The next morning, Lottie woke at six and momentarily forgot where she was. She’d only slept in her studio a handful of times in the past – when she’d worked late and fallen asleep at her desk – so opening her eyes to see walls full of sketches and inspirational postcards felt a little jarring.
Reaching out and nestling her fingers in the fur at the scruff of Duke’s neck, she reeled back through her memories of the night before. After the drama of the miniature kitchen fire, the rest of the evening had been a sedate mixture of gin and nostalgia. Sophie had trawled through almost every ‘major’ night out they’d had at Durham, delighting in going through the details of who wore what and who danced with whom. She’d even resorted to scrolling through her old Facebook pictures and waving them around the room.
The evening had ended on a high when Sam suggested they play a game where the group is split into two teams and each player takes it in turns to draw something with their eyes closed while their teammate guesses what it is. They’d played boys vs. girls and, of course, with the killer combination of Lottie’s artistic skills and her and Sophie’s years-and-years of knowing one another inside out, the girls won.
Now, surprisingly, Lottie found she was actually looking forward to the day ahead. So, after washing and changing, she made her way to the kitchen and started to prepare breakfast.
Sophie was the first to appear, bleary eyed but almost salivating at the smell of bacon. She looped her arms around Lottie’s waist and gave her a squeeze. “I’m having the best time. I’m sorry I didn’t come visit before. The cottage is adorable.”
Lottie smiled and handed Sophie a mug of coffee. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”
Sophie laughed, a small gurgling sound that chortled in the back of her throat. “I’m not going to lie; it’s not what I’m used to. But it’s charming. And you seem so… at home here.”
“It is my home, Soph.” Lottie sat down opposite her at the kitchen table and wrapped her fingers around her own steaming mug of tea.
Sophie shrugged. “I know. I guess I just hadn’t really thought about it before - how different our lives are now.” Sophie’s tone was unusually serious and she held Lottie’s gaze for longer than usual. “Lottie, I…”
“Morning, team!” Richard bounced into the kitchen and helped himself to coffee. He was wearing a plaid shirt, torn jeans, and espadrilles. An outfit completely inappropriate for the time of year and one that, somehow, made him look older than he really was.
Sophie frowned at him. “Why are you dressed like a twenty-something-year-old surfer?”
Richard laughed at her and winked. “Because I know you love this look.”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
“Where’s Sam?” Lottie asked, glancing towards the stairs.
“Probably stuck under a low beam,” Richard quipped, smiling at himself proudly for making a joke that had made Sophie laugh out loud.
“Not quite…” Sam folded himself under the kitchen doorframe and patted Lottie on the shoulder. “Morning, Lottie. Mmmm. Bacon?”
“Yes, and I haven’t managed to set the pan on fire yet, so it’s just about ready.”
Bacon sandwiches demolished, the other three sat and looked expectantly at Lottie, as if they were waiting for her to issue instructions.
“There’s a lovely pub in the next village. It’s quite a long walk, but fantastic scenery.”
“Anything that ends with a pub sounds good to me,” Sam said, already standing up and reaching for his coat. He was wearing sturdy looking boots.
“You came prepared,” Lottie said.
“Well, I was a Boy Scout.” Sam took a pair of gloves and a bobble hat out of his coat pockets, put them on, and clapped his hands together. “Ready.” The bobble hat had forced his hair down over his eyes and he puffed at it, trying to get it out of his way.
Lottie wanted to tuck it back under his hat, and tell him he looked cute, but she didn’t.
Unlike Sam, Richard and Sophie were utterly unprepared. Richard had nothing but his espadrilles and what Sophie called ‘walking shoes’ Lottie would have called ‘trying to impress at a job interview shoes’.
“Um. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea?” Lottie said, eyeing up the motley crew in front of her. Sophie didn’t even have a waterproof jacket, just a puffy white fur-hooded coat that barely covered her bottom.
“Soph, do you want to borrow something?”
