The old estate car pulled into the farmyard and instinctively Jules retreated behind a planter filled with an extremely tall dahlia with orange dinnerplate-sized flowers.
‘Look who’s here,’ Tasha said, as Erin stepped out. ‘Jules, where have you gone?’
She stepped out feeling doubly foolish.
Erin pressed her hands together.
‘Jules! You look amazing! Look, Dad, Jules is here.’
The driver’s door opened and he stepped out dressed in a crisp white shirt and olive-green chinos.
He smiled half-heartedly, she thought.
‘Hi!’ she said, shyly lifting her hand. ‘I changed my mind. Hope that’s okay?’
‘Of course.’
‘Dad, I’m going to go with Tasha if that’s all right?’ Erin said.
Jules felt a gulf of panic begin to open up inside her. Erin beckoned them all closer and lowered her voice.
‘The thing is, if I’m here Christabel will have to take me. Otherwise, she might decide at the last minute to pull out.’
‘This woman is mega on social media,’ Tasha said. ‘I’m pretty sure Mum will move heaven and earth to be there, but thanks.’
‘Jules, you don’t mind going with Dad, do you?’
She shook her head, thinking she couldn’t look particularly convincing. Lance opened the passenger door for her.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered, as she swivelled into the seat. ‘That feels a bit like a set up. Nothing to do with me, I can assure you.’
He stooped to scoop the hem of her dress up into the car and closed the door. From the way he pressed his lips together she was sure he felt as uncomfortable as she did.
They drove through the lanes in relative silence, Lance occasionally slowing to point something out to her. Jules hadnever felt more self-conscious and he, too, seemed unusually uptight.
‘Tell me about where we’re going,’ she said, after a silence that felt as if it would go on for ever.
‘A big house almost in the middle of the island. The husband works in finance in London and the wife, Gabriella, is an interior designer. She’s been all over the world, had features in national newspapers and glossy magazines plus of course a devoted following on social media. She’s converted this barn in the grounds and wants to showcase local artisans.’
‘Sounds as if it could be very promising for you.’
‘It needs to be,’ he said, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘I met my accountant today and…’
He fell silent as they stopped at a junction.
‘I’m not sure how much longer I can carry on,’ he said.
‘Oh, Lance. I’m sorry. I had absolutely no idea. The car park has always seemed busy when I’ve driven past.’
‘That will be for the tearoom, which is what really keeps us going. When Sarah was alive, she ran that with just a bit of help. Baked most of the cakes herself. Any artistic venture is a risk, a precarious way to make a living, and Covid destroyed so many niche businesses, so many dreams. It nearly finished us. We’d already had to tighten our belts because of buying in cakes and employing more people, which cut into our profits, and now with business rates going up, higher wages and people being a lot more cautious about what they spend their money on…’
He looked momentarily defeated. She wanted to lean across and cover his hand on the steering wheel, do something to comfort him.
‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’
‘The only money I have saved is from Sarah’s life insurance. It isn’t much and I really wanted to ringfence that for the children.’
‘That’s laudable.’
