by Daisy James
What was she going to do?
‘Hi, Kirstie. Harry said you’d be in here. Are you okay?’ asked Olivia.
‘Not really.’
She paid her bill and followed Olivia outside, unconcerned about the flurry of snowflakes turning her hair into a sodden mess. What did it matter what she looked like on the outside when inside she was ragged and torn?
They broke into a run and made it back to the car in time to see Harry arguing with a loitering parking warden, her pen poised over her ticket book. That would have just rounded off the morning from hell nicely.
The drive back to Cranbury was sombre. Kirstie could see Olivia and Harry exchange the occasional glance yet she couldn’t think of anything to say. She knew she should be asking about Bramble Cottage, listening to them chat about their plans for the garden, but she couldn’t face it and she was grateful that they didn’t feel the need to make conversation just for the sake of it.
When they pulled in to the courtyard, the sorrow that had stalked her since she had left the offices of Barton & Coulson ambushed her once again. She crumpled in the back seat, sobbing for the way her life had changed in the space of three weeks.
‘Come on, Kirstie. Let’s go upstairs and talk this through,’ said Harry, ever the pragmatist. He opened the rear door and helped her to climb out.
After she had set the kettle to boil, Olivia rang Rachel’s mother to ask if she could keep Ethan for another hour or two as they had been delayed at the solicitor’s. Kirstie could hear the delighted consent from where she sat at the pine table, her chin propped up by her palm.
‘Here. Drink this.’ Harry pushed a mug of coffee across the table to Kirstie.
‘Thanks.’ She glanced at their worried faces over the rim of the mug. ‘Sorry, I …’
‘Oh, Kirstie, it’s okay. None of this is your fault so please don’t keep apologizing. The fact that you went out for dinner a couple of times with Miles Morgan has no bearing on what’s happened. He would still be a despicable, lying worm. Nevertheless, he’s done nothing illegal. Whilst I totally understand how you must feel betrayed by his actions, and upset at losing the pub, there’s something else you’re not telling us, isn’t there? Something that was bothering you before we even set off this morning. I’m your sister – you can share anything with me. If you want Harry to leave …’
‘No, no, I don’t, but you’re right. I just didn’t want to burden you with it as I knew how difficult today was going to be, but, well, I think I’ve been ditched by the studio.’
‘What do you mean?’ Olivia’s pale blue eyes widened and her neatly outlined eyebrows shot into her forehead. This clearly wasn’t what she was expecting to hear.
‘When I couldn’t get hold of Brad yesterday, I called Bridget. It was something she said, or maybe the way she said it, that made me take a look at a YouTube clip of Flora presenting the Christmas Kitchen. She was a natural. Brad is obviously avoiding my calls until he’s ready to announce that Kirstie’s Kitchen is being axed in favour of Flora’s Feasts.’
‘You don’t know that!’
‘Not for certain, but why else has he cancelled two meetings and refused to speak to me on the phone?’
‘Oh, Kirstie, I’m so sorry …’
‘So, now that I have no job to go rushing back to London for, I could have spent some time helping you with the pub. However, we’ve not only sold it, but we’ve sold it to a person who I thought I would be spending more time with and all he wants to do is obliterate my childhood dream by turning it into a supermarket for God’s sake. What a mess!’
Olivia hugged Kirstie to her, her chin resting on the top of Kirstie’s damp curls, waiting patiently until her sobs had subsided.
‘Kirstie, I’ve said this before and will say it again. You will always have a home with us. But you need to talk to Brad before you jump to any conclusions. Ring him now.’
‘Livie …’
‘Ring him!’
Kirstie slid her phone from her pocket and considered the screen. Never had she been so terrified to make a call.
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can.’
She stared at her sister before inhaling a deep breath and dialling Brad’s number, certain the call would go straight to voicemail.
It did.
‘Leave a message,’ commanded Olivia.
