‘Does the family still live here?’ I asked Bernard.
‘No. There’s just my wife and me, in our self-contained flat. Nobody’s lived in these rooms for a couple of years now.’
‘And you host wedding receptions? Where are they held?’
We were standing in the middle of a small library. The smell of hundreds of leather-bound books blended with wood panelling and old carpets. I was reminded of Peter’s antiques store.
‘Here,’ Bernard replied, leading me through a modest connecting hallway. ‘In the ballroom.’
We were at one end of a large, high-ceilinged room, empty except for a couple of wooden chairs. A dozen tall windows ran along one wall, flooding the room with light. The other walls were painted burnt orange and held enormous paintings of Cambridge colleges. The floor was an intricate parquet pattern, in a wood I couldn’t identify.
‘This is stunning.’ I was still taking it in. ‘I see why people would want their wedding here.’
‘It looks super when the caterers bring in all their gear. Oh, and flowers, of course.’
‘I’ll bet.’ I tried to picture the scene: bride, relatives, over-excited kids ducking under tablecloths. Cake, speeches, the first dance.
‘Has it ever been used for film or television?’ Despite myself, I was getting ideas for the house.
‘Not that we know of.’
‘Shame.’ I wanted to suggest he registered with a film location website, but stopped short. I wasn’t qualified to meddle here. Then I wished I had spoken: it might have disguised the growling of my stomach.
‘Gosh, look here,’ said Bernard, ‘I’m forgetting my manners. I promised you some lunch.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Ignore it, I’m fine.’
‘No, no, it’s time we ate. On we go, last stop on our tour.’
We retraced our steps to the hallway, and from there went through some double glass doors and down a couple of steps. I found myself in the most beautiful long conservatory. Its windows, made up of multiple white-framed panes, were arched. Sitting majestically on the terracotta-tiled floor, generous wicker chairs gave a colonial feel. Tall potted palms reached up to the peaked ceiling, which seemed to be made entirely of glass. Some of the roof panes were open, by means of a complicated system of levers. My nose told me that citrus bushes were thriving in here.
Sure enough, ‘And this is our orangery,’ Bernard told me proudly.
‘I love it,’ I breathed. ‘I could spend all day in here, with a book.’
‘Many of our visitors feel the same way. I’ve arranged a spot of lunch for us.’ He gestured to some wicker chairs drawn up to a round table, which was set with a cloth and cutlery.
‘This is lovely,’ I said, as I sat down and shook the linen napkin into my lap. ‘You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.’ I hoped he wasn’t going to make some kind of pass at me. Lunch for two in the orangery looked terribly romantic, but he was almost my dad’s age. With foolish relief, I saw the table was set for three.
‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘My wife is the housekeeper – she’ll join us in a minute.’
‘Super,’ I said. Scott’s flirting had clearly gone to my head, if I had doubted Bernard’s intentions.
I liked Daphne Pennington-Jones instantly. She bounded with gracious ease into the orangery, unhindered by a tray of sandwiches and a pitcher of elderflower cordial. I put her at close to seventy, but her silver hair was cropped in a trendy cut and her eyes, the colour of sapphires, twinkled merrily.
‘Grace!’ She shook my hand heartily. ‘I’ve heard heaps about you! Bernard’s so glad you came.’ She waved me back into my seat. ‘Egg and cress or cheese and tomato?’
For every ounce of Bernard’s stiff formality, Daphne compensated with double helpings of warmth. She asked endless questions, and I found I was comfortable explaining that my marriage had ended and I was in the village by chance. We talked about my parents, their chickens, Amelia’s business and my hopes for Halloween in the village.
‘Bernard!’ His wife grabbed his arm. ‘We should have a Halloween party!’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that, dear. Sounds rowdy.’ He looked distressed.
‘Do you do the catering for the events here, Mrs Pennington-Jones?’ I asked.
‘Call me Daphne, please. Goodness, no, what a lot of bother that would be. We use one of the Cambridge firms.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Bernard, Halloween would be brilliant. You’re always saying we need new ideas for this place. I don’t know how we’re going to pull ourselves out of the doldrums if you won’t try things.’
