Summer of Love (7 page)

Just as she reached him he turned and smiled.

‘You must be Fiona. Robert.’ He leant down and kissed her cheek. ‘How delightful to meet you at last.’

Fiona returned the kiss, liking the feeling of his cheek against hers, his cologne and the brief contact with his crisp, striped shirt. He was better close to than he had been from a distance, but not gorgeous. However, he was pleasant enough and she hadn’t really been looking for ‘gorgeous’, more someone she could do things with.

‘Your photograph doesn’t do you justice,’ he said and Fiona felt instantly reassured. ‘Shall we go in? And the tickets are on me, by the way. Can I take your arm? I’m very old-fashioned in some ways.’

‘Is there anything you’d particularly like to see?’ said Fiona. There were times when being old-fashioned was reassuring.

‘I’m rather partial to cruet-stands,’ said Robert.

The little spark of hope that she might have found someone who could be more than a friend died with these words. There was something very depressing about the words ‘cruet-stands’ that made Fiona think of 1950s seaside boarding houses. Still, she mustn’t judge too hastily. ‘Shall we see if we can find any?’ she said brightly.

‘Unless there’s something you’d rather look at?’

‘Well,’ said Fiona, ‘we’re bound to pass something jolly on the way to the cruet-stands.’

Fiona started to enjoy herself. As they wandered through the halls passing stand upon stand of antiques of all shapes and sizes her eyes were drawn to a silver frame here and a carriage clock there but Robert was determined to look at the cruet-stands first and Fiona was happy to be led.

Rather to her surprise, next to the cruet-stands (which were rather more beautiful in real life than she had expected) were some little place-name holders. She fell on them delightedly. ‘Look at these! Like little pheasants. Just what I need for my dinner party.’

‘You’re having a dinner party?’

Was it her imagination or was there something a little wistful in the way he said this? ‘Yes,’ and before she could stop herself she added, ‘You must come. It’ll be fun.’

‘Oh, dear lady, how kind of you! But I couldn’t possibly intrude.’

‘You wouldn’t be intruding,’ said Fiona, wishing her kind heart would talk to her head sometimes and perhaps get her mouth to stay shut. His protestations had clearly been made out of politeness. She could tell he would be delighted to come. She just hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him yet. ‘You could help me with the wine,’ she added quickly as she took Robert’s arm once more and gently moved them on.

When Sian called her half an hour later on her mobile phone, for a moment Fiona couldn’t remember why she was ringing. She moved away from the stand where Robert was studying some rather lurid statuettes.

‘So, are you OK?’ asked Sian, sounding as if she was bursting with curiosity.

‘Yes, I’m having a lovely time. Why shouldn’t I be OK? Oh – yes. Sorry! No, I’m fine.’ She smiled.

‘Well, I want every detail when you get home, or as soon as it’s convenient,’ Sian added, possibly thinking this might be a bit style-cramping for her friend. ‘I won’t keep you. Have a nice time!’ And she rang off.

Fiona’s nice time continued. Robert was companionable and unthreatening. He did have a penchant for things that Fiona felt were a bit twee and over-decorated, but he was pleasant enough. He took her for a delightful lunch in the orangery of the house.

‘So, tell me about your house,’ said Robert, topping up her glass. ‘I think you said it was quite large …’

‘It’s lovely. A bit of a hotch-potch architecturally, but a lovely family home. I’d be very sad to leave it.’

‘Do you have to?’ Robert asked, as he tucked into his toast and pâté. (Everything in the café was locally produced.)

‘Well, not immediately, but I do think my sons need their inheritance now and not after I’m dead. I don’t think either of them would want to move in. The garden is massive. Although I love it.’

‘I’m very much looking forward to seeing it.’ His hand moved across the table and Fiona instinctively withdrew hers, but then felt a little rude. By now, though, she knew that although Robert was a perfectly nice man, she just didn’t feel a spark. It was better not to encourage any intimate physical contact from now on, except a hand through an arm or something equally innocuous.