‘Hi, Brad. It’s Kirstie. Just wanted to have a chat with you when you have a spare few minutes. Could you call me? Thanks. Speak soon.’
‘Okay,’ said Harry, draining the dregs of his coffee. ‘I think the decent thing for us to do is to tell Josh and Leon about what’s happened before they find out from other sources.’
Kirstie felt her stomach drop like a penny down a well at the mention of Josh and the thought of having to see him. How was she going to face him when all his suspicions had been proved to be correct?
‘Come on. Let’s get it over with.’
They found Josh in the bar talking to a regular about the forthcoming cricket season. Leon was in the kitchen chatting animatedly to Michel in French, his hands flying through the air, laughing at the punchline of some Gallic joke. The smiles melted from their faces when they saw Harry’s expression. Kirstie and Olivia loitered next to one of the brasserie tables, unable to meet their eyes.
‘Can you both come upstairs to the flat, please? We’ve got some news we need to share with you.’
‘Sure,’ said Leon, his dark eyes flicking from Harry to Olivia and finally coming to rest on Kirstie. They followed Josh up to the flat.
As succinctly as possible, Harry explained what they had learned that morning. A heavy silence hung in the air for a few terrible seconds, then Leon rose from his seat and walked across to the window overlooking the walled garden. The earlier flurry of snowflakes had turned into a blizzard and the garden’s features were all but obliterated. He turned, opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Instead, he shook his head, glanced at Josh, and made his way back down the stairs to take his fury out on a fillet of steak.
Kirstie watched Josh. His jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed, his palm encased in his fist on the table in front of him.
‘I told you I didn’t trust that guy.’
Harry repeated the explanation Olivia had given Kirstie about why they still had to proceed with the sale even after finding out about Miles’s intentions. He also went on to say that they couldn’t hold Miles responsible for their financial predicament, but it fell on deaf ears.
‘Did you know about this?’ Josh’s eyes flashed at Kirstie.
‘No, I did not! What do you take me for?’
‘Not sure.’
‘Josh, Kirstie had no idea until this morning. She’s just as devastated as we are, more so in fact …’
‘Oh, of course. I suppose this means that the blossoming romance of the century is off now, is it? Or is it? I suppose you’ll be scooting back up to London now and forget about what has happened to us in the sticks.’
‘Josh …’ began Olivia.
‘In fact, why are you still here, Kirstie? I thought you had some big important meeting at the TV studios this afternoon? Don’t feel you have to stay on our account. We don’t need you. Everything is sorted apart from a few bits and pieces in the bar that Angus is collecting tomorrow.’
‘Josh …’
‘And shouldn’t you be planning your outfit for the big party tomorrow night?’
‘The party? How did you …’
‘Oh, Miles Morgan made sure that we all knew about the posh party he’s invited you to.’
‘When did he …’
‘He told Emma when he was waiting for you to get changed the other night.’
‘But I hadn’t even decided whether I was going then.’
‘Are you saying you turned him down?’
‘No …’
‘So you are going with him to the Law Society New Year’s Eve party?’
‘I was, but I’m not …’
But
Josh wasn’t listening. ‘We need to tell Angus about what’s going on. Perhaps he’ll know if there’s anything we can do to stop …’
Harry stepped forward to interrupt Josh. ‘Do you think I could have a word in private, please? Do you mind?’ He guided Josh from the kitchen and Kirstie knew he was going to tell him that they couldn’t risk losing the sale.
Her heart broke for the second time that day.
Chapter 30
Kirstie meandered down to the bar. She felt like a troop of Irish dancers had taken up residence in her brain; her bones were lethargic, her thoughts stupefied. She slumped onto the banquette in the corner next to the fireplace and took out her phone. Her anger towards Miles had dissipated but it had not disappeared.
With shaking fingers, she tapped out a text to inform him that she never wanted to set eyes on him again and she certainly wouldn’t be accompanying him to any parties. She wanted to compose a long ranting lecture on decency and integrity but she knew it would have no effect on someone who had sought to disguise their intentions so tenaciously in order to get his own way with the minimum of fuss.