Bernard sighed, looking down at his lap. ‘Just not quite what I had in mind,’ he said glumly.
There was a pause. I opened my big mouth, purely to fill the gap. ‘Never mind, there’s always Thanksgiving.’
‘Pardon?’ Bernard put down his sandwich and looked at me.
I had taken a bite and was chewing politely before I answered. Too late.
‘Thanksgiving!’ Daphne repeated. ‘You know, Bernard, they have a sort of Christmas dinner. Don’t they, Grace?’
‘Sort of,’ I confirmed, beginning to feel uneasy.
‘That’s it!’ Daphne threw her hands wide in delight. ‘Thanksgiving lunch, in the ballroom. We’ll advertise to all the Americans. When is Thanksgiving, Grace?’
I furrowed my brow, basing my calculations on Harry’s birthday. ‘It’s early this year. November twenty-third, I think.’ My mind was racing, torn between potential and fear of what was unfolding. The ballroom, with its scale and foliage colours, would look wonderful. The house was impressive and might be a huge hit with our friends from the States. But surely, the cost of an event like this would be enormous? I knew nothing about planning large parties.
Daphne evidently shared my vision but not my fears. ‘This is it. I know it. Grace, that’s a splendid idea.’
‘Uh, hang on, I didn’t have an idea,’ I backtracked. ‘I wasn’t actually suggesting anything.’
Daphne and Bernard weren’t listening. Her head was on one side as she looked expectantly at her husband. He was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
‘Thanksgiving …’ he said slowly, then gave a tiny nod.
‘We love it!’ Daphne clapped her hands and beamed at me. ‘Now, if you’ll be a sweetie and help spread the word, we’ll do the rest.’
‘Oh, I don’t know –’ I floundered. ‘This isn’t my area.’ I looked at Bernard pleadingly. He’d remember our phone conversation, surely?
‘Nonetheless, Grace,’ he said, ‘I think you’re onto something marvellous.’
So there it was, two against one. I had meddled again, without even trying.
~~~
Worse was to come. The three of us finished lunch: two animated and the other wondering what she’d got herself into. They even bullied me into taking a small percentage of the profit from Thanksgiving as my ‘marketing fee’.
As they walked me to my car, I agreed to help Daphne with menu choices and other details. She was even bouncier than she’d been before lunch.
‘Now, don’t get carried away,’ Bernard said to her. ‘It’ll take more than just one event to turn this place around.’
‘I know that,’ she said, ‘but if we can get eighty Americans here and excited about it, that’s a start. Keep our greedy son at bay for a bit longer.’
This comment intrigued me. I looked at Bernard for his reaction, but didn’t like to ask what she meant.
He saw my glance and ran his hand through what remained of his hair. ‘I told you we’re in a bit of a pickle,’ he said, in a way that made me guess it was in fact quite a big pickle. ‘The Hall is managed by a trust – Daphne and I are both trustees. Trouble is, so is our son.’
None the wiser, I unlocked the white Beetle.
Daphne tutted impatiently. ‘Scott’s a property developer. Keeps trying to convince us to turn Saffron Hall into flats. We argue about it all the time.’
As my ears rang with alarm,
the blood left my fingers. My keys landed with a clink in the gravel and I scrabbled to pick them up. When I stood again, I was sure my face was flushed.
‘Scott …?’ I took a gulp of air. ‘Umm, I think Amelia’s mentioned him … Scott Jones?’
‘That’s right,’ his mother nodded. ‘He dropped the Pennington.’
‘Said it sounded pretentious,’ Bernard huffed. ‘Silly boy.’
Indeed, I thought. And silly me. Without knowing it, I had just met the parents.
CHAPTER 22
When Scott called a few days later and suggested we go out for dinner in Cambridge, I played it cool. On Jem’s advice, I’d decided the parental thing was an irrelevant detail.
‘Should I challenge him?’ I’d asked her on the phone.
‘I wouldn’t,’ Jem had replied. ‘It’s not a big deal, is it?’
‘I just think it’s odd he didn’t mention it. Now I think about it, I reckon I saw him talking to Bernard at the council meeting. But I assumed he was there because he’s friends with Peter.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’re not exactly joined at the hip to your family. I wouldn’t mention it unless it comes up.’
