Indian summer of the first three weeks of September had vanished overnight and autumn had arrived in all its shades of gold and red.
When I’d left home first thing this morning, the air had had a chill to it and a stiff breeze had scattered leaves like faded summer confetti along the country lanes between the vineyard and Fernfield station. Even now, hours later, it was still cool and I was glad I’d accepted Betsy’s gift of one of her cosy old cardigans in soft navy cashmere. It added a touch of elegance to my denim smock dress. The dress skimmed my waist and was one of the few smartish things I owned which wasn’t uncomfortable to wear; I didn’t even show in this. Not that it was a secret any more, but travelling alone with bottles clinking in a cool bag had drawn a few curious looks from my fellow passengers and that was without them knowing I was pregnant.
Suddenly my stomach swooped; there he was, waiting for me on the other side of the ticket barrier.
Jensen spotted me and grinned. I drank in his dark blue eyes, his open friendly smile which lit up his face and that lovely floppy bit of hair over one eye. He was more tanned than he’d been last time I’d seen him and looked very handsome in a suit and tie. In fact, although he didn’t seem to notice it, he was attracting quite a bit of attention from other women.
He opened his arms and I walked straight into them, inhaling his scent and thinking that if every train journey could end like this, I’d travel every single day of my life.
‘Wow.’ He kissed my cheek.
‘Double wow,’ I replied and then smiled to myself remembering that that had been my first thought on the day I met him. ‘You’ve missed me then while you were living it up in Cape Town?’
‘Working fourteen-hour days, you mean?’ His eyes sparkled. ‘But yes, I thought about you a lot while I was there. I kept thinking Lottie would like this, Lottie would love to go there … Pathetic, aren’t I? You look great, by the way.’
He looked genuinely pleased to see me. I felt myself blush and hoped the cardigan was covering any neck rash, although thinking about it, I hadn’t felt its presence for a while, perhaps pregnancy had banished it. There had to be some benefits, after all, seeing I was heavier than I’ve ever been in my life and couldn’t fit into most of my clothes, had toothache on and off, and a brown patch of pigment on my forehead, which my midwife said was very common and would fade after the baby was born.
‘Thank you, I thought I’d better make an effort,’ I said with a mischievous smile. ‘Seeing as I’m supposed to be your fiancée.’
‘I’m flattered,’ he said, taking the cool bag from me and guiding me towards the escalator with a hand in the small of my back. ‘But you’d never have to dress up for me; I liked you the first time I met you with mud on your face.’
I glanced sideways at him. ‘Did you?’
‘Don’t you remember how tongue-tied I was?’ He groaned lightly. ‘Even Gran noticed. I think I introduced myself to you twice.’
I stepped on to the escalator in front of him, which meant I didn’t have to hide the huge smile on my face until we reached the bottom. I thought back to our first meeting in Betsy’s kitchen, my first day at the vineyard. I’d been an emotional wreck then, not knowing what to do with my life. So much had changed since then.
‘You’re looking very nice too,’ I said, as we headed towards the taxi rank outside. ‘I’ve never seen you in a tie before.’
He looked smart and sophisticated, totally at ease amidst the bustle of London. On the other hand, all I needed to complete my country-bumpkin look was a stalk of wheat.
‘It feels like a noose.’ He ran a finger around his collar. ‘Which is appropriate as I’ve been called into a board meeting at four o’clock this afternoon. The sealed bids for the project I’ve been working on are due in any moment and if it hasn’t gone well, my neck will be on the line.’
‘Oh. That sounds serious.’ I blinked at him, trying to hide my dismay. My radio interview was at three o’clock and I’d hoped that he’d be able to accompany me to the radio studio. I guessed now that wouldn’t be possible.
He took my hand as we exited through the big glass doors and the smell of diesel, the rush of people and the din of the traffic took my breath away. I had a sudden recollection of my last day in London, when I’d been travelling in the opposite direction, heart thudding as I left my job, my flat and my boyfriend behind. I blew out a breath to bring myself back to the moment. But that life was over and the one I’d created was on my terms, my choice.
Jensen glanced at me. ‘You okay?’
We joined the queue at the taxi rank and he set the cool bag down.
‘Bit nervous,’ I admitted, nibbling my lip. ‘But nothing compared to Pippa.’
He whistled under his breath
when I told him she’d agreed to run the library event; he remembered how she used to hide amongst the vines to avoid talking to anyone when she’d first started helping his granddad out. She’d bombarded me with texts this morning, worrying about everything from the possibility of someone getting stung by a wasp to how to get rid of the visitors at the end. I’d replied as best I could and then sent Godfrey a message suggesting he give her some alcohol for Dutch courage before anyone arrived.