‘My garden?’ Fiona smiled. Her garden was out of control and lots of it a wilderness but it was her creation and she loved showing it to people – the right people.

‘Actually, I’m not much of a gardener but I’d love to see the house.’

Although Fiona had ruled out anything more, even the flicker of hope for a friendship developing died an instant death. This was the second time he’d mentioned her house. Was he already envisaging himself sitting by the fire in his slippers with the paper? ‘Oh. Well, it’s no masterpiece but it is a big old family home, with lots of memories.’

‘And lots of space?’

Fiona laughed. ‘Oh yes, that too.’

‘And in a very pleasant part of the world, obviously.’

Fiona regarded Robert over her fork full of chicken salad, wondering if she could detect pound signs in his eyes. Was it more than slippers by the fire he was imagining? she thought wryly. You did hear of men preying on ‘rich’ widows. Then she told herself not to be so silly.

Fiona had said she might pop in at Sian’s house for tea on her way home to give her all the details, and so Sian made a cake. It was partly because Rory was getting tired of digging and wanted to bake. Sian often cooked with him as it was something they could enjoy together. They decided on a coffee sponge and Rory was just decorating it with Smarties when Fiona pulled up outside.

‘I’ll just let Fiona in. Rory, you don’t need to put every single Smartie on there, you know. You could keep some to have after supper.’

‘But it looks better with them all on!’

Sian sighed. With a four-year-old, there were some battles that just weren’t worth fighting. ‘OK, it’s your cake.’

As she walked through the cottage she wondered if she was too soft a mother, and if he did really need a father, and if marrying Richard would be the best thing for her. But as she had this thought several times a week, she didn’t waste too much energy on it. Rory seemed fine; he was no worse behaved than any other children she knew and a lot better than some.

‘Fiona! How did it go? What was he like?’ she said as she opened the front door and ushered Fiona in.

‘Fine. Nice, but not “the one”. Not that I was necessarily looking for that but you know what I mean. Anyway, I found myself inviting him for dinner. I felt sorry for him.’ She sighed. ‘I must stop doing that. It’s such a bad habit.’

Sian laughed. ‘Well, come and have some tea. Rory’s made you a cake. I helped, you’ll be glad to hear.’

‘Hello, Rory! How’s my favourite boy?’ Fiona kissed Rory, who accepted her gesture gracefully. Her mother was the only other person who was allowed to kiss Rory in that extravagant way. Sian was pleased he felt so at ease with Fiona. She felt as if she’d known the older woman for years, not just a few days, and Rory seemed to feel the same.

‘We did cooking,’ Rory said. ‘And I put all the Smarties on even though Mummy said I should save some.’

‘I think it looks brilliant, darling! I can’t wait to have a slice.’ Fiona pulled out a chair, hanging her bag on the back of it. ‘It’s bliss to be somewhere I can be myself again!’

Sian put on the kettle and found mugs. ‘So? Tell all? Rory, go and wash your hands, there’s a love. Then you can cut the cake.’ Rory clambered down off his chair and went to the little downstairs loo.

When Fiona had her tea, Sian settled down for a gossip. Fiona filled her in on her day and then, changing the subject slightly, said, ‘I do get stressed about dinner parties, but I sort of like the stress. It’s part of it.’

Rory was busy picking the Smarties off his bit of cake. Once he was absorbed in something he wouldn’t even notice a beloved train go by. ‘So, who else are you inviting?’ Sian asked, sipping her tea.

‘Various people, including the Francombes, some old friends I have who are so brilliant at entertaining that they hire themselves out as a prize, to raise money.’

‘Really! How does that work?’ said Sian, intrigued.

‘They’re a prize for a promise auction. People pay to have dinner with them. They even produced a little booklet – again to raise money – on how to entertain.’

Sian was suitably astounded. ‘These are people I must meet. They sound amazing.’

‘And you shall meet them! I’ll even show you their booklet.’

‘You bought one?’

‘Of course. It was a very good cause. Besides, I was dying of curiosity. I wanted to see if they used me as an example of how not to do it. I was slightly disappointed that they didn’t.’

