‘Of course it is,’ I say, wondering why I’m actually delighted, and wishing now that I wasn’t quite so grubby and dishevelled as I head downstairs.
‘So kind of you,’ Fergus says, as Alice brings dishes to the table and I lay an extra place.
‘It all looks delicious,’ I enthuse, at which she flaps a hand dismissively.
‘It’s nothing, really.’ Yet her ‘nothing’ is a perfect roast chicken scented with rosemary, which she’d managed to pluck from the undergrowth in the neglected kitchen garden, plus roasted new potatoes and a delicious salad. So simple and seemingly effortless – like her fashion sense.
‘I remember this place being a B&B,’ Fergus offers as we tuck in.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Alice says, pouring water for him – as he’s driving – and wine for us. ‘It was hardly the Ritz but my parents had their regulars,’ she adds. ‘As you know, there weren’t too many options around here if you couldn’t splash out on the big grand hotels.’
‘Yeah, definitely,’ he says. I find myself wanting to know more about his life, growing up around here. I know about his daughter, Liv, but there’s been no mention of a wife or a partner. If he’s single I’m sure, as a handsome bookseller, he has a host of admirers.
‘But then TripAdvisor happened,’ Alice adds with a grimace, ‘and there were plenty of guests who weren’t too impressed by the standards. Or by my mother, actually.’
‘What did she do?’ I asked, intrigued. ‘I mean, what did they object to?’
Alice smiles and sips her wine. Already I’ve gathered that she regards a decent Sauvignon, plus candles at the table, as essential to any evening meal. ‘She was hardly the genial host, shall we say...’
I catch Fergus trying to keep down a grin and wonder what’s amusing him. His blue-grey eyes sparkle now in the candlelight. Clad in a burgundy T-shirt and jeans, his build is lean for a man of his age – I’d put him at about fifty – although his shoulders are broad and his upper arms nicely muscular. He seems to notice Alice’s expectant look, and chuckles. ‘You did hear the odd thing,’ he starts.
‘What kind of thing?’ I ask.
‘I shouldn’t say really,’ Fergus says quickly.
‘Oh no, do,’ Alice insists. ‘Please.’
‘Well,’ he offers, catching my eye briefly across the table, ‘there was the time when Bea ordered a couple to go straight up to their room after breakfast, and pack up and leave immediately because they’d complained about the toast...’
‘The toast?’ I exclaim.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Alice says, laughing. ‘It was stone cold, like my mother.’
‘Well...’ Fergus laughs. ‘Allegedly. But you know how gossipy it is around here...’ He turns to me. ‘So, whereabouts are you from, Kate?’
‘Glasgow originally,’ I reply, ‘then London. This past year I’ve been in a little Buckinghamshire town.’ I spring up and clear the table, keen to avoid further questions about my life. It’s bad enough, keeping up the pretence with Alice. I’m not sure how I’d deal with direct quizzing from Fergus across the table.
‘And how are you finding it up here?’ he asks, getting up to help too.
‘I love it,’ I say truthfully.
‘You know it, though, don’t you? You mentioned in the shop that you’d had holidays here?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ I nod, flattered that he remembered. ‘They were some of the happiest times of my life. And you obviously love it here too?’
‘Well, I’m still here,’ he offers with a smile and shrug. As the talk turns to books, it strikes me how much all of our tastes coincide, and also how easy Fergus is to be around. The chatter is constant and I find myself forgetting that I’m not really Alice’s ‘companion’ (at least, not the one she booked). Then the chat moves on to our grown-up children, and Alice points out how funny it is that we have just the one each (because of course Edie feels like my child in every way that matters). Alice tops up my glass and says, ‘Next time you come, Fergus, it’s a taxi home for you.’
‘Yep,’ he says and laughs.
Of course, running a bookshop, he’s bound be easy around people, I remind myself. But there’s something terribly attractive about a man who’s relaxed and comfortable in his own skin.
‘You said you’d come back to the shop for a proper browse,’ he reminds me, as I start to make coffee.
‘Oh, I will. Definitely.’ Then, as I set out the cups, my phone vibrates on the worktop. There are several messages from Vince. I’ve been so engrossed in the work here, it’s the first time I’ve checked it all day.
Hey just wondering how it’s going.
Hope you’re having a good day.
