~~~
Unsurprisingly, we arrived late.
‘You look stunning,’ James said, as we scurried from the car towards Saffron Hall, where the fund raiser was being held. We’d had to park almost in Suffolk.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Clinging to his arm for safety, I was making a valiant effort to trot in strappy heels. My hired cocktail dress was dusky lavender, beaded and slinky. I made a swishing sound as I walked. ‘You look pretty hot, yourself.’ I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen James in a suit. He certainly hadn’t owned one in laid-back California, but here he was, smoothly groomed in charcoal grey. To my amazement, he’d even polished his shoes.
We ran into Bernard and Daphne as soon as we entered the ballroom. I held my breath, but their faces were pleasantly neutral as I introduced James. Probably a sign of their impeccable breeding.
‘Thank you for hosting tonight,’ James said, his hand pressing gently into the hollow of my back. ‘It’s really important to Grace.’
Bernard, charming as ever, inclined his head. ‘And Grace is very important to us.’
Daphne said nothing but smiled and touched me lightly on the arm. I smiled back.
‘You’re a very lucky man, if I may say so.’ Bernard nodded to James, as if he were merely making small talk.
‘I know.’ James glanced at me fondly.
‘Thank you,’ I said to them both, and blushed as Bernard reached to kiss my hand.
‘No, Grace,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
I looked around the room, wondering if an awkward encounter with Scott was on the cards. But of course, he wasn’t there. He was hardly likely to pay fifty pounds for a ticket to help save the malt house.
The rest of the village, however, was getting stuck into the sparkling wine and canapés as if they hadn’t eaten since Christmas. Violet came over and kissed James warmly on the cheek. She had been a fan since he’d rescued her home computer from a virus last week.
‘Are you well?’ I asked. I hadn’t seen her for ages.
‘Never better,’ she said cheerfully, twinkling at James. ‘I’m surfing the net and plotting my retirement.’
This was news to me and I murmured something non-committal, in case I put my foot in it.
‘They’re thinking of moving the post office into the antiques barn,’ James told me, after Violet had wandered away to inspect the raffle prizes.
‘Really? That’s creative.’ I made eye contact with a waiter and scored two glasses of wine. ‘I guess it makes sense, if Peter’s there all day. And she probably likes the idea of handing over to her son.’
Amelia sashayed up. She was looking gorgeous in a green silk trouser suit with a plunging neckline.
‘Good evening, Mr and Mrs Palmer.’ She hugged us both. ‘Nice dress, Grace.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You too.’
‘Well.’ Amelia clearly wasn’t on her first glass of wine. Her eyes were shining and she was beaming widely. ‘This is all looking rather hunky dory.’
‘You think so?’ I asked.
‘Yes, darling. Lots of the right people.’
I looked around, recognising several American families. Mary Lou was in a black cocktail dress and looked like she meant business.
‘Oh, not just them,’ Amelia said, following my gaze. ‘Although they’re important, of course. See the spindly woman over there, who looks like she’s swallowed a wasp?’
‘Yes …’
Amelia put her hand on my shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. ‘I have it on good authority, she’s from the Independent.’
‘Nice,’ James said.
‘Uh-huh. And the twin stooges by the door?’ Amelia jerked her head at two men in black suits. I nodded. They did indeed look like hired bouncers.
‘English Heritage,’ she said proudly.
‘Wow, that’s great. Are they getting involved?’
‘I’m not sure, darling. There’s still a long way to go. But I have to say, things are looking promising.’ Amelia took a mouthful of wine, then seemed to spot something, or someone, in the crowd. ‘And that … is even more promising.’ She stood up straighter and placed a hand nonchalantly on her hip.
James caught my eye and raised one eyebrow. Over his shoulder I saw the handsome local journalist approaching. We all said hello and I watched as he pulled out his notebook, but not before he’d checked out Amelia’s cleavage.
‘Excuse us,’ I said, trying not to giggle. ‘We haven’t bought our raffle tickets yet.’
James and I exchanged a knowing look, then made our way to where Mary Lou was forcing people to part with large amounts of cash.
‘Do you take dollars?’ James smiled, reaching for his wallet. Considering he was newly unemployed, he was being a great sport about chipping in.
‘Hell yeah, you betcha!’ Mary Lou winked at me. ‘Great guy of yours, Grace.’
‘Thanks. I think so too.’ Other people had been saying that to me, ever since James showed up in Saffron Sweeting. Brian had said I looked like the weight of a London bus had been lifted off my shoulders. Then he’d commented that love was making me skinny, and sent me home with a free treacle tart.
