A Vintage Wedding (28 page)

He was in the kitchen putting the lid back on a casserole. Rachel decided if she’d arrived two seconds earlier she’d have seen him tasting it with the same spoon he was stirring with. She also decided not to dwell on it.

‘Hello!’ she said.

He turned and smiled. ‘Hey. Look at you. You look wonderful.’ Then he frowned. ‘Forget I said that. I promised myself I wouldn’t say or do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. But I will just add: I always knew I wanted to see you a bit more rumpled.’

It was very hard to know how to take all this. ‘I’m not rumpled, I’m clean.’

‘And you smell delicious.’

‘I smell of very expensive aftershave.’

He laughed. ‘Mum gave me that. She said she was fed up with me smelling of creosote and old buildings.’

‘I can see her point.’

‘Here, have this.’ He handed her a vast glass of red wine and put his hand on her shoulder to usher her out of the room into the hallway. ‘Go and make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring it through when it’s ready. Supper on our knees in front of the fire.’

Obediently Rachel opened the door indicated and went in.

She stood on the threshold for a few seconds, taking it in. It was warm and fairly dimly lit. The source of the warmth was easy to see: a huge tree root was smouldering in the fire, which had obviously been going for some time. The dimness was because the room appeared to be lit only by candles.

She made her way to the sofa, which was close to the fire, and sat on it. It was covered in sheepskin throws and was very soft. She soon found herself drawing up her feet and settling back. She took a large sip of wine and looked around her.

After a few seconds she realised Raff was a man who took his work home with him. Everything she could see seemed to have come from his reclamation yard, but nothing seemed perfect. The huge fireplace – beautiful pale stone – was cracked and had been repaired with something that didn’t conceal the damage. The fire surround was tiled – Rachel recognised them as William de Morgan – but the tiles were all stuck together like crazy paving. Next to it was a bookcase that was made up of at least three different bits. Neither end matched the other and the shelves seemed to come from somewhere else.

She put down her glass on a table supported by a cherub more at home attached to a church and got up so she could look at everything more closely. It was like finding a book she was longing to read. She wanted to inspect it all.

She heard the door begin to open and fled back to the sofa and picked up her wine so he wouldn’t know she’d been so nosy. As she assumed a position of complete relaxation she realised that absolutely nothing in the room was perfect, matched or themed. She should have found it an absolutely nightmare and yet somehow it was homogenous and worked in the way a patchwork quilt worked.

‘I hope you’re hungry,’ he said, putting down a tray on the cherub table.

Rachel discovered that she was. ‘Starving. That stew smells delicious.’

‘I hope it is. Mum gave me a recipe. It’s been in the oven all day. I realised I was good at cooking quick pastas and things but had missed out on the basics. Now I’ve got a range cooker I can let things cook long and slow.’

The thought that maybe there were other things he did long and slow shot through Rachel’s mind like a dart. Fortunately he wasn’t a mind-reader and need never know.

He handed her a newspaper. ‘Put that on your lap. It’s quite hot.’ When the newspaper was in place he handed her the bowl and a spoon. ‘Dig in. I’ll get the bread.’

As the sofa was quite large and they had to share the table for their wine glasses and bread, Rachel didn’t mind too much having Raff sitting next to her.

Part of her wished that her ex-husband could see her now, so relaxed in spite of so much being wrong. She wondered now if her desperate need for order and tidiness came from her desire to make her wrong marriage be right. Her ex wasn’t a bad man but he wasn’t right for her. She couldn’t make him a better emotional fit so she altered everything she could alter.

Raff had put on some classical music. It wasn’t loud enough to prevent conversation and it added to the atmosphere.

‘More stew?’ said Raff.

‘No thank you, but it was delicious. Did you make the bread?’

He was pleased. ‘Yes I did! Mum always used to make hers but she’s stopped lately, saying she didn’t eat enough to make it worthwhile. So I make it now and give her a loaf. I enjoy it.’

