by Sara Craven
‘Lindsay?’ Her aunt sounded almost startled. ‘Oh, I don’t think she’d do for him at all.’
‘But, then, who would?’ Chloe helped herself to a piece of sponge with its strawberry jam and cream filling. ‘If I go on like this,’ she added wryly, ‘I’ll be the size of a house by the time of the wedding.’
Aunt Libby gave her a swift glance, then looked back at her plate. ‘Nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘If anything, you could do with a few pounds. Real men don’t want skeletons to cuddle.’
The wisdom according to Uncle Hal, no doubt, Chloe thought with an inward smile.
They were such darlings. Living proof of how well marriage could work, given the chance. And if their childlessness had been a sadness, they’d kept it well-hidden, opening their home and their hearts to her instead, when her mother, Aunt Libby’s younger sister, had died suddenly of a thrombosis only two days after giving birth.
Her father, an engineer in the oil industry had been on his way back from Saudi Arabia to see his wife and child when the tragedy happened. Devastated by his loss, and with two years of his contract still to run, he knew that taking his newborn daughter back with him was impossible. Apart from the environmental problems, he’d been an only son and had no experience with infants. He’d been almost at his wits’ end when his grieving sister-in-law had stepped in, making her momentous offer, which he’d thankfully accepted.
The original plan had been that Chloe should go to him as soon as he found a more appropriate job, but another contract succeeded the first, and from the conversations the Jacksons had with him when he was in the UK on leave, they knew that he’d become an ex-pat in spirit as well as fact. That he liked his life just the way it was. And contributing to his daughter’s support was as far as he was prepared to go.
Eventually they heard that he’d met an American girl and was going to remarry, and resigned themselves once more to Chloe’s loss. Only it didn’t happen.
Her father’s new bride-to-be, Mary Theresa, had reacted badly to the idea of a female stepchild when it had been put to her, and Chloe remained in Willowford.
She’d eventually been invited to Florida to see her father and meet her stepmother, together with the twin boys born a year after the marriage, but the visit was not a success, and had not been repeated. Now he was little more than a name on a Christmas card. Her birthday was clearly a date with associations he preferred to forget, and although this was bound to sadden her, she decided she could not altogether blame him.
But at some point she would also have to decide whether he, or Uncle Hal who’d loved her like his own, should give her away at her wedding. And that could be tricky.
When tea was finished she loaded the china and cutlery into the dishwasher and switched it on, then checked her mobile phone for a message or a text from Ian, but there was nothing.
She sighed inwardly. ‘Do you need a hand with supper, or shall I take my things up to my room now?’ she asked her aunt, replacing the phone in her bag.
‘Yes, go and unpack, dear.’ There was an awkward note in Mrs Jackson’s voice. ‘We’ve been decorating upstairs, doing some renovations too, so you’ll find it all rather different. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘On the contrary, I’m intrigued.’ Chloe spoke lightly, but when she opened her bedroom door, her reaction was stunned.
It was completely unrecognisable from the cosy, slightly worn haven that she’d loved, she thought numbly.
The rose-coloured carpet she’d begged for in her early teens had vanished, replaced by stripped, sanded and varnished boards. The pretty sprigged wallpaper had given away to plain walls in a rich, deep cream, and the curtains she’d made herself to go with the carpet had disappeared too. The new drapes were in a vivid blue, matching the tailored spread fitting the single brass bed.
The familiar shabby furniture had gone, but the small cast-iron fireplace was still there, filled with a display of blue teasels. And a fitted cream wardrobe and a mirrored dressing chest now occupied the alcoves on either side of the chimney breast, which Uncle Hal had once shelved to hold her books, toys and ornaments.
It was smart, shiny and new, and it looked terrific, but it was now very much a guest room, she realised with a swift pang. There was nothing left of her at all.
And the bathroom across the passage was an equal shock. The big cast-iron bath and wide basin had made way for a modern white suite, glittering with chrome accessories, and a glass cubicle with a power shower had been installed in the remaining space, while the walls and floor were tiled in turquoise and white.