Our transaction complete, Mary Lou tugged on the sleeve of the man beside her. ‘Have you met Ross? Honey, this is Grace and James.’
I had met Mary Lou’s husband just once before. He was the size of man who looked like he played football – the American kind, with helmets and shoulder pads.
‘Why the dollars?’ He shook James’s hand vigorously and I hoped all his fingers were still intact. He needed them to type. ‘Isn’t your accent British?’
‘It is,’ James said evenly, ‘but I was working for a company near San Francisco.’
‘Oh yeah? What field are you in?’
‘Computers,’ James replied, his usual answer for our English friends.
‘Duh. Obviously.’ Ross frowned. ‘I meant, what field are you in?’
‘Network security and cryptography.’
‘Who knew?’ Mary Lou had robbed another willing villager of a twenty pound note and tore off their raffle tickets. ‘Ross is CSO at Fairmont Pharmaceuticals.’ She placed a finger under my elbow and steered me firmly away. ‘Grace, can I borrow you for a second?’
‘What’s a CSO?’ I muttered, as she walked me over to a high cocktail table, where a platter of crostini was unattended. ‘Mmm, yummy.’ I tasted one and reached for another.
‘Chief Security Officer.’ Mary Lou winked for the second time that evening. ‘You might want to let them chat for a few minutes.’
I shook my head at her, smiling my thanks. ‘You’re brilliant. Please let me know if I can help with your shop.’
‘That’s a deal. We open next month, I hope. Now, excuse me, I’m off to find my next victim.’
Alone, I surveyed the room and took the chance to waylay the waiting staff, who were circulating with tasty morsels. The caterers had done a fine job and the mood in the ballroom was enthusiastic.
‘Hey, Grace’ said a voice, and I turned with delight to find Nancy. Peter was just behind her.
After greetings and compliments on everyone’s outfits, I said to Peter, ‘I hear you might be taking on the post office?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ he replied. ‘Don’t see how it can survive unless we combine it with another business. Might get a few new folk into my place too.’
‘Sounds ideal,’ I said.
‘And how are you?’ Nancy asked. ‘Is the honeymoon over yet?’
I smiled and coloured. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Any luck finding somewhere to live?’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘Not yet. But we’re having fun looking.’
Two nights after James had arrived in the village, it had snowed. Delighted, we had found suitable boots and gone for a long walk along the river the next day, from Anglesey Abbey to Quy.
En route, we had discussed our future.
‘I’ve only been here six months, but it feels
like forever,’ I’d said.
The snow had settled prettily on all the hedges and branches, but now that the sun had come out, it would disappear fast.
‘You definitely want to stay?’ James kept his voice light.
I didn’t answer for a moment, listening to the chirp of finches and the muffled crunch under our feet.
Then I said, ‘Yes. I really do.’ The East Anglian countryside lacked the glamour of the San Francisco Bay, with its mountains, bridges and wide Pacific Ocean. But it felt like home to me, and now that James was here, I was awash with contentment. I stopped to look at him. ‘Is that asking too much?’
James had one of my gloved hands in his already, and now he took the other one too. ‘No,’ he said, brown eyes serious. ‘We can make that work.’
I reached up for a quick kiss, but was waylaid by reality. ‘You’ve got no job.’
‘Something’ll turn up.’ James shrugged as we began walking again. ‘This is Cambridge, after all.’ He was confident his skills would find a use.
He’d also been perfectly serious about buying a house, cryptically mentioning that his mum might help with the deposit. Even allowing for that, and assuming he found a great job, we would be on a painfully tight budget. Still, it had been a good excuse to visit some of the smaller properties on Amelia’s books together.
‘Ooh, that was nasty,’ I’d said after the first, experiencing an unpleasant flashback to my early days in the village, looking for somewhere to rent.
‘Agreed, the smelly carpets weren’t a big turn on.’ James took big gulps of fresh winter air. ‘But if we’re buying rather than renting, we can rip the whole lot out and start from scratch.’
‘Hmm, that might be fun.’ There was definite appeal in starting with a blank slate and designing it all myself.
‘Or maybe we’ll find someone with a spare chicken shed, after all.’
I laughed. ‘I’ll keep my ears open.’
In fact, Amelia already had both ears open and I suspected the other villagers could be persuaded to do the same. Something told me they’d rather tip off James and me about a vacant property, than Scott.
Now, I put my head on one side and looked at Peter. ‘Um, if you do move the post office into the antiques store, what happens to the existing building?’
The current post office was housed in a narrow, quirky cottage, in prime position on the High Street.
‘No idea,’ Peter said. ‘I imagine it would be sold.’
‘I think I see where Grace is heading with this,’ Nancy said.
