‘Would you like me to pop out and fetch some?’ he offered, thinking she might want some time alone to read the letter.
‘Only if you want tea,’ she replied absently, her eyes on the letter. ‘There’s creamer for coffee. Or wine. I’m deffo having wine.’ She blew out her cheeks and waved the letter. ‘I’ve got a date for my meeting with HR.’
‘When?’
‘Two weeks Friday.’ She threw it onto the worktop and opened the fridge. Ashton saw there wasn’t a lot in there, but there were two bottles of red. ‘The glasses are in that cupboard,’ she said, jerking her chin as she unscrewed the top of one of them.
He took two out and set them down. ‘Isn’t it good news that you have a date?’
She gulped her wine, drinking half of it in one go. ‘I’m scared.’
‘I expect you are. I would be, too. The prospect of being sacked can’t be pleasant, but at least you’ll know one way or the other. And from what Anita said,youprobably won’t be sacked, buthemight. You’ll be back at your desk in no time.’
Another gulp. Her glass was nearly empty.
Then Carla’s chin wobbled, and her eyes filled with tears.
Ashton put down his drink and held out his arms. He couldn’t do anything about her job situation, but he could give her his moral support. A cuddle mightn’t make anything better, but it certainly wouldn’t make it worse.
He held her for a long time, and the longer he held her the more reluctant he was to let her go. It felt so natural, so right to have her in his arms, her cheek against his shoulder, his face in her hair, and at that moment, Ashton realised he was in danger of losing his heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dulcie was in the dining room on a call with a customer when Carla walked into the farmhouse the following morning. As she headed towards the stairs, her friend beckoned her over, then held up an index finger to signify that she wouldn’t be long.
Carla sank into a chair while she waited, her thoughts flicking back to last night. No doubt Dulcie would give her the Spanish Inquisition treatment as soon as she got off the phone.
Dulcie’s attention was on the screen but when she’d finished speaking to the customer, she tore off her headset and swivelled around in her seat. ‘Did you spend the night together?’ she demanded, her face alight with curiosity.
‘Yes.’
‘I knew it!’ Dulcie punched the air. ‘I said as much to Otto after you messaged me to say you were staying at yours. Thanks for that, by the way – I’d have been worried.’ She fixed Carla with a piercing look. ‘Did you get much sleep?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘Ooh. He looks like he might be a considerate lover. Was he?’
Carla smiled sweetly. ‘I’ve no idea.’ Then she burst out laughing at Dulcie’s confusion. ‘We spent the night at my place,’ she confirmed, ‘but not in the same bed. Ashton slept in the spare room.’ She giggled. ‘Your face was a picture.’
‘But what about the ‘not a lot of sleep’ thing?’
‘I didn’t sleep well, but that had nothing to do with Ashton,’ she fibbed, as her restlessness having been mostly because of him. Some of it had been due to worry over the forthcoming meeting with HR, mulling over the contents of the folder (there had even been a photo of Yale and Anita kissing, which was pure gold) and a feeling of complete and utter dislocation from her life in Birmingham.
She had spent half the night wondering how much she would miss Picklewick (and Ashton,especially Ashton) and fearing she would miss it far more than was good for her. What she couldn’t decide was whether her reluctance to go home to Birmingham was the result of the usual post-holiday dismay at returning to real life that most people experienced, or whether there was more to it.
As she had lain in bed last night, the room illuminated by streetlights and the subdued noise of the city in the small hours reminding her of the rumbling of a sleeping giant, she had been shocked to discover that she didn’t want this anymore. When she tried to imagine herself slotting back into this house, her job, and the social scene she had previously embraced with enthusiasm, she couldn’t. It felt like a well-loved dress that had been worn all the time, but had now grown shabby and no longer fitted the way it once had.
When she closed her eyes, all she could envisage was the hillside above the farm, with the wind in the grass and the cry ofbirds overhead. All she could feel was the weight of a camera in her hand and the peace in her soul.
Dulcie was gazing at her in concern. ‘How was your meeting? Was it useful?’
‘It certainly was.’ Carla pulled the document wallet from her bag and passed it over.
Dulcie flicked through it. ‘Bloody hell, this is dynamite!’
‘It is.’ She wrinkled her nose.
‘Don’t you think this will be enough?’ Dulcie asked.
