Summer of Love (8 page)

‘James,’ she said. ‘Do come in. I confess I’d completely forgotten you were coming today.’

He hesitated. ‘If there’s a problem, I could easily come back another time.’

‘Oh no – no problem. It’s just I’m having a dinner party this evening and your coming slipped my mind. Come through. Would you like some coffee? I’m about ready for a cup.’

She established James Langley in the library with a large mug of coffee and some home-made biscuits, rejects from the sables she had made to go with the gooseberry fool. She’d offered him a radio for entertainment but he’d declined. The books were more than enough for him; music or background noise would be a distraction.

Back in the kitchen, still feeling guilty for having forgotten he was coming, Fiona set about making chocolate brownies for her third pudding. She knew it was pudding overkill but she suffered badly from ‘hostess anxiety’ and decided she’d worry less if she could feed thirty people instead of the eight she was expecting.

There was a gentle knock on the door and Fiona jumped and dropped her knife on the floor. It was James.

‘Sorry to startle you. I’ve brought back the mug and my plate.’

‘Oh no need to do that.’ She picked up the knife and wiped it on her apron.

‘You’re obviously a very good cook,’ said James, looking round the kitchen at the signs of Fiona’s efforts.

‘Not really. I mean, sometimes it comes off OK, but I’m not reliably good. Not like some people I know – people who are coming!’ She winced and put her knife down of her own accord.

‘I always feel that good cooks aren’t people who can follow a recipe and make it look vaguely like the picture, but those who can make meals out of what’s lying around in the refrigerator.’

‘I can do that, actually. As a wife and mother you have to, most of the time. Are you married?’ She could have bitten her tongue off but she managed to keep her expression bland.

‘Not currently.’ He smiled, apparently not offended by her question.

She nodded, approving of his good sense. ‘Not sure I would go through all that again, to be honest. It takes so long to break a spouse in, don’t you think? And I made such a mistake after my first husband died.’ She paused. ‘Why am I telling you all this? Why did I even ask you if you were married? I am so sorry! I think it’s what people call over-sharing.’

He laughed again. ‘It’s because we were talking about marriage. It made you think about it.’

‘I was talking, you were just being bored but not showing it. More coffee? Anything I can do to make up for the over-share?’

‘No thank you, I’m doing very well.’

‘I’ll make you some lunch later.’

‘No need to do that. I did bring sandwiches.’

‘I’ll be making soup anyway. I’ve got Sian, my young neighbour and her son coming. He’s gorgeous. I’d marry him in a giddy minute.’

‘And how old is he?’

‘Four. Sad, isn’t it?’

‘Well, there’s a danger that someone else might snap you up while you were waiting for him.’

Fiona chuckled. ‘I doubt it, somehow.’

He smiled at her. ‘I’d better get back to work.’

‘And so should I.’

They exchanged looks for a second and Fiona realised she’d enjoyed chatting to him. He didn’t seem that keen to rush back to the library either. ‘Is it very boring, sorting out old books?’

‘No. It’s fascinating and I love it. But I mustn’t waste any more of your time.’

‘I’ll tell you when the soup is ready.’

Just as James turned to leave, Sian and Rory entered the kitchen.

‘I knocked and called but you didn’t answer, so we just came in.’ Sian looked at Fiona and then James. ‘I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.’

‘No, no, not at all. I was expecting you.’ She smiled and said, ‘This is James – James Langley, bookseller.’

‘Hi,’ said Sian, shaking his hand and adding, ‘Are you looking for first editions of James Bond with their dust jackets?’

James laughed. ‘No. I don’t think there’s anything like that here. But there are many other treasures.’ He turned to Fiona and said, ‘Would you mind if I used the desk? For my record-keeping?’

‘Use anything you think you need, of course!’ said Fiona. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like another coffee? The soup will be a little while yet.’

‘Don’t make soup specially!’ said Sian. ‘You’ve got enough to do. Rory and I have brought some pasties we made. They’ll be plenty for lunch.’ She looked at James. ‘And for you too, if you’d like.’

‘I brought sandwiches,’ James said to Sian. ‘But a homemade pasty would be far nicer.’

