The Sweetness of Liberty James (28 page)

She thought briefly of taking J-T along to the forge as chaperone, but knew that in the face of such beauty he would be no help at all, and would no doubt flirt uncontrollably himself.

‘Well, hello there, stranger!'

Liberty's eyes flew open, knowing immediately who was standing in front of her, and then, dammit, she blushed again, imagining he knew she had been thinking of him. Determined
not to stammer and stutter, Liberty said shortly, ‘I thought you were staying in London?'

‘Only if you were, my dear girl.' Bizarrely, Fred was now wearing a shirt and tie and was holding a box labelled Thomas Pink. When she asked him to sit down, he replied that he didn't have a first-class ticket, but he sat anyway.

‘Why didn't you explain that you should have been in first class this morning?' he asked.

Liberty was admiring the way the pale green and blue checks of his shirt brought out the turquoise of his eyes. His hair had been slicked back, taming the dark waves, and he smelled of expensive aftershave.

‘Why did you wear a T-shirt and jeans to town, and yet you are all dressed up now?' she asked. ‘Most people would do it the other way round.'

‘Well, you never know who you might bump into and have to impress on a journey,' he said and laughed, then ordered two gin and tonics from the trolley lady, together with two bags of crisps.

Liberty gladly slurped the warm drink but haughtily exclaimed, ‘How can you eat such muck?' as he tore open a bag of prawn cocktail flavoured crisps.

‘Loved them since I was a kid at school. Actually, it was the only thing I did love about school, and after years of working to be a jockey I still have a soft spot for them,' he replied, demolishing the last crumb and starting on the second bag.

He's even beautiful when he smells of those disgusting crisps
, thought Liberty after a second gin.

‘So, will you come round this evening and take a look at some of my ideas? My dentist was very late so I had lots of time for sketching.'

‘Why see a dentist in town?' she asked.

‘Another legacy from riding. Most of my real teeth were knocked out in the fall, so I have to see a top man, otherwise I'd end up with dentures dropping out and a mouth like a horse's.'
As he whipped back his head and roared with laughter he displayed what looked like a perfect set of straight white teeth. Liberty didn't even pick up on his arrogance and vanity. She just basked in his beauty.

‘Why can't I see your sketches now?'

‘I've only drawn them in my small book. Give me an hour and I'll have them in ink on a large pad. Anyway, what's wrong with you coming back to my place? We've plenty more to talk about.' And he gave her a deep stare.

When Liberty arrived home, all in a fluster, Deirdre asked her whatever the matter was.

‘I'm going to see some sketches of my café sign, and I have nothing to wear,' she replied.

As Deirdre watched her daughter bending further into her wardrobe, bottom sticking out, flinging clothes at Dijon who lay on the floor nearby, she said, ‘Mm, the divine Fred, I assume. Enjoy.' She crept downstairs to confide in J-T, and although neither wanted Liberty to be hurt, they agreed it would be good for her to have some fun. J-T choked on his vodka while being shown a photo in the village newsletter advertising The Blacksmith, one of Fred himself, stripped to the waist, hammer in hand, sweat dripping down his – was that oiled? – torso.

‘I am definitely going with her,' said J-T excitedly. ‘I have just got to see that in the flesh!'

‘No, you are not!' said Liberty, coming into the kitchen wearing tight black trousers, long black boots, black cashmere polo neck, her hair scraped back.

‘Are you going to burgle him or seduce him?' shouted J-T as she walked to the door.

‘Piss off, I just don't want to look obvious,' was her reply.

‘How ambiguous can obvious be?' said Deirdre, but she and J-T were both delighted that Liberty was up to flirting again.

She was surprised, as she walked round the green to The Blacksmith, that she could see no lights shining from Fred's windows, but suddenly the door of the pub flew open and out
came the man himself carrying four bottles of wine under his arms.

‘Sorry,' he called to her, ‘had to stop and have a drink. Realised I didn't have anything to offer you at the cottage.' He was struggling to open the door, so Liberty took the bottles from under his right arm, not sure whether she was pleased he had bothered or appalled that she might have to drink all four before having the courage to kiss a new man – or was that presumptuous?