But what’s brought all this on? Have they had a lottery win I don’t know about? Chloe wondered as she went back to the room that no longer belonged to her. Although the window seat was still there, and the view over open fields where cows grazed quietly hadn’t changed.
She paused, her mouth twisting. Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought with sudden impatience. You’re a grown woman, not a child to be hankering for a pink carpet, a collection of pottery owls and a complete set of the Famous Five books.
Things change, and you ‘re about to move on yourself, so stop whingeing and get a grip.
She unpacked swiftly and neatly, stowed her cases under the bed, then returned downstairs.
Aunt Libby turned from the Aga with a look of faint apprehension as she entered the kitchen.
‘What happened? Did some TV makeover team come knocking at the door? It all looks amazing.’ Chloe knew her smile was a little too wide and too bright, but her aunt seemed reassured.
‘Well, no, darling. Your uncle and I have a different reason for smartening the place up.’ She paused. ‘You see, we’ve decided to downsize.’
‘Downsize?’ Chloe’s smile was wiped away, and replaced by shock. ‘You mean you’re—going to sell the Grange?’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh, heavens, has something happened to the practice? Is it the recession?’
‘No, no, on the contrary.’ Mrs Jackson’s reassurance was swift. ‘It’s busier than ever, and that’s the problem. It’s always been a twenty-four-hour service, and your uncle isn’t getting any younger.
‘It’s been a wonderful life, of course, and he’s never wanted anything different, but now he’s seriously considering retirement. Giving himself time to do the things he’s never been able to fully enjoy before. His fishing, for instance. And he might even take up golf again. And we both used to love quite serious walking.
‘So, they’ve been interviewing for a new assistant, and one of Ian’s friends from college might be interested in becoming a partner.’
‘This isn’t just a dream for the future, is it?’ Chloe said slowly. ‘This is a real plan for now.’
‘Well, nothing will happen for a while, and wherever we go, there’ll always be a place for you, Chloe. Never doubt that. But, at the same time, we know you have your own life to lead and we’re so proud and so happy for you.’
‘But you’re not intending to leave the area, surely?’ Chloe felt as if the flagged floor was shifting under her feet.
‘Almost certainly,’ her aunt said briskly.
‘But I thought you loved Willowford.’
‘It’s a fine place,’ Mrs Jackson nodded. ‘And it’s been good to us, but I don’t think your uncle and I ever felt we’d end our days here. We’ve had a survey and valuation done on the Grange, and it seems we can afford to pick and choose where we’ll go next.’ She smiled. ‘It’s quite an adventure.’
‘Yes,’ Chloe agreed quietly. ‘Indeed it is.’
And I—I have my own adventure to embark on too, so I shouldn’t begrudge Uncle and Auntie a thing.
‘We’ve started de-cluttering, as they call it, already,’ Aunt Libby went on. ‘You gather so much stuff over the years that you don’t need, so the charity shops for miles around have reaped the benefit.
‘Oh, not your things, darling,’ she added quickly. ‘We boxed and labelled it all for you, and put the cartons up in the attic, ready for whenever you want t
hem.’
There’d be room at the cottage for them, thought Chloe. Although she’d get rid of the toys, except for the teddy bear her father had bought on his way home from Saudi to see his wife and new daughter. And the books which she’d keep for her own children—when they came along.
She waited for the usual glow of anticipation that occurred whenever she contemplated her future with Ian, but, for once, it seemed curiously muted. On the other hand, her entire homecoming hadn’t been as expected either. It had been thrown off course by that dire humiliation at the filling station and had never really recovered.
I’ll be better when I hear from Ian, she told herself, and at that same moment the telephone rang in the hall.
‘And that’s almost certainly for you,’ said Aunt Libby, turning back to the meat she was browning for a cottage pie.
‘So what’s happened to the dream job?’ Ian asked, once the ‘it’s wonderful to talk to you’ preliminaries had been dealt with. ‘Did you get fired?’
‘No, of course not.’ Chloe was taken aback. ‘On the contrary. They wanted me to go with them for the summer to run their villa in the South of France.’