Sophie tipped her head back and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be silly, Lotts. I’ll be fine. I’m sturdier than you think.”
So Lottie clipped on Duke’s lead, said, “Okay,” and marched them out of the door.
Two hours later, they had just about reached the pub. Sophie was riding on Richard’s shoulders – a blister had taken hold just fifteen minutes into the walk and by the time they were nearing the village she claimed she was barely able to continue – Richard’s shoes were sodden and black with mud, and the two of them had faces like thunder.
But Sam and Lottie were several paces ahead, and finding it all quite amusing.
“I feel awful, but it’s pretty funny. Don’t you think?”
Sam glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. Then took his phone out of his pocket, pointed it at Sophie and Richard, and shouted, “Smile, you two!”
“Sam! Don’t you dare!” Sophie yelled shrilly, waving her arms and making Richard wobble. “Richard!” she shouted, tapping at his sides with her knees as if he was a show pony. “Be careful.”
“For God’s sake, Sophie. You’re heavy you know!”
“Heavy?!”
Lottie looked at Sam and pursed her lips. “Uh oh,” she whispered.
Sophie was clamouring to get down from Richard’s back, thumping him with her fists at the same time. “Heavy?! I am not heavy. I thought you did weights? I thought you were fit. Clearly not!” As she started to jump down, she suddenly looked where she was going and realised she was about to land in a puddle. So, rather than continuing, she clung on, stuck in some kind of half-mounted position, like a cat clinging on to a curtain with its claws.
“Ow!” Richard yelped and tried to shrug her off.
“Richard. Stop!” Sophie was trying to climb back into position. And then, suddenly, they were no longer upright. They toppled sideways, tangled together, and fell face-first into the mud.
Lottie’s hand flew to her mouth and she gasped.
Duke took one look at Sophie and Richard and bolted over to them, barking joyfully at his two grubby new playmates.
Beside her, Sam was momentarily silent, and then he guffawed. And the sound of his laugh was infectious. Lottie started laughing too, and then the two of them were clutching their sides and struggling to catch their breath because the sight of Richard and Sophie, clambering upwards, smeared, wet, and furious, was simply too much.
As they drew closer though, and Lottie looked at her friend’s thunderous expression, her and Sam’s laughter subsided and they tried to look sympathetic.
“Thanks very much. Seriously, Sam, thanks.” Sophie was standing in front of Sam, waving at her mud-stained clothes and pouting as if this was all his fault.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, Sophie. Are you okay?” But Lottie could tell he was trying to keep the amusement from his voice.
“No. Quite frankly, I’m not. Are we nearly there?”
“Almost,” said Lottie, sliding her arm through Sophie’s and nudging her forwards. “We’ll get you a hot chocolate, warm you up.”
“I need wine.”
“Wine it is.” Lottie looked back at Sam, who was now patting Richard on the shoulder and saying, “Sorry mate.” But when he met her eyes, she knew he wasn’t, not really. He was just as pleased as she was to see Richard hit the dirt.
8
The village pub was situated on the bank of a fast-flowing, muddy, river. In the summer, it was obscenely picturesque. But at this time of year, it looked a little like it had been abandoned. From the outside, it was
impossible to tell whether it would be open or not. But Lottie knew it would be.
Pausing outside the door, she gestured to everyone’s feet and started to unlace her walking boots. “Shoes off, guys.”
“Seriously?” Sophie raised her eyebrows and sighed.
Lottie nodded, then wiped Duke’s paws with a spotty tea-towel that was hung on a hook beside the door.
Inside, the pub was low-ceilinged, dark, and smelled like a mixture of fusty antiques and wood smoke. At each end of the room, a fire was burning, and the only people present were the smattering of locals sitting at the bar.
“Afternoon gents,” Richard said to the men at the bar as he took out his wallet and his Platinum American Express card. Looking back at the others, he waved it at them. “What are we all having?”
From behind the bar, the landlady – who Lottie knew was in her late seventies but who looked at least ninety-nine – laughed a gruff rattle of a laugh and reached out to pat Richard’s hand. “Sorry dear, cash only.”