‘I’m sorry I can’t wait with you while you’re on air.’ Jensen squeezed my hand. ‘But I’ll see you get to the studio on time and I’ll be listening in. I promise.’
We reached the front of the queue and I climbed into the taxi while Jensen gave the driver directions.
‘Devine Kitchen, Shoreditch, please.’
I raised my eyebrows at him as he got in beside me, thrilled that he’d chosen a restaurant owned by Thomas Devine, my fellow radio guest. ‘Nice touch, I’m impressed.’
He grinned. ‘Good. I thought we could check out his wine list before you meet him.’
‘Woe betide him if there’s no English wines on it,’ I said sternly.
He laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ll set him straight. Mind if I just check in with the office?’
I didn’t mind and while he spoke to a colleague, I sat back happily, watching the streets of London go by, listening as the cabbie moaned about traffic jams and roadworks and how cycle lanes were the bane of his life.
It didn’t take us long to get there. Jensen paid the fare and lifted the cool bag out of the cab and as we approached the restaurant, a man dressed head to toe in black pulled the door open for us.
‘I hope he doesn’t think we’ve brought our own picnic,’ Jensen whispered.
I snorted. ‘I might open a bottle of Butterworth wine if I don’t like the selection.’
The smiley woman at the front desk showed us to our table and Jensen’s hand was a feather-light touch on my waist as we followed behind her. In no time, we were settled at our table with a jug of iced water and menus.
‘Look at the prices!’ I hissed, scanning the à la carte menu. ‘Twenty-five pounds for sausage and mash and they don’t even serve gravy with it! That would be about eight quid at the Royal Oak and you’d get gravy thrown in.’
‘Ah, but these are wild boar sausages,’ said Jensen. ‘And there is gravy, they just call it jus.’
‘Humph,’ I said, swapping to the wine menu. ‘Blimey, look at that, their bog-standard prosecco starts at thirty quid. And I bet they buy it in from Aldi.’
He shook his head, laughing. ‘I bet they don’t. Anyway, to hell with the cost, this is a special occasion.’
It was. I swallowed, wishing I was brave enough to reach across and kiss him or at least tell him that it was special for me too. I pictured Evie spurring me on to speak my mind, but all I could manage was: ‘Oh?’ and hoped he couldn’t hear the thumping of my heart.
He rolled his eyes playfully. ‘We’ve just got engaged, remember?’
And before I had a chance to reply he whipped out a ring box from inside his jacket and snapped it open.
‘Jensen!’ I gasped in surprise.
Nestled inside the black velvet-lined box was a silver ring with a large green stone in the centre surrounded by tiny diamantés.
‘Don’t look so alarmed, it’s not valuable,’ he whispered. ‘I bought it from Topshop for twenty quid. I thought if you were meant to be my fiancée you ought to look the part. And no one will question that it’s not genuine gemstones.’
I still hadn’t mustered a response so he took it out of the box and slipped it on my finger. ‘What do you think? I thought it matched your eyes.’
He’d gone shopping for me and he’d remembered the colour of my eyes and it fitted perfectly. SWOON.
I felt dazed and a little overcome. ‘I think it’s beautiful. And much better value than a plate of sausage and mash.’
‘You hopeless romantic.’ He laughed and, leaning across, placed a light kiss on my lips. ‘Is that a yes?’
I was suddenly aware that the air around us had stilled and everyone had stopped talking. Other diners were holding their breath in a collective hush.
‘We-ll, I’d have preferred you to get down on one knee, but …’ I pretended to think about it. ‘Seeing as it matches my eyes, it’s a yes from me.’
‘Ahem.’
We both looked round to see a man whose badge announced him as Didier, the maître d’, beaming at us.
‘Madam, sir, on behalf of my colleagues at the Devine Kitchen,’ he said with a heavy French accent, ‘let me be the first to congratulate you both on your engagement.’
‘Thank you,’ we answered together, not daring to look at each other.
‘May I?’ Didier indicated my new ring and, somehow managing not to giggle, I held my hand out to be inspected. If he noticed it was only a cheapie, he had the good manners not to mention it. ‘Charmant.’
‘Good choice, do you reckon?’ said Jensen, sending me the tiniest wink.
‘Dazzling.’ He released my hand and took a little bow.
