At eighteen now rather than eight, Emerald knew she’d never be a rodeo queen. All the same, fragments of that cherished dream still clung to her. Spotting these English horses now, she shrugged off her rucksack, rolled her shoulders to ease the ache and hopped over the fence for a better look. Immediately the horses abandoned their grazing and ambled over, their soft noses nudging her in the hope of treats.
“I’ve not got anything for you guys,” Emerald told them, scratching their necks and blowing into their noses. Wow. These were big animals: well-muscled warmbloods built for jumping and galloping across country, rather than the nippy little quarter horses she was used to. They were beautiful and a lot muddier than Pepper. She wondered what had happened to him. Was he still alive? Was Mac? This was one of the hardest things about living with her mom: there were so many unfinished stories. Sometimes it felt like reading a book only to discover that the last page was missing, leaving you wondering what the ending might have been.
That was why it had been so exciting to think that she had roots here. It had never occurred to Emerald that her newly discovered family might not want to read her story. She rested her head against the warm neck of a friendly bay horse, closed her eyes and for just a brief second allowed her disappointment to smother her.
“Hey! You there!”
Emerald’s head snapped up. A woman, snugly wrapped against the British weather in a padded coat and wearing jeans tucked into green wellies, was striding across the paddock. Red curls sprang from beneath her black bobble hat and her chin was set at the same determined angle as Emerald’s own when she realised who this was.
It was her sister Mo and she was looking as grumpy now as she had yesterday. Just great.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Mo, the horses stepping aside like little lambs when she reached the fence. “I thought it was some emmet feeding them again. Last week some utter moron tried to feed Mr Dandy a pasty. Can you imagine?”
Emerald couldn’t. What was a pasty?
“It’s such a menace in the summer. I never know what’s going on and the last thing I need is colic,” Mo continued. “Shoo, Mr Dandy! Splash! Nothing for you here!”
The horses, who clearly knew better than to push their luck with her, wandered back to their grazing.
“I can’t stand horses being titbitted,” Mo said crossly. Even her red curls looked angry. “Can you?”
Emerald had spent hours picking grass for Pepper. Did grass count as a titbit? She was pretty sure the cubed sugar she’d collected from the diner where Leaf had worked did. Maybe best not mention that?
“So you like horses then?” Mo asked, and Emerald nodded.
“Yeah, horses are cool. These ones are really nice.”
Her sister looked pleased with this comment. “They are, aren’t they? These two are my top horses and should be getting fit for the season, if bloody Ashley ever lets me near them again.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you ride?”
“I bit I guess,” Emerald said. She wasn’t sure that much barrel-racing went on here, but it couldn’t be that different, right?
“That means you can. Real riders are always modest and novices always brag,” Mo told her. She glanced at Emerald’s rucksack slung down on the grass and frowned. “What are you doing up here in the drizzle? You’re not leaving, are you?”
Emerald shrugged one shoulder. “Doesn’t seem much point staying at the house. Nobody wants me there and I’ve upset everyone by turning up. Don’t deny it,” she added when Mo opened her mouth to protest. “I’m not an idiot. You were really pissed.”
“I wasn’t pissed! Oh, you mean angry! Well, yes, maybe I was a bit but not with you,” said Mo, looking flustered. “It was everything. Ashley’s been necking Nurofen and thinks I haven’t noticed, Isla’s teething, I’m trying to get the horses fit and then you arrived. As usual it’s all Dad’s fault. As if I wasn’t stressed enough! Don’t take it personally.”
Emerald didn’t say a word. To be honest she wasn’t really sure what Mo was talking about.
“And if there’s one thing I know about Dad it’s that if he thinks there’s a problem he’ll vanish, usually to the pub or out on a boat. I bet you’ve not seen him today, have you?” Mo added.
Emerald shook her head and her sister sighed.
“What a surprise. Look, I’m sorry if I was a bitch yesterday. None of this is your fault and, genuinely, I’m pleased you’ve found us – but this is so typical of Dad. He’s always getting himself into situations because he isn’t upfront to begin with, and it drives me mad. Jake and Danny have been picking up his chaos for years. Honestly, Emerald, if he’d told us about you we’d have been dead excited, I promise.”
