‘We’ve been away from the cottage for about thirty minutes and she’s already got an injury,’ says Anis accusingly.
‘Can you put pressure on it?’ James asks, looking genuinely worried.
And then it dawns on me. They’re over-concerned because if I’ve injured myself, I won’t be able to work. For a moment I feel really bad, but then I realize: this could work to my advantage.
‘I didn’t want to bother you guys …’ I say, shooting out my lower lip and furrowing my brow.
‘Don’t be silly. Sit,’ Anis says, bending down as she drops the basket. I lean on her for support and slowly lower myself to the ground.It’s damp, of course, and I can feel the cold wetness seeping through my jeans to my skin.
James tugs on my sneaker and, through a cloak of guilt, I fake a wince. I mean, it does hurt a bit.
‘God, sorry.’ He looks panicked.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, and his shoulders drop with relief.
‘Let me do it,’ says Anis, pushing him out of the way. With the sock off, my foot looks fine, if in dire need of a pedicure.
‘It’s going to swell up terribly,’ she says to James, ‘like a hobbit’s foot. Look, it already is.’ She points to my chubby and slightly hairy big toe, and I try not to feel offended. ‘It definitely looks like it’s swollen—’
‘Okay, thank you, Doctor,’ I snap, pulling my foot back.
‘We’d better get you back to the cottage,’ James says, shaking his head.
‘I’ll stay and get what we need for lunch,’ says Anis. ‘You should tell Russell and Irene ASAP.’
‘She can still do the menu pairings,’ says James helpfully.
‘Yeah, I guess,’ Anis agrees through a frown. ‘And Roxy can step up?’
‘Let’s try to get you up,’ James says, leaning forward and threading his arm around my back, then swiftly pulling me to my feet. I’m uncomfortable with this whole damsel-in-distress act that’s going on, but I decide to play along to maximize the potential extra time to get my head round everything that’s going on: the wine list, the job, my life.
‘Can you make it back like this?’ he asks.
‘I think so,’ I reply.
‘Anis, will you be okay?’
‘Fine,’ she replies, looking away from the two of us as we hobble down the path together. James is doing his best to support me as I walk, while simultaneously keeping his body politely as far away as possible.
‘Thanks, James,’ I say.
‘It’s okay. I’ll get you into bed and we’ll see if we can get you to a doctor, or get the doctor to come to you. Or Brett can take a look.’
‘Brett?’ I say, as I subtly lean closer to enjoy the feeling of James’s body pressed gently up against mine.
‘Yes, he tends to the animals. And tends the grounds.’
‘Does he also tend to the ladies?’ I say with a giggle, and James stiffens slightly and, for the briefest of moments, I fantasize that he just got a little jealous.
9.
News of my horrific injury travelled fast and when we returned to the cottage Irene was there, clutching two feather-filled guest pillows, insisting that my ankle was examinedimmediately.
Brett, the six-foot hulk of a groundskeeper/horse doctor, assesses my foot for breaks – none! – with an incredibly light touch, and is now moving it left and right and in gentle circles. I’m wincing as much as possible, without milking it too much.
James, who had gallantly but awkwardly supported me all the way home, had dashed back to the kitchen to get prep started. Bill had popped in with a shot of whisky, which I dutifully necked.
‘So, where did Irene rescue you from then?’ Brett asks, while gently wrapping the bandage around my foot with his huge horse-fixing hands.