She sipped her wine. ‘And you think she’s really happy to do the food for Helena – Beth’s sister’s – wedding?’

‘Oh yes. She’ll love it. Not too often but now and again she loves to cater for a do. Cheese?’

‘Um – I’d better not …’

‘Oh, go on. Then we can have more wine.’

Rachel smiled. ‘All right then.’ She was happy here, curled up on the sheepskins, looking at the fire, among Raff’s eclectic furnishings; she didn’t want to go to bed just yet.

He came back with a couple of cheeses on a plate and a packet of water biscuits and knives. ‘Do you mind sharing a plate? I’ve run out,’ he said, handing Rachel a knife.

‘Ooh, I think I know someone who can help with that.’ Rachel couldn’t help wondering which lot of plates she’d want him to have.

He laughed. ‘I meant I’ve run out of clean plates. I haven’t washed up for a couple of days.’

‘I’ll do it for you tomorrow,’ said Rachel before she could stop herself.

He shook his head. ‘I suppose I should be impressed that you’re not running off to do it now.’

Rachel was quite surprised herself. ‘I’m not that obsessive, you know.’ Then she wondered why she cared what he thought. And not for the first time. She decided to change the subject. ‘I asked Belinda why she wanted to sort her house out and she told me about making a flat in the house and letting the rest. Does she have a firm plan, do you know?’

‘I think she has but she hasn’t told me directly. I have my suspicions though.’

‘What?’ He looked at her speculatively and Rachel wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. ‘Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. I don’t want to pry.’

‘You’re not prying. I think she would like me to move into the house.’

‘Really? But you’ve got this place. And you’ve obviously worked so hard on it.’

He accepted this compliment with a nod and a grin. ‘I have, but I think she would think I could sell it and spend the money getting her house in order.’

‘I think that’s outrageous,’ said Rachel. ‘Quite unreasonable. Why should you put all your capital into a house you don’t want to live it?’

‘But maybe I do want to live in it, with the right person.’

Rachel didn’t know where to look. ‘Oh, well, it is a lovely house. I just thought – well – I would have thought your independence was important to you.’

‘It is and moving into part of my mother’s house wouldn’t affect that, I assure you.’

Still embarrassed and not sure why, Rachel said, ‘I’m turning my house into a B and B – only occasionally – so we can put up important people we’re doing weddings for.’

‘Oh? Will you like that?’

Rachel nodded. ‘In a way I will. I love the details and it would be a challenge.’ She smiled. ‘Probably very good for me to have strange people in my house from time to time. It’ll make me a better person.’

‘I think you’re just fine as you are.’

Rachel gave him a quick look and then turned her eyes away. His expression was extremely unsettling. ‘Some people consider I’m a bit anal.’

Now he laughed properly, throwing his head back revealing his Adam’s apple, something Rachel found rather attractive.

‘You are anal,’ he said, ‘but also very brave.’

Rachel realised she was blushing. ‘So far it’s only Beth’s mother I’m having.’

‘Still brave. More wine?’

He filled her glass and she didn’t protest.

‘Tell me,’ she said, wanting to divert attention away from her. ‘How did you become the owner of a reclamation yard? I gather it’s not because of any previously unrevealed anal tendencies.’

‘Are you saying my house is untidy?’

‘Not at all, but no one with OCD would have a house like this. Nothing matches, nothing is in sets; it’s a nightmare.’

A flicker of what could have been concern crossed his features. ‘I thought you liked my house? You said nice things about it earlier.’

‘That’s the surprising thing. I love it. It works. But it’s not something I could ever have created myself.’

He laughed. ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

She looked questioningly at him. ‘Why?’

‘I wouldn’t want to think you were uncomfortable, that’s all.’ His smile was noncommittal.

‘So – to get back to my question. The reclamation yard?’

‘It used to belong to my uncle, Mum’s brother. I worked here in the holidays, had a talent for it – but more importantly I hated things to be wasted, especially beautiful things.’