“Really?” A small arrow of hope took flight from her heart.
“Really,” said Mo firmly. “Symon’s thrilled to meet you, even if he’s very quiet. He’s probably thinking you’re a vast improvement on me, at any rate. Jake and Danny are pleased too, and Morgan couldn’t care less but that’s just his way, so don’t take it personally. Granny Alice is delighted to have somebody new to fuss over and Nick will be desperate to take you down to the pub and party. In fact, the entire village is dying to find out about you. Betty Jago and Sheila will be gutted they missed seeing you walking past in your backpacker disguise.”
“It’s not a disguise,” Emerald said, glancing down at her clothes.
“We know that,” said Mo, “but they’d have been expecting you to walk past dressed in cowboy boots or something, saying ‘howdy’! Anyway, the point is that everyone wants you here, honestly, and I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. Please stay.”
For a split second everything seemed possible. Maybe she could get to know her family? Spend time with her new siblings? Even Jimmy might come good once he knew that nobody was angry? Emerald was just about to nod when she remembered the argument between her grandmother and the old man.
“I can’t. It’s causing too much trouble,” she said sadly. Then she explained to Mo what had taken place. She’d only been here a short while but had already broken up an engagement. This surely had to be some kind of a record?
But Mo didn’t seem at all concerned.
“I shouldn’t worry about any of that,” she said firmly. “Jonny and Granny Alice have been on and off since the nineteen-forties! Between you and me, I think Granny’s looking for an excuse not to move out of Seaspray and you’ve just given it to her. I can’t say I blame her either. Who’d want to be related to Evil Ella? Not me! So, now you know it’s not your fault and that we’re quite frankly all bonkers how about you come up to the yard with me, have a coffee and warm up? You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks,” Emerald said, and Mo laughed.
“Yeah, I’m the tactful member of the family! Come on, I’ll take your bag. I think I’ve got some biscuits, or should I call them cookies? I can probably find you a coat too.”
Emerald’s head was starting to throb with a combination of jet lag, no breakfast and the barrage of information she didn’t understand. She felt absolutely exhausted and she was chilled to the core. This watery English sunshine wasn’t anything like California’s oven-hot blast, that was for sure. Coffee and cookies sounded very good.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Mo nodded. “Of course I am. What are sisters for? And besides,” she paused and gave Emerald a conspiratorial smile, “if you like horses half as much as I think you do, I’ve just had a brilliant idea…”
Chapter 13
Jules didn’t tend to socialise in the week. Since early-morning services were best conducted by a vicar who wasn’t yawning through the liturgy, Sundays sermons didn’t write themselves and her parish council seemed incapable of holding a meeting without needing her to act as a referee, most of her evenings were taken up with work and going to bed early. Sometimes she might have dinner at Seaspray or an early drink in The Ship, but as a general rule Jules was normally home by nine – or even earlier if she had a meeting. It was hardly a rock �
��n’ roll existence, and if she did venture out on a weeknight Jules always felt a prickly sensation of guilt, as though she ought to be in her bedroom doing her homework.
Thirty-something years old and she still felt like she was at school. What on earth was that about?
“It’s no life for a young woman,” Jackie Mathieson often lamented. “You should be out enjoying yourself and spending time with Danny, not cooped up inside reading all those daft romance novels of yours! Why bother with fiction when you’ve got the real thing? You’re not getting any younger either, love! Tick-tock!”
It was a reasonable question if you were a) not a vicar and b) unsubtly hinting about wanting grandchildren, Jules thought. Besides, apart from being flat out with work it was often hard to see Danny. Usually he was either collecting Morgan from school and looking after him while Tara worked, or busy helping Jake run Tremaine Marine. Throw into the mix the extra issues that came with her faith and vocation and it was no wonder that lately she spent more time with the product of Caspar’s pen than with her very own romantic hero.