‘I meant my fiancée,’ said Jensen.
‘So did I, sir.’ His lips twitched and we all laughed.
‘Now,’ Didier clapped his hands together, ‘please choose a bottle of champagne from the wine list with our compliments.’
‘That’s so kind!’ I exclaimed, noticing that our table was still attracting an awful lot of attention.
Jensen passed me the wine list with a flourish. ‘My fiancée is the wine expert.’
I glanced at it fleetingly. ‘What I’d really like is some English sparkling wine, but there’s none on the list.’
Didier inclined his head. ‘A very discerning choice if I may say so, madam, let me have a word with our head sommelier. In the meantime, what would you like to eat?’
Jensen looked at me questioningly and I nodded.
‘We’ll both have the sausage and mash please.’
‘Two or three?’ said Didier, leaning forward discreetly. ‘They are very large, madam.’
I shrugged; I was eating for two, after all.
‘Three please. With extra gravy,’ I added. ‘Not jus.’
Twenty minutes later, we were tucking in to a huge pile of sausage and mash. I took it back; the wild boar sausages were amazing, the ones at the Royal Oak weren’t a patch on these. And to accompany our lunch, the maître d’ had unearthed a bottle of sparkling wine from Cornwall which, according to the sommelier, was regularly served at Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament.
‘But not Devine Kitchen?’ I asked.
Didier shrugged apologetically, bowed and left us to it. I got my phone out to take a picture to show Clare later; she’d be so impressed that we were drinking the Queen’s favoured fizz.
‘To us,’ said Jensen, tapping his champagne flute gently against mine.
‘To the Butterworths,’ I said and swirled it round before inhaling it. ‘That is lovely. Vibrant and full of fruit.’
‘Impressive.’ Jensen sniffed his, eyeing me with interest. ‘You’re quite good at this.’
I let the flavours develop in my mouth. ‘I can see why the Queen likes it; it’s like an English meadow in summer: fragrant and fresh with a hint of honey. Yum.’
He looked at me, amazed. ‘How do you do that?’
‘Matt taught me, and your granddad taught him. It’s all about letting go of your inhibitions and letting your taste buds take over.’
Jensen sipped his sparkling wine and a tiny sigh escaped. ‘I wish I’d had more time with Granddad. We think we’ve got all the time in the world, don’t we? It’s a cliché but moments really should be seized.’
‘They should.’ I reached over and squeezed his hand. Our eyes locked and we stayed like that for several seconds and I knew that whatever happened I’d always look back on that particular moment and remember how my heart was so full of joy that it was almost bursting with happiness.
‘T
ed would be thrilled with this year’s harvest,’ I said finally. ‘I’ve got nothing to compare it to, of course, but the rest of the team are convinced that we’ve got a bumper crop on our hands.’
‘I’ll come and help pick if I’m around.’
‘Betsy will be delighted to hear that.’
‘Just Gran?’ He gave me a cheeky smile.
‘Me too, obviously. Many hands make light work.’
‘I see. You just want me for my muscles.’
‘Amongst other things,’ I said coyly.
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Your sausage,’ said Didier smugly, appearing again and pointing to the untouched one on my plate. ‘I thought it might beat you.’
He topped up our glasses with a gracious smile even though I’d barely touched mine and looked most put out when we both collapsed with laughter.
‘About the harvest …’ said Jensen carefully. ‘I suppose once the grapes have been pressed and the crop is in, we ought to start thinking about putting the vineyard up for sale. Gran only wanted to stay until the end of the season.’
My stomach lurched instantly.
‘I don’t want to think about it. Even if you do put it on the market, the wine in the tanks will still need to be looked after, the 2016 vintage will be ready to sell, the 2017 vintage will be ready for its dosage, there’ll be so much to do …’ I felt a lump in my throat at the thought of leaving it all behind.
‘I know, Lottie.’ He gave me a sympathetic smile, checked his watch and signalled for the bill. ‘But there’ll always be something to do, whenever we try to find a buyer.’
‘In my head I’m already planning for the 2018 vintage,’ I said excitedly. ‘I’ve been talking to Sidney—’
‘You’re still in touch with him?’
I nodded. ‘Weekly. He’s got a wealth of knowledge, and as his own family don’t seem to want it he’s happy to share it with me. I happened to mention that we use less Pinot Meunier in our sparkling wines than the other two varieties even though it makes up a third of our vines, and a couple of days later I received two bottles of still white wine from him: Pinot Meunier. Guess what?’
A Vintage Summer Page 29