‘And you turned that down for Willowford? Amazing.’
No, Chloe wanted to say. I turned it down for you.
Aloud, she said, ‘I felt it was time to come home, back to real life again.’ She paused. ‘So, what time shall I see you tonight?’
He sighed. ‘Can’t manage tonight, Clo. There’s a pony club committee meeting and I’m chairing it because Mrs Hammond’s away. You must have known for ages that you’d be back today. I wish you’d told me sooner.’
‘So do I.’ She felt deflated, and oddly close to tears. ‘But I wanted to surprise you.’
‘Well you’ve done that all right.’ He paused. ‘Look, why don’t I book a table at the Willowford Arms for tomorrow evening? Catch up with everything over dinner?’
Or why don’t you suggest we see each other for a drink when your meeting is over? Or rush over here now?
She put a smile in her voice. ‘Sounds great.’
‘Then I’ll pick you up just before eight,’ he said briskly. ‘Got to dash. I’m expecting a call from the Crawfords. Their whippet is about to litter and they’re a bit concerned.’
It’s a twenty-four-hour service, Chloe told herself as she put the phone down. Aunt Libby reminded you of that just now. And you’ve always known it—lived with it for the greater part of your life. Planned to stick with it. So you can’t jib now.
A vet is like being a doctor, only the patients can’t tell you their symptoms, and a successful practice is built on trust and availability. Haven’t you heard Uncle Hal say so a hundred times over spoiled meals and cancelled outings?
It’s not the end of the world. You’ve just endured one of those days, that’s all, but everything starts again tomorrow.
Just keep thinking of that, and it will all work out just fine.
CHAPTER THREE
CHLOE lay back in the bath, appreciatively absorbing the scent of the rose geranium oil rising from the warm water.
In less than two hours, she’d be with Ian, and the time between would be spent pampering herself as never before.
I want to be irresistible, she thought, smiling inwardly.
All the same, she wasn’t finding it as easy to slip back into the swim of things as she’d expected, although her uncle’s affectionate greeting the previous evening had been balm to the soul, and he and Aunt Libby had tranquilly accepted that Ian was needed elsewhere, so she’d be eating cottage pie with them.
‘That whippet’s a beauty but she could be tricky. Let’s hope this litter is the first and last,’ had been Mr Jackson’s only comment.
‘So what are you doing with yourself today?’ he’d asked that morning as he stood up from the breakfast table, stuffing his folded newspaper into his jacket pocket.
‘Just pottering, I suppose.’ Chloe had smiled at him.
‘Well you could always potter over to Lizbeth Crane’s, if you felt inclined,’ her uncle said briskly. ‘She’s damaged her wrist gardening and Jack’s in Brussels, so their retriever will need walking.’
‘Of course I’ll go.’ Chloe didn’t think twice. ‘A wander across the fields with a friendly dog like Flare is just what I need. I’ll call round as soon as I’ve been to the post office.’
Which in itself had been an experience, she thought.
‘So you’re back.’ Mrs Thursgood had greeted her with a faint sniff. ‘Thought you’d deserted us for good. Come back for that young vet, I dare say. We all thought round here that the banns would have been called a year back or more. You don’t want to leave it too long, missy,’ she added with a look of faint disparagement. ‘You’re not getting any younger, and men go off the boil as quick as they go on it.’
Chloe, acutely aware that every word was being savoured by the queue behind her, paid for her stamps with murder in her heart and escaped.
But there had been more to come. She had to run the gauntlet of the shoppers in the main street, and by the time she reached the Cranes’ house, she felt if one more person said, ‘Well, Chloe, you’re quite a stranger,’ she would howl at the sky.
But Mrs Crane’s delighted welcome, accompanied as it was by coffee and home-made biscuits, plus Flare’s grin and gently offered paw had compensated for a great deal.
Except …
It had been a marvellous walk, the sun warm on her back, and Flare, plumy tail waving, bounding along ahead of her. After a mild disagreement over the retriever’s wish to complete the pleasure of the morning by rolling joyously in a large cowpat, they turned for home. They’d just emerged from a field onto the lane leading back to the village and Chloe was fastening the gate behind her, when she heard the sound of a horse’s hooves.