Richard’s mouth fell open a little. “You don’t take cards?”
“I’m afraid not, dear. But if you don’t have any cash, I can open you up a tab and you can drop by the money some other time.”
Richard looked at Lottie and shook his head disbelievingly at her.
“It’s okay Marge,” Lottie said, stepping out from behind Sam and reaching for her wallet. “I’ve got some.”
“Oh, Charlotte, dear, I didn’t see you there. This gentleman’s a friend of yours?”
“Yes, we’re old university friends.”
Marge smiled and clapped her hands. “Oh how delightful. So, what can I get you?”
Sophie ordered wine for Sophie and Richard, a beer for Sam, and a shandy for herself. Then retreated with the others to a scruffy leather sofa by the fire.
Finally seated, Sophie rubbed at her feet and shrugged herself out of her filthy jacket. Richard looked back towards the bar and grimaced. “That old woman’s nuts. Opening tabs for strangers? Pop by tomorrow and pay? I’m amazed she’s still in business.”
“I think it’s nice,” Sam said, sipping his beer and coming away with a frothy top lip. “That some places, at least, are still trusting.”
“In London, she’d be drunk out of house and home within a week.” Richard was speaking far too loudly and it was making Lottie shift uncomfortably in her seat.
“Absolutely,” Sophie agreed, wincing as she sniffed at her wine glass and then putting it back down on the table. “I’m not sure I can drink that,” she muttered to Richard.
“You nearly ready then, Lottie?” A voice floated over from the bar and Lottie looked up. Frank, a farmer who lived not far from her cottage, raised his beer glass at her and smiled from beneath his wiry grey beard. “You must be getting excited now.”
Feeling the others frowning at her, Lottie quickly explained. “I’m taking part in a small exhibition at the local Arts Centre. It’s nothing really.”
Pfft. Frank loudly tutted at her. “Nothing! She’s being modest. It’s her exhibition. Very proud of her, we are. The Larkwood Centre’s dedicating a whole floor to her pictures. We’re all going for the opening, aren’t we Marge?”
Marge smiled and brushed at her fluffy white sweater. “We are, indeed. Got myself a new frock and everything, Lottie.”
Lottie’s chest tugged with pride. Marge had been one of her grandmother’s closest friends, and she knew this was exactly how her gran would have behaved if she’d still been here – excited, proud, over the top.
“Sounds like quite the event,” Richard snarked, rolling his eyes. Luckily, his back was facing the bar, so no one saw, but Lottie’s stomach tightened at the tone in his voice.
“I’m really excited, actually. It’s a lovely thing for them to do.”
“Highlight of your career so far?” Richard was drumming his fingers on the side of his wine glass, his shoeless right foot balancing on his left knee.
Lowering her voice and looking away from Marge and Frank, Lottie leaned in and said, slowly, “Actually, yes. It’s an honour.”
“It’s great that they’re so proud of you,” Sam nudged.
“Well, of course they are. What else have they got to be proud of around here? Mud and grass and a pokey old pub that looks like it could fall down at any minute?”
For a moment, Lottie didn’t say anything. She sucked a breath of air past her front teeth and counted to five. And then she stood up, put her glass down on the table, and walked out.
With Duke at her heels, she marched back across the fields at a pace that made her cheeks flush and her breath catch in her chest.
Finally home, she slammed the door closed behind her and leaned against it, fighting back the angry hot tears that were threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.
She was still leaning against the door when someone knocked on it.
“Lottie?”
She opened it to find Sam, out of puff, bobble hat in hand, leaning against the door frame. “I tried to catch up with you.”
Lottie looked sideways, behind him.
“The others stayed.”
“Really?” After all their complaining, they’d decided to stay?
“Well, they said something about trying to call a cab to get into Cambridge but…”
Lottie shook her head and stood back to let Sam inside. “I shouldn’t have taken them there. I knew they weren’t dressed for it. I was showing off.” She tutted at herself and retreated to the kitchen to boil the kettle.