‘It might come up,’ I said gloomily. ‘I’ve got to work out how to find eighty mouths for Thanksgiving turkey.’ Daphne and I had moved the meal to early evening, thinking this would make it easier for working people.
‘Sounds like fun,’ Jem said wryly. ‘What are you doing, putting up posters?’
‘Yes, actually,’ I said. ‘And I took a stab at a press release, but I don’t know if we’ll get any coverage. I can’t believe I let them talk me into it.’
‘I’m sure you’re doing fine,’ she said. ‘Anyway, sounds like you can’t lose. Either it’ll be a disaster and Scott will be happy, or it’ll be a huge success and your future in-laws will love you.’
‘Don’t call them that,’ I groaned. ‘If I muck this up, they’ll probably all end up hating me.’
‘I doubt it,’ Jem replied. ‘Still, you might not want to mention on your second date that you’re in cahoots with his mum and dad.’
So, my tactical dinner plan was to look good, eat my food and not say anything that could get me into hot water. I liked Scott enough to try not to scare him off.
I liked him even more once we’d climbed the last few steep steps to the roof terrace of the Varsity Hotel. We had just missed the sunset, but the colleges and churches of Cambridge were laid out around us, bathed in the last, gentle light of day.
‘I thought we’d have a drink up here before dinner, if you’re warm enough,’ Scott said.
‘How could I get cold with a view like this?’ I shook my head in wonder. I’d never seen the city look so mellow and lovely. No wonder scientists and poets alike had been inspired to change the world from Cambridge. ‘I had no idea this place existed.’
We settled down on one of the outdoor sofas and ordered drinks. I had repeated my outfit from the parish council meeting, adding my new cashmere cardigan on top. I was glad of the cardigan; the early October evening was mild but by no means balmy.
Noticing me buttoning my cardigan, Scott murmured, ‘May I?’ and slipped his arm around my shoulders.
Not daring to move in case he thought I was shrugging him off, I caught my breath and held it for a full ten seconds before I concluded that I had to exhale at some point during the evening. Nonetheless, I sat very still and enjoyed the changing colours of the buildings below us, as they sank from gold and rose into earthy charcoal. The peacefulness of the city and just-glimpsed River Cam settled me and I realised how content I felt in Scott’s presence. It should have been weird, having another man’s arm around me after five years of marriage, but instead being with him felt natural. I wondered whether further physical contact would feel as right. Chewing my lip, I blushed, grateful he couldn’t see my face. At this rate, I wouldn’t be able to eat any dinner.
‘Either you’re quiet because you’re bored or you’ve frozen to death,’ Scott said quietly, after we had sat in silence for a few minutes.
‘No, just relaxing. It’s beautiful here.’ I glanced up at him as I spoke and found he had chosen the same moment to look at me. In the low evening light, his eyes were the colour of slate, his gaze intense. His face was mere inches away and I could feel his breath on my cheek. He smelled faintly of citrus: fresh and exciting.
With the slightest tilt of his head, Scott brushed his lips softly over mine, then pulled back to check my reaction. I leaned in for more, my eyes on his mouth. He wrapped his other arm around me and pulled me tight as we kissed deeply. My hand found the back of his neck and I sighed as I explored his skin for the first time. This kind of heat had been missing from my marriage for months. I had forgotten I could feel this level of anticipation, and certainly not just from kissing.
But, after all, this was Cambridge, not Cannes. British couples don’t indulge in steamy tangles on hotel sofas. By mutual consent, we pulled a little way apart. I let out my breath slowly and tried to remove the lust from my features. I hoped I didn’t have wanton wench glowing on my forehead.
‘Well,’ I said.
‘Well, yourself,’ he echoed, as I sat back a little and smoothed out the wrinkles in my trousers.
‘Hungry?’ he asked, his voice so silky that he attached at least two meanings to the question.
I made an awkward little nodding gesture. ‘Are you?’
‘Ravenous.’ He grinned now. ‘I hope you like steak.’