She glanced round and saw a handsome bay gelding trotting towards them, and paused, her throat tightening when she saw who was riding him.
‘Good morning.’ Darius brought the horse to a stand, and bent forward to pat his glossy neck. ‘Enjoying a constitutional, Miss Benson? I thought you’d be getting your exercise elsewhere on this lovely day—in some convenient haystack with your intended, perhaps.’
Her skin warmed. ‘Do you have to make unpleasant remarks?’ she asked coldly.
‘On the contrary, the activity I’m referring to is entirely pleasurable.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Or perhaps you don’t find it so. What a terrible shame, not to mention waste,’ he added, his gaze sliding appreciatively over the thrust of her breasts under her white shirt, down to her slender waist and the curve of her hips.
Aware that her flush was deepening, Chloe bent hurriedly to clip on Flare’s leash.
‘Just as a matter of interest,’ he went on. ‘Why are you walking Lizbeth Crane’s dog?’
‘I’m being a good neighbour,’ she said shortly. ‘A concept you may find unfamiliar.’
‘Not at all, as I hope to demonstrate over the coming months.’ He paused. ‘However, if true love has worked some miracle and you’re really in Good Samaritan mode, you might consider extending your range as far as the Hall.’
As Chloe’s lips parted to deliver a stinging refusal, he held up a hand.
‘Hear me out, please. I don’t get the chance to take Orion here out as much as I should, largely because any spare time I have goes to my brother’s Samson, who’s eating his head off in between throwing serious moodies.
‘I seem to recall you were a damned good rider in the old days, so, if you’d consider exercising Orion for me sometimes, I’d be immensely grateful to you.’
She gave him a startled look. Gratitude wasn’t something she’d ever have attributed to him. Or the paying of compliments. Not that it made any real difference. I seem to recall …
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But it’s quite impossible.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘I have a wedding to organise,’ she said curtly. ‘In case you’ve forgotten. I shall
be far too busy.’
He sat, one hand resting on his hip, his gaze meditative as he watched her. ‘I hadn’t forgotten. But is it really going to take all day of every day? How many hundreds of people are you planning to invite, for God’s sake?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ she returned. ‘Anyway, Arthur must still be at the Hall, so why can’t he ride Orion?’
‘Unfortunately, his arthritis won’t let him, but it would break his heart if I pensioned him off and got a younger groom.’
He added flatly, ‘And, for obvious reasons, my father finds even minor changes distressing.’
Chloe bit her lip. ‘Yes—yes, of course.’ She paused. ‘I was—very sorry to hear about Andrew. I hadn’t realised.’ She took a breath. ‘It was terribly sad.’
His face hardened. ‘Not just sad but bloody stupid and totally unnecessary.’
She gasped. ‘You don’t feel, perhaps, that’s too harsh a judgment? Whatever may have happened, he was still your brother.’
‘Harsh, perhaps,’ Darius returned coolly. ‘Yet entirely accurate. However, this is not the time to debate Andrew’s motives for risking his life by pushing himself to ridiculous and dangerous limits.
‘And my proposition over Orion still stands,’ he added. ‘I’d like you to think it over, instead of just dismissing it out of hand because I’m doing the asking. You don’t even have to give me a personal reply. Just ring the Hall at any time, and Arthur will have him tacked up and ready for you.’
He smiled faintly. ‘And Orion would be grateful too, don’t forget.’
He touched the horse with his heels, and they moved off.
Chloe stared after them, her mind a welter of mixed emotions. It was still impossible, of course—what he’d asked—but Orion was an absolute beauty, and the thought of cantering him along those flat stretches by the river in the Willow valley was a genuine temptation.
But one she had to resist.
She’d told herself the same thing at intervals during the day, and she was still saying it now as she stepped out of the bath and dried herself, and applied some of the body lotion from the satin-lined gift basket of Hermes’ Caleche that the Armstrongs had given her for Christmas.