Sian chuckled. ‘Actually, you don’t know that. Rory helped with them quite a lot.’

‘Ah, the man Mrs Matcham would marry in a giddy minute,’ he said.

Fiona laughed. ‘That’s right! And do call me Fiona. Please. Otherwise I’ll have to revert to calling you Mr Langley, and you’ve been James in my head for a while now.’

A flicker of emotion crossed James Langley’s face and Fiona suddenly realised she’d said something that sounded significant. ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ she said quickly, ‘to keep you going until lunchtime.’

‘Well, I’ll just settle Rory with some toys and I’ll meet you at the barn, Fiona.’ Sian moved towards the door. ‘Don’t be long.’

Chapter Six

When Fiona caught up with Sian at the barn door, wearing a determined expression, she suddenly felt a bit weak.

‘Do we have to do it today? I know it was my idea but I can’t believe I suggested it on the same way as a dinner party.’

‘Well, you said you wanted it at least started before the dinner party. Why don’t we just do a bit this morning and then this afternoon we’ll concentrate on the house and the food?’

Fiona realised she wasn’t going to be able to get out of it and she was quite well ahead with her menu already. ‘OK, I’ll just find my boiler suit.’

‘Boiler suit, Fiona?’

‘It was my husband’s and I can still fit into it. It’s also very warm, and has had so much paint splattered on it, it’s practically waterproof.’

‘Get it on, then!’

‘And I’ll find some gloves. I’ve got loads of pairs.’

Soon the two women had the barn doors open and were staring at the piles of furniture that confronted them.

‘OK,’ said Sian. ‘We need to sort. A keep, sell, paint, chuck—’

‘Or burn.’

‘—areas,’ Sian finished, laughing.

‘Right!’ said Fiona, trying to sound decisive, but not moving.

Sian glanced at her friend and saw she was frozen in indecision. She picked up a table that turned out to be a nest of tables. ‘Keep?’

Fiona shook her head. ‘You know I hate nests of tables.’

‘Well, sell them.’

‘Who on earth would want them? And how would I sell them anyway?’

‘Just put everything you want to sell in a corner and get the local auction house along. They’ll at least get rid of it. If it’s got woodworm or anything, we can have a massive bonfire.’

‘Oh yes! That sounds fun.’ Fiona sighed. ‘I’d probably be happy to burn all of it really.’

‘Not at all!’ Sian was horrified. ‘You just don’t know what’s here, that’s the trouble.’ She paused. ‘Tell you what, if you put the kettle on again, I’ll make a start. It won’t be so hard to make decisions when it’s not all piled in a heap like this.’

Fiona was longer than she meant to be as she had to get the brownies in the oven. Eventually she went out.

Sian had got on well. ‘Over there are nice pieces you might want to keep, if you don’t sell them. Several of them would be good for me to paint but then they’d have to stay here until I did it.

‘Now, what about those.’ She indicated a fumed-oak dressing table with too-small drawers and a very spotted mirror and matching wardrobe.

‘Burn or sell,’ Fiona asked. ‘Ghastly.’

‘OK. But what about this?’

Right at the back, still partially concealed by odds and ends of furniture, was the most enormous cupboard.

‘It’s huge,’ said Fiona. ‘No one would want it. I’m not sure what it is, even.’

‘I think it’s wonderful!’ said Sian.

Fiona turned to her, shocked. ‘You do? Why?’

‘It’s a horrid dark, gloomy thing now,’ she said, ‘but imagine it a sort of distressed Scandinavian grey, with a red undercoat. Put it at the end of a huge kitchen. It would be an armoire.’

‘I’m never sure what that means …’

‘Oh, I think it’s a posh cupboard, but this is lovely! It would swallow up an entire kitchen and have room for seconds.’

‘Well, you have it, darling. I don’t want it.’

‘Fiona! Just imagine it finished.’

Fiona couldn’t picture it, she just saw a monster, over-powering everything and probably full of spiders. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t. But seriously, I’m more than happy for you to have it, to do what you like with.’