Fred put on some lights. The Rayburn warmed the small, messy kitchen.

‘Sorry,' he said again, ‘but Sarah doesn't do until Monday.' He seemed uncomfortable, completely different from the overconfident young man she had met previously; he was repeatedly pushing his strong hands through his thick hair, and shifting from one foot to the other, as though nervous in his own home.

God
, she thought,
and it's only Tuesday
. She looked round at the pile of dirty crockery and empty tins littering the work surfaces. He wiped a chair and told her to sit while he poured some drinks. Liberty remained standing and surprised him by saying, ‘I'd really like to see the forge.' Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he reverted to his old twinkling self.

‘It may be a little chilly – the fire's out – but I would love for you to see it.' Helping her back into her coat, and carrying her glass of wine, he led her outside.

They had to walk through his courtyard garden filled with pots of dead plants, a small rickety table with an overflowing ashtray as its only decor, all well lit by an unflattering security light. Built into one wall of the courtyard was a set of solid and imposing metal gates that Fred set about unlocking, and upon opening revealed the barn that contained the forge, fronted by an immaculate brick-paved terrace. There were several beautiful old oak barrels filled with winter pansies and rosemary. They stood guard proudly at either side of the barn doors, and beside each was a neat pile of discarded horseshoes and an exquisite
sign swinging off an iron bar, of a blacksmith shoeing a shire horse.

‘I guess that is the sort of thing you will be wanting,' said Fred, his Irish accent warming her chilly bones as he noticed her gaze at the sign, ‘but without the horse or the blacksmith – unless you want to include me as a fixture . . .' Liberty let this slide, but she blushed into her pashmina.

The interior of the barn was immaculate. All the tools hung neatly from a forged pole, all ash from the fire was tidily swept and examples of his work – hanging baskets, plant supports and fire irons – stood along the walls and hung from the giant beams.

Her appreciation of the pride he took in his work must have been obvious from her expression, for he said, in a serious voice, ‘This is where I spend most of my time. I'm not house-proud, but I am very, very forge-proud.' Taking a long drink from his can of beer he told her he loved what he did and hoped she would be pleased with any work she commissioned from him.

They were now, despite the residual heat from the fire, freezing, and he suggested they went back indoors.

‘Not exactly what you are used to,' he said, looking gloomily around.

‘No, but much impressed by your forge,' replied Liberty sincerely, ‘and it doesn't matter in the slightest, so now let's look at your etchings!'

This broke the ice, and they both burst out laughing. The drawings were surprisingly excellent. Much more detailed than Liberty had imagined; in fact, she had had her doubts that he had done any at all, and had thought this was simply a ruse to lure her into his cottage. Fred pulled up a chair, perhaps unnecessarily close, and went through them. Some were just a name in block print hanging from a pole.

‘I've called it The Old Butcher's, as I didn't know if you were going to change to Liberteas? But I have to agree with your friend, it doesn't exactly sound good for a café.'

‘No, but it'll do until I decide, and you seem to have come up with lovely ideas.'

The drawings had a narrow black border. There was one with the outline of a loaf of bread and wine glasses. Another had a sheaf of corn. The final one, which Liberty knew at once was the one she wanted, was a simple knife and fork crossed over a spoon in the centre of a broad black border, with the name hung independently beneath them so it would swing separately.

‘That's it!' she exclaimed delightedly. ‘Simple, but with style. And having seen your hanging baskets, can you make four for me, with brackets for the wall hangings? And if the brackets could have the cutlery outline, could I include them somehow in the logo?'

‘Logo, hey? That sounds chichi! Yes, of course I can.'

‘And if you don't mind, I will use it on the menus and my website.'

‘What the divil!' he said, reverting to an Irish brogue in his enthusiasm, ‘and do I get the copyright or what?'

She ignored this, and explained, ‘I'm planning to open by Easter. No point earlier in the year. Can you get the things done by then?'

‘Well, I am busy, what with it being the hunting season and all, but for you, no problem. You will have to let me know the proper name, obviously, as that is the bit that will take the most time, but I can get on with the rest in any free time I have.'