~~~
Mungo was absent from my doorstep when we got back. Considering I was carrying a foil parcel of leftover fillet steak, this was his bad luck. Despite leaping butterflies, I’d been able to eat most of my meal. Scott had no problem at all in polishing off a venison pie, followed by lemon cheesecake. After a good-natured tussle over the bill, he’d allowed me to pay.
‘That doesn’t seem right. I chose the place.’ He’d shaken his head.
‘Humour me, it makes me feel useful,’ I’d said firmly.
‘I’m sure you’re very useful.’ He winked and pushed both of the complimentary chocolates in my direction.
I hadn’t intended my comment to be flirtatious. Was this a good time to mention his parents and their expectations that I’d promote Thanksgiving dinner? Not wanting to rock the boat, I’d chickened out.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ I asked him now, as he turned off the car engine.
‘Thanks, yes, but I can’t stay long. I have a breakfast meeting in the city.’
If he’d dropped that piece of information to help me relax, I was glad. Kissing him was one thing, but now we were alone, I was nervous.
Inside my cottage, I busied myself with the kettle and apologised for the instant coffee.
‘Sorry,’ I told him, ‘I haven’t bought much stuff. No coffee maker yet.’
‘That’s okay.’ Scott was looking around the kitchen: high, low and in all the corners. If my mum had walked in and done the same, I would have told her off for being nosy. Still, I guessed he spent a lot of time looking at houses and the cottage was certainly charming.
‘Explore, if you want,’ I told him.
‘Really?’ He seemed surprised.
‘I don’t mind,’ I said, smiling casually, but thanking my organised genes which had led me to hide Eeyore, my tampons and other girlie items before I’d gone out. I was also wearing some of my new undies and there were clean sheets on the bed. Still, I was relieved he wasn’t staying. Being prepared was one thing, taking action was another thing entirely. No matter how much I’d enjoyed kissing him or how comfortable his arm felt around me, I was nervous of going further.
After roaming around the living room and peering at the fireplace for a while, he gestured upstairs.
‘Go ahead,’ I said, sitting down with my coffee to make it clear I wasn’t throwing myself at him.
I heard his footsteps overhead and called out, ‘But don’t go falling in love with the place. Amelia tells me it’s prob
ably going to be sold.’
He didn’t answer and I assumed he couldn’t hear me. I debated taking my sandals off, but decided that was too casual. There certainly was a lot to navigate when dating. Momentarily, I missed the ease of curling up on the sofa at the other end from James, wriggling my toes under his thighs to keep them warm.
‘I never get sick of looking at old places,’ Scott said, as he came back downstairs. ‘You’ve made it very comfortable.’
I smiled and he hesitated before choosing an armchair.
‘I didn’t think you’d be here in the middle of the week,’ I said. ‘I assumed you’d be mostly in London.’
‘Nope,’ he said, adding milk to his coffee. ‘I get around a fair bit.’
‘How do you find the places you buy?’ I thought this would give him the chance to mention Saffron Hall.
He didn’t take that path. ‘It varies. Friends and contacts give me tips. But I keep my ear to the ground too.’
‘Do you always go and look at stuff in person?’
‘Always. Yes. I look at the analysis, obviously, but gut feel is crucial.’ He stretched his legs out in front, crossing them at the ankle. ‘Would you like to join me one day?’
So, our fragile relationship had survived the instant coffee granules. ‘Sounds fun. That is, if you’re sure I won’t be in the way.’
‘You won’t be. I need to look at a couple of places next week actually, north of Ipswich. Does Amelia give you a day off?’
I nodded. ‘Monday, usually.’
‘Monday it is, then.’
~~~
‘Did you sleep with him?’ Amelia looked me up and down the next day.
‘I’m not telling you that!’ I said indignantly, then, as her eyes gleamed, ‘No.’
‘No, or No, not yet?’ Amelia swivelled her chair from her desk towards mine and twirled a foot. She had been shopping for the new season and was wearing gorgeous Carvela court shoes, in camel with a dark brown toe.
‘I’m not sure,’ I sighed. ‘I really like him … but I’m a bit spooked about things going that far.’
‘So, did he mention Saffron Hall, or … anything?’ she asked, a bit too casually.
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