It came back down to the same issue: if she and Danny wanted to spend more time together and move their relationship to the next level, there was only one solution, wasn’t there?
They would have to get married.
Jules had been mulling this over all week and by Sunday she’d been ready to pluck up the courage to talk to Danny. She loved him and he loved her and they always told one another everything, so keeping back her thoughts about their future didn’t feel honest. Jules had prayed a lot about it, hoping a bolt of heavenly lightning might zap Danny into proposing beforehand. Alas, by the time they’d been to church and enjoyed Alice’s spectacular roast dinner there was still no sign of a celestial intervention; apparently, God wanted Jules to speak to Danny and sort the matter out herself. That was fine because Jules had a backup idea. She’d planned a walk over the cliffs to the next cove (past plenty of gorse bushes that could easily burst into flames should He so wish) and had picked out a suitable resting point, on a bench that overlooked the ocean and the sweep of the bay. This bench was tucked just a little way back from the main path and so was generally unnoticed by walkers, who tended to press on to the village in search of pasties and cider. It was, Jules had decided, the perfect spot for A Very Serious Conversation. She’d been determined that once they reached this spot, she’d take Danny’s hand and tell him exactly how she felt.
But, like the famous saying regarding the plans of mice and men, just as she and Danny were pulling on their walking boots Emerald Tremaine had arrived out of the blue. Of course, this had turned everything upside down and any hopes Jules might have had for a quiet talk were swiftly dashed in the following chaos. They’d ended up fetching Emerald back when she’d tried to leave, and then stayed at Seaspray for most of the afternoon and evening. With the family dynamics in so much chaos it didn’t feel like the right moment to bring up the subject of marriage; in any case, it was impossible to have a conversation without being interrupted. Jules had resigned herself to waiting until life returned to an even keel, or at least what passed for this in Polwenna Bay. She and Danny were happy and, to keep the nautical metaphors going, why rock the boat? She could wait. Family issues had to take priority.
At this point Jules had prayed very hard for patience – or at least an opportunity to speak to Danny. Jules had been a vicar for a few years now and her faith in her Boss was strong, but even she was taken aback when Danny phoned the next day to invite her out to dinner so that they could talk.
“It’s all gone crazy up at the house since Sunday,” he’d sighed. “And before you point out that it’s only Monday now, let me explain that in the Tremaine household hours work a bit like dog years!”
“What’s happened now?” Jules, who had Mondays off and was lolling on her sofa with Caspar’s latest bare-chested hero, had sat bolt upright. “Tell me Emerald hasn’t got a football team of brothers Jimmy also forgot about?”
Danny had laughed at this. “Not yet, but give it time. It’s not even noon and already Jonny and Gran have had a big fallout, Dad’s gone AWOL and Emerald’s decided to move in with Mo.”
“Emerald’s moving in with Mo?” The last time Jules had seen Danny’s eldest sister, she’d been storming out of Seaspray with Ashley hard on her heels.
“Apparently they met up earlier, bonded over a shared love of all things equine and now Emerald’s moving into the caravan at Mo’s yard to help out with the horses. Mo’s thrilled, Ashley’s relieved and Granny Alice is distraught that she can’t fuss over the new arrival. Even Dad thinks he’s off the hook now the girls are friends.”
Jules rubbed her eyes in case this was all a weird dream – but apparently not.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“See what I mean about Tremaine time?” Danny said. “Look, I’ll explain it all when I see you later. We’ve got a lot to talk about, Jules, so dig your glad rags out. I’ve booked us a table at The Plump Seagull. Sy’s giving us the table at the back so we won’t be disturbed.”
“The Seagull?” Jules squawked. “That’s a bit decadent for a Monday, isn’t it? I’m more than happy to go to the pub.”
“With everyone listening in in case we’re talking about our latest family drama? No thanks,” said Danny firmly. Then a softer note crept into his voice. “Besides, there’s something really important that I need to talk to you about, something that could affect our future if we choose to let it. It could be life-changing.”