She ran her eyes slowly round the room that was as familiar to her as the back of her hand. Despite the next day, New Year’s Eve, being the last day the Dancing Duck would be open to the public, it still looked exactly as it had when her parents had been alive. In a way, it was comforting and served to deliver an element of acceptance and serenity. She checked her phone and saw that Miles had not even had the decency to respond either with an acknowledgement or an apology. It was clearly just a business deal to him, no matter how many people’s hearts he broke in the process.
But was that true? Had her heart been broken?
She concluded that it had not. It was the loss of The Duck that was causing the intense hurt in her heart, not the end of her so-called friendship with Miles Morgan. She actually thought of it as a narrow escape. What if she had fallen in love with him? What then?
‘Kirstie?’
‘Hi, Harry.’
‘Can I talk to you about this evening?’
‘Sure.’ She pushed herself up straight and looked at Harry, his forehead creased into deep furrows of worry.
‘I’ve spoken to Olivia and Josh and they think it’s a fabulous idea but I wanted to get your opinion too before we announce it.’
‘Announce what?’
‘Because of what has happened today and the fact that the Dancing Duck will no longer be a drinking establishment, we have decided that when we open the bar tonight, all the drinks will be on the house. The aim is to drink the place dry, down the last trickle of Tia Maria and that awful yellow stuff that tastes of bananas your mum brought back from Spain over a decade ago. Michel reckons he’s a dab hand at cocktails and there are at least a couple of casks of ale in the cellar that need to be finished off. I absolutely refuse to leave one drop of alcohol for that money-grabbing shark.
‘It’ll be a celebration of everything Don and Sue gave to the village and a fitting send-off for The Duck. It will also give the villagers a chance to say goodbye and to reminisce on the nights they spent inside its walls. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s the best idea ever!’ announced Kirstie and flung herself into Harry’s arms to sob away her tangled emotions.
‘Good. Good. Let’s get started then. I’ll call Greg and Callum; Josh has already spoken to Emma and Rachel and Tim. Olivia’s popped across to talk to Sandra and Robert to explain why we’ve decided to do this, so the village telegraph will be buzzing with the news by now. It’s not enough to compensate everyone for what has happened but I hope it will go some way to recouping at least some goodwill.’
Before Kirstie could dry her eyes, Rachel burst into the bar, her face alight with excitement. ‘Wow! This is going to be the best New Year’s party ever! So what if it’s twenty-four hours early. That just means we get to celebrate twice!’
Josh sidled up behind the bar, placed his palms on the pumps, and smiled across at Kirstie. It was the olive branch she needed and she shot up to join him. There was no point in being miserable. Life was tough for a lot of people but it was certainly better than the alternative. Her parents would have given anything to be where she and Josh stood at that very moment.
‘I’m going to have a Cosmopolitan,’ Rachel said to Michel who was holding a silver cocktail shaker and contemplating the spirits lined up behind him, his eyes bright with possibilities. ‘No, hang on, I’ve always wanted to try a Mojito, oh, and then I’m going to have a Martini, shaken, not stirred and …’
‘You have the whole night to try whatever you want, Rach. Why don’t you start with a Singapore Sling before moving on to a Manhattan?’ Josh smirked.
The front door of the bar swung open and a crowd of Josh’s cricket friends tumbled in, fighting each other to get to the bar first, offering to get the pints in, knowing full well that whatever they ordered it wouldn’t cost them anything. As soon as they had settled at one of the copper tables next to the jukebox, Olivia returned with a group of friends from the baby and toddler group, their spirits high from the unexpected release from their parental duties and the anticipation of a fabulous, cost-free night.
