‘And break Gene’s heart even more? I expect Seth’s filled you in on my brother’s marriage? And you must have heard Gene on Saturday night when he stormed out of the restaurant. He thinks his wife’s coming back one day and they’ll carry on where they left off.’
‘Will they though? Is she honestly coming back after all this time?’
Atholl’s chest swelled with a deep breath. He didn’t speak but Beatrice had the bit between her teeth and wasn’t about to give up now.
‘I could help you write a business plan if it’s a bank loan that’s needed. It wouldn’t take me long. That way you could make your old teacher an offer? He might not accept it, but what’s there to lose? Other than this place, which you obviously love.’
Silence again. Beatrice didn’t push him, instead letting him think. Eventually he spoke. ‘No. Gene is right. I can’t fix everything. This is a knot only time will untie.’
‘You’re not even going to try?’
‘You don’t understand, Beatrice. I spend my life fixing things. Fixing up the inn, trying to attract new business, protecting Gene from harm, mainly from himself, and it’smaddeningthat I can’t fix this situation, infuriating, in fact. But I can’t.’ The hint of terseness in Atholl’s voice told her to stop. ‘But, uh… Iamgrateful to you for the offer. It’s the first of its kind. But I manage alone.’
Beatrice didn’t dare risk a return to the stroppiness and tension of their first encounters, so she nodded and let silence fall between them.
Working the willow was beginning to hurt her thumbs so she placed the wreath on the ground beside her and reached into the basket for the spoons and white china dishes Atholl had packed that morning.
Atholl eyed her every now and again over his own wreath, substantial and intricate, so unlike her own smaller, looser efforts, as she unscrewed the lid on the tall jar of honey and attempted to fish out the little buns with a spoon.
The first came out streaming with honey, and the sweetness filled the air as she settled it in the bowl and poured cream over it. This one she passed to Atholl, before repeating the process.
Atholl seemed glad to stop working, even lifting his stool and shifting it over to the door so he could sit in the shade by Beatrice’s side to eat. The buns – sticky Madeira cakes – were, Beatrice noticed, in the shape of fat little hearts.
She took her first bite. ‘Mmm, you must tell Gene these are delicious, and thank him for me. I could attack this whole jarful given a big enough spoon and some alone time.’
She was relieved to see Atholl smiling again, a drop of honey and cream at the edge of his lips. She realised with a jolt of horror that part of her wanted to watch him lick it away but she knew she couldn’t without being all too obvious and, she told herself, this was meant to be a forty somethings’ crafting holiday, not some X-ratedLove Islandrendezvous, so she had better just calm the heck down. She forced her gaze out over the fields behind the willows instead.
‘What’s that sorry-looking field over there? That’s not willow, is it?’ she said with some relief at having found a change of topic.
Atholl followed her line of sight. ‘Ah, that would be Lana’s field. Her lavender.’
Beatrice cocked her head in confusion and shovelled another bite of sweet sticky honey bun into her mouth.
‘Lana is Gene’s wife. He planted the lavender for her as a wedding present.’
Beatrice processed this nugget of information. Eugene Fergusson’s heartbroken brooding made more sense now, being a counterbalance to his romantic gestures and deep love for this Lana, the runaway.
‘She loved it. The plan was, she’d get the field established and she could use the lavender in her baking, and what wasn’t used for the restaurant would go in the still for turning to oil, and that she would sell.’
‘The still?’
‘Aye, a great copper monstrosity Gene bought her. It’s still in its boxes in the storeroom at the inn; they never got round to putting it together before she left.’
‘What went wrong? If you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Wrong? I don’t know. Other than her not loving him enough to stay.’
Beatrice nodded and pressed her lips together. She knew a little about that. Rich’s text appeared again before her eyes and she thought of the van that would be arriving at their house tomorrow to take away the last of his things.
‘She went back to Canada – that’s where Lana was from originally – and Gene has been moping ever since. He’s only really good for the breakfast service since Lana was always out tending the lavender field in the mornings and he doesn’t associate morning service with her. Anyway, lavender seems a lot of work compared to willow. I daren’t touch the stuff for fear of offending him and now the whole field’s gone to weeds. The lavender bushes themselves are leggier than Echo and as dry as bone. I’d take a torch to them if they weren’t so near my willows. I even considered hiring a cultivator to rip them all out and start willows in there… but I daren’t say that to Gene.’
He placed down his empty bowl and set to work cutting a leather hanging strap for his wreath. Beatrice’s mind was working as deftly as Atholl’s hands.
‘Maybe you’ve been going about it the wrong way?’
Atholl tilted his head, but kept his eyes on his work.
‘You’re looking for new solutions when you say you like old-fashioned ways best?’