‘So what do they say you should do?’

‘Mad things like, “Sit married couples together so they can finish each other’s anecdotes.”’ She made a gesture. ‘And you can always tell the couples who have quarrelled on the journey over who then have to sit next to each other.’ She paused, then went on. ‘They hand-paint place cards – which reminds me, I bought some little holders. I’ve got quite a lot already but I couldn’t resist them.’ After much scrabbling she produced them from the bottom of her handbag.

‘They’re pheasants,’ said Rory, having finished his cake and interested now there was something worth looking at.

‘Yes. You’re very clever to recognise them.’

‘I had a book with them in,’ he explained.

‘I could hand-paint place cards if you like,’ said Sian. ‘I want to do everything I can to help.’

‘There’ll be plenty for you to do, don’t worry. It’s just a shame Richard is going to be away.’

‘Yes, and Rory is going to be staying with Annabelle, aren’t you, poppet?’

‘But I could help in the morning if you want, Fona,’ he said seriously, possibly suspecting he was missing out on some fun.

‘Actually, Rory, I’d love it if
you
painted the name places. Mummy can do the boring peeling and chopping instead.’

‘Oh yes, I like painting! Shall I get some paper now?’

‘You could do, darling.’ As he rushed away, Fiona mouthed to Sian, ‘Sweet!’

‘He’s quite good actually,’ said Sian.

‘Takes after his mother, obviously.’

‘So how will you explain your internet friend to everyone? Presumably you don’t want people to know where he came from.’

Fiona was appalled. ‘Good God no! People would fall in the pudding from shock. Heavens, I hadn’t thought about that.’ She paused. ‘I know, I’ll say he’s an old friend of my husband’s. Robert will understand. He’s very nice …’

Another, less pleasant thought occurred to her. ‘I feel I should warn you, I’ve invited Melissa’s parents and felt I had to invite her too.’ Sian had told Fiona about Melissa’s visit and knew how she felt about her.

Sian hesitated for a second. ‘You must invite who you want. And maybe it would be good for us to meet socially. “Know thine enemy” and all that.’

‘And you might become friends. Her parents are very nice.’ Fiona had never really liked Melissa but as she could never think of a good reason why not, it was possible there was nothing wrong with her at all.

‘I look forward to meeting them, too.’

Fiona got up, wiping her sticky fingers on the piece of kitchen towel Sian had provided. ‘I’d better get back. So you and Rory will come down that morning?’

‘Of course. Don’t forget we agreed I was going to help clean out the barn before the dinner. Rory and I will come and do that, then I’ll pop him over to Annabelle’s in the afternoon and stay to help with the cooking.’

‘Brilliant! I’m quite looking forward to it now. It’s much more fun doing things as a team.’

Chapter Five

On the morning of Fiona’s dinner party the weather looked beautiful. A faint mist lay over the garden, the dew sparkled in the dawning sun and Tomasz Schafernaker had been optimistic when he’d made his forecast that morning. Alas, he had also been fairly vague and as Fiona was never quite sure where she lived, meteorologically speaking, she wasn’t quite sure if the ‘band of rain coming in towards the end of the day’ would land on her or not. She’d just have to hope the gods were looking down on her kindly.

Her desire to have her dinner party in the conservatory with drinks outside overcame caution. Any doubts she might have had about dragging the sofas and chairs out on to the paved area outside the conservatory when they might be rained on were subsumed by the desire to have a party that was beautiful and different. Her passion for candles, tea lights in paper bags and fairy lights wouldn’t listen to thoughts of potential showers.

Sian and Rory were coming over soon to help her. She’d got suitable paper for Rory to paint place names on. She was just looking at her menu, wondering what to start on first, when there was a knock on the door.

She glanced at her watch. Just past nine. She wasn’t expecting anyone except Sian and she’d come round the back way. Hoping it was a delivery and not a time-consuming caller she wiped her hands on her apron and went to answer it.

It was someone she recognised but only after he had smiled and said his name. It was the man from the bookshop.