I blinked at Peter with mock innocence. ‘Maybe you could let me know, when you know?’
Peter smiled meaningfully. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’
‘Hi, all.’ James arrived, bearing a plate laden with mini quiches and bite-sized scotch eggs. ‘Thought you might be hungry,’ he murmured, passing the bounty to me.
‘You treasure.’ I nibbled happily while he chatted with Nancy and Peter. We were interrupted by Amelia tapping a spoon against a glass.
‘Ladies and gentlemen …’ She smiled confidently as the room hushed. ‘I have the great pleasure of welcoming you all to the official launch of the Save Saffron Sweeting Campaign.’
We clapped proudly.
‘We all know how much work is ahead of us to preserve the unique charm and character of our village, and especially its malt house. However, I’m delighted to see so many of you here tonight to support this vital endeavour.’ Amelia paused, comfortable in her role, no doubt knowing she looked fantastic. ‘Now, please make sure you have purchased your raffle tickets from Mary Lou, as we’ll be starting the draw in just a few minutes.’
A murmur of anticipation ran through the attendees. Presumably, they were excited at the prospect of winning a case of wine from Tesco or dinner at the pub. A fresh crowd of purchasers formed around Mary Lou.
James surveyed the scene with amusement, then bent to speak into my ear. ‘Want to get some air?’ he said in a low voice, running his hand up and down my back.
‘What about the raffle?’ I said, surprised.
‘Good point.’ He looked around the room. ‘I think they’ll manage without us.’
I smiled and tipped my head in agreement.
‘Here, would you two mind doing the honours?’ James offered our strip of orange tickets to Nancy and Peter. ‘We’re just going to step outside for a few minutes.’
He led me through the elegant French doors of the ballroom to the shadows of the covered terrace.
‘It’s a great party,’ he said, ‘but I fancied a few minutes alone with my wife.’
I turned to snuggle into his warmth as he wrapped both arms around me.
‘You’re a big hit with everyone,’ I said, grinning up at him. The height gap was less than usual, due to my impractical shoes.
‘No,’ he said. ‘If they like me, it’s only because they’re smitten with you.’
I shook my head in protest.
‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘I should know.’ His gaze was soft but sincere.
I reached my hand up and played with his tie as I waited for the wave of emotion to calm. In the pause, clapping floated out to us from the ballroom.
‘They’re really getting into it,’ I said, seeing the fever of raffle winning on the villagers’ faces. They were taking no notice of the couple in the frosty shadows outside, who were holding onto each other as if they had scooped first prize. ‘I think Saffron Sweeting might bounce back better than ever.’
James looked at them, then at me. ‘Tough times make you stronger,’ he said gently.
He didn’t just mean the village. I felt tears welling.
‘I’m so sorry, Grace.’ James hadn’t taken his eyes off my face.
‘It’s okay.’ I swallowed. ‘We’ll be okay now,’ I whispered, and let myself sink into his soft, sweet kiss.
The road behind us couldn’t be changed, but I was eager to walk the path ahead.
The End
From the Author
Independent authors like me rely on reviews from readers to help spread the word about our work. Please consider adding your review of Saving Saffron Sweeting to Amazon, Goodreads and other online forums.
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Acknowledgements
I count myself exceptionally lucky that not a single acquaintance told me how nutty I was to attempt a novel. Nonetheless, certain individuals provided more than a splash of support and deserve special thanks.
Feddy Pouideh was undoubtedly the catalyst who got me started and also served as cheerful proof that one can indeed write a book and live to tell the tale. The talented Kristin Harmel was gracious enough to supply the encouragement I needed to venture beyond chapter one. And I learned a huge amount about indie publishing from the information shared by Joanne Phillips on her blog.
Intrepid beta readers Jennifer Cunningham, Marissa Tejada and Julianne Lawrence helped me smooth off many rough edges, and proofreader Jude White brought the quality of the text to a standard fit to be seen in public. Any lingering errors are mine.
My parents, Philip and Ann Dendy, willingly accompanied me on treks around Cambridgeshire villages to ensure my description of Saffron Sweeting was authentic. It’s true this willingness evaporated when they found they were also required to research the vertiginous roof of the Varsity Hotel, but they swallowed their fate with equanimity and a glass of white wine.
My husband Darius earns immeasurable gratitude for technical support, cover design and trusting that his wife had not lost her marbles entirely. He bore the indignity of reading his first ever Chick Lit novel and still managed to give constructive feedback. Moreover, as far as I’m aware, he has never cheated on me at a conference in Las Vegas. Not yet, anyway.
Table of Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
C
hapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
From the Author
Acknowledgements
Saving Saffron Sweeting Page 28