Jules could hardly breathe. “What is it?”
“I’m not telling you over the phone and I’m certainly not telling you in the pub,” Danny replied. “I don’t want anyone to overhear what I need to ask you.”
Her heart thumped. Was Danny saying what she thought he was saying? Jules thought she’d explode with anticipation. Danny was going to propose! That had to be it! What else could it be? He was going to propose properly with a ring and everything.
It was just as well she was on the sofa, otherwise Jules thought she might have fallen over with the shock.
The rest of Monday passed in a blur of excitement, hair-washing and frantically pulling out of her wardrobe every garment she possessed in the hope that there was something amazing in there that she’d forgotten about.
What did a girl wear for a proposal? In the movies it would be something flowing and white, Jules guessed, but the only clothes she had like this were her vicar’s robes. Tee shirts, jeans and hoodies just wouldn’t cut it; a clerical shirt wasn’t in the least bit romantic; and even her faithful little black dress, hanging unloved at the back of the wardrobe, was way too tight. She tugged hard at the zip, hoping that the laws of physics might bend a little just this once, but there was a loud ripping sound as the fabric admitted defeat. Oh, if only she’d paid less attention to the biscuit tin and more to her diet!
Having ruled out dresses, Jules settled for a swingy red tunic with bell sleeves, teamed with black leggings and funky knee-high boots. With some light make-up and her hair playing nicely for once by curling into spirals, which she pinned out of her eyes with glittery clips, Jules thought she didn’t look too bad. Maybe even pretty? The pink flush across her cheeks was certainly all her own, as was the sparkle in her eyes. As she twirled in front of the hall mirror, Jules wondered whether Danny’s ring would shine as much.
“You look lovely,” Danny said, kissing Jules gently when they met outside the restaurant. He took a step back and appraised her. “Have you done something to your hair?”
Danny was partially sighted, but Jules knew this wasn’t the reason for him not noticing her new hairstyle or make-up. No, that was just down to Danny being a man.
“I washed it,” she said.
“Is it that time of year again?” he teased and, taking her hand, led Jules into the restaurant before she could think of a witty retort.
She was too busy drinking in the sight of him to find words anyway. Sometimes Jules couldn’t quite believe he
r luck that Danny was really and truly with her. He was just so absolutely gorgeous, with his short blond hair, wide-open face and high cheekbones. The scars and injuries didn’t detract at all from his beauty; in fact they only made him more attractive because they spoke volumes about his honour and bravery and the journey he’d been on. Jules was immensely proud to have played a part in that journey – and when he smiled at her she thought she would melt.
Jules loved eating at Symon’s. The restaurant, with its candles and subtle lighting, had an intimate and welcoming atmosphere. You could sit and talk quietly to somebody or celebrate a special occasion, feeling that you were being spoilt by Symon and his team. Whenever she’d eaten there, even if it was just a lunchtime bowl of soup, Jules had been made to feel valued and looked after. Usually Kelly or Tara greeted diners and seated them, but this evening the chef himself took their coats and saw them to their table.
“As promised, the quietest seats in the house,” Symon told them, while Jules and Danny settled themselves at the back of the restaurant. He gave them both his sweet, shy smile and Jules was struck by just how like Danny and Jake he really was, despite the different hair colour. Symon’s deep-red curls – the same sleek hue as autumn leaves, and at the moment tied up with a bandana – made his eyes seem even bluer. As always, his soft way of speaking made her want to draw closer, keen to hear more. Nevertheless, she thought that lately Symon had had a more pensive air about him than usual. His smile appeared less often, and Jules sensed something was worrying him deeply. You didn’t work as a vicar without developing an instinct for these things.
“Thanks, fam, we need some time out,” Danny said.
Symon nodded sympathetically. “Not a lot of peace at home right now, I can imagine? I did pop up earlier and it was all a bit chaotic. I think the only people who weren’t in a state were our sisters, old and new. They seem to have palled up.”
Recipe for Love: A gorgeous Cornish romance (Polwenna Bay Book 5) Page 12