Sian considered, hands on hips. ‘The trouble is, I’d have to work on it here. We couldn’t move it ourselves and the reason I need a barn is to work on pieces like that. I couldn’t do it at home.’

‘That’s all right. We’ll get rid of everything we can, and anything we can’t shift, you can paint.’ Suddenly the task didn’t seem so enormous now the first bit had been done.

They were both filthy and hot by the time they declared they’d done all they could. As well as the armoire, Fiona had given Sian a chest of drawers to work her magic on. For her part, Sian had insisted Fiona choose something she’d like painted for herself, and she’d found a small nursing chair which would be very pretty in her bathroom.

When they’d eaten pasties and sandwiches for lunch, Fiona turned her attention to her house and the imminent dinner party. Sian, refreshed, took Rory to Annabelle’s.

*

A few hours later, James found Fiona in the kitchen dithering between wrapping little bundles of beans in strips of leek so she could steam them, or using streaky bacon and frying them. The first version would be fancier – and healthier – but she knew the bacon would add flavour and be delicious.

‘Anything I can do?’ he said. ‘You sighed.’

She turned to him. ‘Did I? It’s probably because I can’t make up my mind about these wretched beans and my wine waiter is going to be late.’

‘Your wine waiter? That does sound grand.’

‘He’s not really a wine waiter, just a friend who was going to choose some wine for me from the cellar.’

‘That sounds a very pleasant task. Can I do it? I’m not a bean expert.’

‘Are you a wine expert?’

‘Not in a professional way. I’d call myself more of an enthusiastic amateur.’ He smiled and Fiona warmed to him yet more. He had a calming aura.

She returned his smile. ‘That’ll do for me. But you have to come to the dinner party. Otherwise I can’t let you help.’ She paused. ‘Is that emotional blackmail?’

James considered. ‘Possibly, but in a good way. And I’m very happy to accept.’

‘That’s such a relief. I’ll show you to the cellar. There is a lot of wine down there. It needs drinking.’

‘Would you like all the same wine? Or different ones?’

‘Just one sort of each colour, I think. But nothing too strong. I think there’s some Côtes du Rhône.’

‘I’ll find something. I think I know what’s needed now.’

‘The champagne is already in the fridge. I decided against cocktails. They’re no fun unless they’re incredibly strong and that can end up being a bit antisocial,’ she said a little hesitantly.

‘Good choice,’ said James, possibly sensing that Fiona was wondering if she should chop a mountain of mint for mojitos, in case.

‘Will the champagne be too cold, do you think?’ Fiona was glad about the mint really. She did have enough to do without that, and she had insisted Sian go home after a long stint of helpful peeling and chopping and moving furniture out of the conservatory.

‘I don’t think you should worry about any of these things. After all, you’ll take it out of the fridge to take into the garden, won’t you?’

‘Of course. I wish I could stop fussing.’

‘You’re not fussing, you’re just preparing. Now, the wine?’

Fiona exhaled, allowing herself to relax just a little. It wasn’t that she hadn’t given plenty of dinner parties over the years, but for some reason this one was making her unusually strung out. ‘The cellar’s through that door and down some steps. Will you be all right or do you need me to show you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said firmly, disappearing down into the cellar.

‘And I’ll answer the door if anyone comes early,’ said Sian who had just reappeared, showered and changed and looking fresh and pretty in a summer frock. She obviously sensed that Fiona was panicking. She took the apron from her and propelled her towards the door. ‘Now, go and get dressed!’

Fiona got downstairs on the stroke of half past seven.

‘You look amazing!’ said Sian, kissing her. ‘Really lovely! No one would ever know you’d spent all day slaving over a hot stove and moving furniture.’

‘I totally agree,’ said James, smiling. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Sian let me use the bathroom to freshen up a little.’

‘No, of course I don’t mind!’ said Fiona, feeling expansive and generous. ‘And if you want something different to put on, my son has some shirts here. Some of them are quite wearable.’ She smiled. ‘In fact, some of them are still in their packets. I’m always buying him clothes. He says, “Thanks, Mum, they’re great,” and never opens them. You might feel the same way about them, of course.’