‘And all the things you have here …’ She made a gesture, nearly spilling her wine.

‘They’re the leftovers. The things no one would buy.’

Holding her glass in both hands, she looked at him over the top of it. ‘So, what’s your favourite thing in this room?’

‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

‘No!’ said Rachel hotly, although she knew deep down she hadn’t been entirely disingenuous. ‘I wasn’t asking about animate objects. I was talking about things you’ve collected, chosen to put in here.’ And you know it, she added silently.

He put his head on one side as if he didn’t believe her. ‘Well, if you push me, I think it’s the cherub table.’

‘Why?’

‘I think because it’s a very innocent thing but is a little bit smudged around the edges.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. There’s something very seductive about smudged innocence.’

Just over an hour later Rachel was in bed. She couldn’t believe he had made absolutely no attempt to even kiss her! What was wrong with him? More importantly, what was wrong with her? She’d been sitting on the sofa next to him all evening, practically naked if you overlooked knickers, pyjamas, dressing gown and bedsocks, and he hadn’t made any sort of move on her.

Her indignation – and possibly the wine – made her chuckle. He had said he wouldn’t do anything to make her feel uncomfortable but really, it was possible to take the whole ‘gentlemanly restraint’ a bit too far!

A couple of days after Rachel had been to Belinda’s to sort out china, Beth had asked if they could have a Vintage Weddings meeting. Her mother had been on the phone wanting to discuss catering arrangements. Rachel had said the matter was in hand but couldn’t come to a meeting until now, as she had paid work she had to catch up with.

Now Beth unlocked the doors to the pub for lunchtime opening. As planned, Rachel, Lindy and little Billy came in.

‘Who’d have thought nice girls like you would be so desperate for a drink?’ said Sukey from behind the bar.

‘Do you mind me bringing Billy?’ said Lindy. ‘I couldn’t get childcare.’

‘No problem,’ said Sukey. ‘He’s the customer of the future. There’s a box of toys in that corner, Billy, why don’t you have a rummage?’

While Billy sorted through the box to find a really good car, Sukey went on, ‘Besides, there’s no one else in currently, until the Probus Club get here for lunch. You can have your meeting.’

‘Who are the Probus Club?’ asked Beth. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘They’re a club for retired businessmen,’ said Sukey. ‘They have lunch here once a month.’

‘Oh, OK,’ said Beth.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind Beth chatting to us for a minute? That’s really kind,’ said Rachel. ‘We shouldn’t be long.’

‘Rachel,’ said Sukey, ignoring her gratitude. ‘Did I see Raff drop you off at your house the other morning?’

Rachel looked as if she was considering denying this but instead she just said, ‘Yes. My immersion heater broke down. I had to stay the night with him.’

Beth and Lindy gasped. Not that they were shocked but they were a little surprised.

Sukey went on: ‘So you and Raff …?’

Beth and Lindy looked expectantly at Rachel. Beth wondered how, in Rachel’s mind, Raff had turned from the Demon King into someone you stayed with if you unexpectedly needed a bed for the night.

‘Just friends,’ said Rachel firmly. ‘What does everyone want to drink?’

‘Can I get you a truth drug, Rachel?’ said Beth.

Rachel sighed. ‘I’ll tell you everything you want to know if you just give me a sparkling water with ice and lemon. The drinks are on me or, even better, on Vintage Weddings. This is a meeting and the firm should pay. As long as you’re not after double single malts.’

When Beth had organised drinks, including an orange juice for Billy, Sukey sent them all to sit down.

‘There’s nobody but you here now,’ she said. ‘I can keep an eye on the pies in the oven for the pre-ordered lunch, so you get on with your meeting.’

Beth protested a little before promising to work an extra hour washing up after the lunch, and then they carried their drinks to a table.

‘Why don’t one of you light the fire,’ suggested Sukey, ‘and go and huddle round it for your meeting? It’s freezing in here.’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Rachel enthusiastically.