‘And there was me thinking you were at least part-way proficient in the provision of people’s breakfasts, Jess.’
Aunt Vivi was taking no prisoners this morning – although, if Jess thought about it, Vivi was never one to beat around the bush.
‘It wasn’t totally ruined,’ she said. ‘And some people like their bacon really crispy.’
It was a thin defence, and she knew it as Vivi pounced on the doubt in her voice.
‘Yes, but there’s a vast difference between crispy and cremated, as well you know.’ Her tone softened. ‘Haven’t they got a griddle pan you can put on the hotplate? Cook the bacon on that instead.’
‘How do you know these things?’ Jess asked, aware she should really be quizzing Vivi about her hip as she poked around in the cupboard to the side of the Aga and dragged out a cast-iron griddle. It was so heavy she had to leave it propped against the cupboard until she could lift it with both hands.
‘My grandmother had an Aga. They’ve been around forever, last forever and when you get the hang of it, you can cook anything with them, pretty much.’
‘Do you fancy recovering in the Highlands? You could be my cooking guru.’
Vivi laughed. ‘Love to. How’s it all going up there? How’s my favourite nomad doing?’
‘I’m fine – it’s certainly been an interesting start to a job. There’s plenty to get to grips with. The new earl is an amazing piano player, as well as being a bit of a grumpy sod.’
‘Language, Jess. Remember you’re representing Home From Home up there. Do have a go at trying to make us look good.’
Jess grimaced at the memory of the confrontation she’d already managed to initiate. She supposed Vivi did have a point. ‘I’m doing my best.’
‘Hmm. Yes. That’s what I’m worried about.’
‘If it gets me brownie points, I’ve already been drafted into the local choir.’
‘Dear Lord, are they desperate?’ Vivi said, and for the first time since she’d answered the phone, Jess began to smile.
‘Rude.’
‘Or honest. Depends on the standpoint.’ Vivi sniffed, her tone softening further. ‘I’m glad you’re singing again, Jess. And for the record, they’d be bonkers not to have you.’
‘Thanks.’ Although she’d sounded combative, Jess was well aware that Vivi was the one person in her life who remained unyielding in her support.
The conversation concluded with Jess’s firm promise that Digby was doing very well and was loving all the fresh air, and yes, he was wearing his special jacket on walks. Speaking to Vivi had brought a smile to Jess’s face: a genuine, unfiltered, happy smile. Jess hoped that when she was Vivi’s age, she’d be similarly blessed with such redoubtable spirit and humour.
‘That was your Vivi, Digby. She’s doing really well. Digby? Where the heck are you?’
The smile faded as Jess realised Digby wasn’t where she’d left him. His mat in the kitchen was empty. When he wasn’t to be found in the basket in her bedroom either, Jess felt the vestiges of her good humour leaching away and a variety of under-her-breath swear words replaced the earlier sunny comments.
With a fruitless circuit of the downstairs completed, Jess headed outside. It didn’t take many seconds to work out where the dog had gone, even if she was none the wiser as to how he’d exited the building in the first place. But a peal of snorty barks coming from the general direction of the keeper’s cottage had Jess stomping down the path. She’d gone halfway before she’d clocked the fact it was raining, so not only was the dog up to no good, but she was going to get soaked through in the process of retrieving him.
The rain intensified as Jess slipped her way down the final part of the path and shot across to the keeper’s garden. It was lashing down in torrents by the time she’d reached Digby. Her fingers slipped on the slick leather of his collar, and a few expletives also slipped out as she made to grab at the dog again.
Thankfully it didn’t take much longer to get a hold of Digby; it was possible the dog was weighted down by the amount of water sluicing its way off his sodden fur. His back legs shook and, for once, his usual perky demeanour was gone.
They were both soaked, so Jess lifted Digby, turning to hurry him back to the castle. The usually substantial little dog felt strangely small and cold in her arms. Typical, after she’d only just promised to keep him safe.
Before she was out of the garden, the cottage door opened, and Robbie was calling her inside. A gentle warm light framed him in the doorway and Jess was only too grateful to make for the shelter of his kitchen.
With a huge towel around her shoulders, and instructions to stand next to the range cooker while he sorted the dog out, Jess watched as Robbie placed Digby on the mat, rubbing at his fur with another towel. It was difficult to tell whether Digby was still shaking with cold, or if it was simply the firm actions from Robbie’s hands, rubbing at every inch of the dog’s fur to remove as much water as possible. His care was doubtlessly appreciated by Digby though, because he usually growled at Jess if she did so much as try to clean his muddy paws with a cloth.
Then Robbie zipped Digby into what looked like a cross between an oversized onesie and a towelling bag, telling him to sit and stay by the heat of the range. The dog complied, licking his lips, then yawning in appreciation. Picking up another clean towel, Robbie turned to Jess.
‘Right, your turn,’ he said, his gaze glittering with amusement as Jess jinked away from his lifted arm. Then she paused. Maybe she shouldn’t pull away from him, even if he was pretending he was going to use the same technique on her as he had the dog. Perhaps she should allow him to towel-dry her hair, see where it led …
His expression changed, became more intense, but only for a second, then he held out the towel. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Before you drip much more water all over my floor.’