Sam hung up his coat and nudged up beside her, reaching out to warm his hands on the heat of the range cooker. “No, you weren’t. You were showing us the places you love.”
“It’s one thing making fun of me. But the people around here are wonderful. They’ve been so kind to me since I moved here, so welcoming. I couldn’t sit there and listen to him talk about them like that.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Sam’s hand moved, as if he was about to reach out and weave his fingers around Lottie’s. But then he shoved it back into his pocket and said, “You go sit down, I’ll make tea.”
While Sam boiled the kettle, Lottie lit the fire in the lounge. She’d only just got it to take, when all the electrics in the house made a sheeop noise, and the lights went out.
Sam appeared in the doorway, illuminated by the soft orange glow of the fire. Outside, it was almost dark.
“We always have power cuts at this time of year.” Lottie reached out and took the mug he was offering her. “It’ll be back on soon.”
Sam sat down at the other end of the couch and rested his arm on the back of it. “Three sugars,” he said, motioning to Lottie’s tea.
Lottie chuckled. “I thought I’d kept that hidden.”
“I’m very observant.”
For a moment, Lottie tapped her mug with her fingernails and watched the flames. “Do you think they’ll be gone a while?”
“I hope so,” Sam said, quickly, blinking as if he’d startled himself by saying it.
“Me too.” Lottie leaned back into the cushions and sipped her drink. “It’s nice to have the chance to talk.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually,” Sam sat up a little straighter and looked around the room. “What made you move here? It’s lovely. But… remote.”
Lottie smiled as Duke flopped down on the floor in front of the fire. “My grandmother passed away and left it to my parents. They couldn’t afford to keep it, but I was doing okay with my illustration work and starting to think about buying a place, so they sold it to me.”
“And you don’t mind being so far away from people?”
“Trust me, Sam, there’s more of a sense of community out here than there is in your fancy apartment block.” Her words came out a little clipped and defensive, so she tried to shrug and soften her voice. “I love it here. I always have. And, yeah, I suppose it gets a little lonely sometimes when you’re the youngest person within a five-mile radius. But I can’
t imagine living anywhere else. And I don’t need people, really. I have Duke.”
“Everyone needs people.” Sam tilted his head slightly and rested his mug on the coffee table. “But I certainly get the appeal. Everything in London feels so fast these days. Sometimes I just feel like I need to go somewhere and breathe.”
“Well, you can visit whenever you like.” The words escaped her lips before she had the chance to stop them.
Sam smiled and looked down at his hands. “Maybe I could come back for your art show? I’d love to see it.” When he looked up, Lottie was certain that he was blushing.
“That would be lovely.” Her chest was feeling tight and tingly, and she tapped her fingers nervously on her thigh. Narrowing her eyes a little, she moved slightly closer and said, “Why didn’t we ever talk like this when we were roommates?”
Sam shrugged and scraped his fingers through his hair. There was the tiniest hint of grey at his temples now, and his face was a little fuller, but he still had the same sparkling eyes he’d always had. “I guess I was too shy. But I’m all grown up now.”
“A grown-up millionaire,” Lottie teased. “If anyone should be confident, it’s you.”
“I’m not a millionaire,” Sam shook his head. “Not really.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I feel like a bit of a fraud, actually.” Sam rested his arm on the back of the couch and drummed his fingers up and down. “Sure, my job pays well, very well. But the rest just came from a lucky investment. It was a complete accident.”
“Well, I think I’m glad that you’re a fraud.” Lottie smiled. “You’re not like the rest of the wealthy people I’ve met. You’re…”
“Dull?”
“I was going to say ‘normal’.”
“Well, I’m not sure wealth really suits me, to be honest.”
“Money doesn’t turn you on?” Lottie winced at her phrasing but tried to cover it by saying. “I mean, so why not do something else then? You could do anything.”
The True Love Travels Series Box Set Page 58