He rose to fill her glass, but, unsure whether she could stomach the ghastly sweet white, Liberty said she was fine and should be going. Fred looked round from opening another can of beer and asked, ‘What can I do to persuade you to stay?' As he leaned back against the worktop, his beautiful rugged hands spread against the wooden surface, and he smiled at her. Liberty thought: not much! ‘Maybe I could rustle us up some supper and find out more about you. Not often I get a beautiful woman on her own in my kitchen.'

So obvious was his meaning, and so cheesy, anyone else would
have made it seem sleazy, but as Fred was so self-assured and good-looking, he just made spending more time in his company a pleasurable delight.

‘Only if you open the red, as it might be more palatable,' she countered. ‘Do you cook?'

Fred looked hurt. ‘Is the wine that bad? I hadn't been expecting to entertain, and didn't have time to shop, sorry. And to be blunt, I should take you to eat at the pub – dogs have been known to turn their noses up at my food, but I'm excellent company, and I'm sure Dilys won't gossip too much.'

At this, Liberty blanched and said, ‘Why don't you let me knock you up an omelette? You must have some eggs, and maybe some cheese?'

‘Have a look in the fridge. I just need to wash.'

As she rummaged around and started to do some washing up to clear a space, Liberty wondered what on earth he was doing. Housework, perhaps? She found some ham and some eggs and some salt and pepper, a few rather squashy tomatoes, ancient garlic, a couple of onions and a chilli.
Well, gosh, culinary excellence aside, I can do something with these
, she thought, and rustled up some huevos rancheros. She divided it on to two plates, and then realised Fred had still not returned. She called his name, and then went into the sitting room, from which a narrow set of stairs led to the first floor. After calling once more, she thought she could hear his voice upstairs. Curiosity got the better of her, and she mounted the first step.

‘I thanked you for the shirt already,' she heard, ‘but I wasn't going to sit around looking like your toy boy while you shopped, I just got bored. If you want to see me next week let me know, my precious, but I have needs too, and watching you spend your husband's money isn't one of them.'

As she backed down to the sitting room, Liberty thought,
Yuck
. So that was it. Let down by his weekly, was he? So he had decided she could fill in for his regular. What had she been thinking? She put all the supper on to one plate. As she was
drying the other one he came back into the kitchen, smiling broadly and apologising for taking so long freshening up. Liberty smiled just as widely and said she had made his supper, but she was sorry, she had to leave.

‘Thanks again for the designs; I will be in touch with the name.'

So saying, she grabbed her bag and stamped off before he could smile sexily at her again and persuade her to stay.

‘What a bloody idiot I am,' she muttered to herself, frosty air spurting out of her mouth. ‘I must look like a fool.' She let herself into the warm comfort of The Nuttery and was greeted by an excited, snuffling Custard. She picked up the little dog and cuddled her close. ‘You need to go on a diet and I need to get a life,' she said aloud.

‘What on earth was I thinking?' complained Liberty as she plonked herself on the sofa next to Deirdre. ‘Why did you let me go?' Enjoying the comfort of a Diptyque-scented sitting room, a clean glass of decent wine and a dog on her lap, Liberty wondered if she was a little spoilt.

‘Oh, darling,' replied her mother. ‘We thought you needed fun and maybe a bit of slap and tickle. He's such a tart, I know, but a kind one nonetheless. I don't think any of the local girls are unaware of his charms. Just look at how many houses use his signs! They are practically his calling cards!'

‘And your mother is trying to pep up your love life,' added J-T.

‘You don't look right,' said Liberty, noticing for the first time that J-T was holding a handkerchief and twisting it round his fingers. What was going on? ‘Anything the matter between you and Bob?' She was instantly concerned.

‘He is such a workaholic, and now says he can't possibly get away before Christmas, and doesn't want to come to some silly hunt ball anyway. I miss him so very much, and he was going to bring the boys down here too,' wept J-T.

Custard took this to mean she wasn't up to replacing the two
French bulldogs and leapt off Liberty and up on to his lap to remind him how gorgeous she was.