Within the next thirty minutes the whole bar became crammed with people, every face familiar, their jovial banter swirling around the room, interspersed with frequent laughter. Michel and Leon worked overtime shaking cocktails, keeping the hordes entertained with questionable tricks they said they had learned from the film with the same name. As the evening progressed, some patrons left and others arrived, each one seeking out Olivia, Harry, and Kirstie to thank them for their generosity and to wish them well in the approaching new year.
Eventually there was a lull in the conversations and Kirstie glanced at the clock. It was ten p.m. She looked round at those still standing, propping up the bar. The beer and lager had run out half an hour ago, as had most of the spirits and the wine, so those with stronger stomachs had moved on to sample the amaretto and pastis. Josh had sensibly hidden the bottles of champagne and the expensive brandies upstairs in the flat, citing the fact that they would need something to welcome in the new year.
Scanning the bar, Kirstie couldn’t see Emma or Josh anywhere so excused herself from a long-winded conversation with an inebriated friend of Harry’s to see if Emma was okay. She made her way to the brasserie and pushed open the door. It was empty and she was just about to leave when she heard a giggle erupt from the kitchen.
She walked to the door and peered through the porthole. What she saw caused her heart to melt. She had found Emma, and she most certainly was okay. Leon had his arms wrapped around her waist and they were kissing as though they were love-struck teenagers. Feeling as though she was spying she retreated, a huge smile on her face, her faith in the power of love re-established.
When she got back to the bar, someone had fired up the jukebox and people had started to dance. Despite the racket, Rachel was asleep on her father’s shoulder as he continued to chat to his friends whilst sipping a glass of what looked like sherry with his pinkie finger raised in the air.
‘Hey, Greg, where’s Josh?’
Greg looked at her, his eyes bleary as he shrugged and then hiccupped before descending into an uncharacteristic bout of giggles, which set off Callum and the rest of Josh’s cricket friends.
Kirstie rolled her eyes and tutted at them. She chased up the stairs to the flat, but Josh wasn’t there either. Where was he? She had hardly exchanged two words with him all night. Had he been avoiding her? A stray thought wormed its way into her brain. Why was she so concerned with Josh’s whereabouts? After next week, she probably wouldn’t see him again. He could get a job anywhere, or maybe he would even go travelling again, or perhaps join Leon and Marcel in France.
A blade of panic sliced through her chest as she contemplated that possibility. She wanted, no, she needed Josh in her life. She couldn’t bear to lose him again, to watch him pack his rucksack and saunter off into the sunset like he had
the last time. This time she wasn’t prepared to stand by and let him go.
She loved him! She loved him and what was more, she had always loved him! She glanced out of the window to the walled garden and saw a flicker of light coming from the summerhouse. Was that where he was hiding out?
She dashed back down the stairs. ‘Marcel, have you seen Josh?’
‘Think he went for a break.’
Kirstie decided to investigate. She approached the door of the orangery cautiously. Someone had lit a candle in a storm lantern and set it on the windowsill where it cast a ring of amber light and dancing shadows around the room. She peeked inside and her heart gave a nip. There was Josh, sat on the chequerboard floor, a bottle of brandy between his thighs, a glass in his palm, staring at the stars that were visible through the roof.
‘Josh?’ she whispered.
He turned to look at her and the ragged desolation in his eyes caused her to catch her breath. He looked swiftly away and took a sip of the brandy.
‘Are you okay? What are you doing here?’
‘Needed some space.’
Kirstie closed the door behind her and went to sit next to him. Josh picked up a second glass, sloshed in a generous measure of brandy and handed it to her. She took a sip and allowed the warmth to trickle slowly down her throat before bursting into flames in her chest.
‘Josh, I want to tell something …’ But Josh wasn’t listening. He swirled his drink around the glass and embarked on a well-rehearsed soliloquy.
‘I love every inch of this place, Kirst. In fact, I love the Dancing Duck more than I love my own home. It contains so many happy memories, so much love and friendship and kindness and generosity of spirit. For all that to be snuffed out with the flick of a pen is heartbreaking.’