That he’s a knob is the short answer. But as he’s the client, I keep that to myself and instead let my eyes pop open with the shock. ‘Really?’ He’s flipped from hideous and annoying to apologetic as fast as the wind’s changing direction.
‘Obviously I’ll pay for the recovery vehicles to come out. And for any damage to your van too.’
I can’t believe how concerned and reasonable he’s being. Nice even. Helpful. None of them were on my groom’s list earlier. ‘That might not be necessary.’ As an engine roars out in the lane, the tension in my shoulders eases. ‘That’s Poppy. I don’t want to count my chickens, but I think she has a winch on the Landy.’
He’s staring at me in disbelief. ‘You know what a winch does?’
‘You don’t have to be so patronising.’ All those rainy summer festivals paying to have the camper towed out of fields suddenly seem worthwhile, if only for this. ‘Not only that, I know where my towing bracket is too.’
Nic’s laughing. ‘That goes a long way towards making up for those missing qualifications of yours. Two minutes from now we’ll be back out on the lane and you can have a second try at turning into the right gateway. Then we can all see your star venue.’
I know I should be grateful for how accommodating he’s been here. But it would be so much easier if he wasn’t such a super-brain. Everything other than weddings, he seems to be an expert. And now he’s being reasonable and considerate as well, it makes it ten times worse. As for those soulful, puppy-dog eyes and that deep reverberation in his voice when he sounds remorseful. Let’s just say, he was a whole lot easier to handle when he was just plain awkward.
I’ve already lost count of the number of times I’ve regretted ever setting eyes on that windcheater of his. And as I watch Poppy chugging towards us in her Land Rover something tells me, this won’t be the last.
Chapter 9
Later that Monday.
At Rose Hill Manor.
Winter gardens and hit singles.
For once Nic isn’t right – it takes way longer than two minutes to pull the van free. In fact, we wouldn’t have done it at all without him. Poppy and me are all about girl power, but I reckon even Beyoncé would have struggled here. Nic’s one of those guys, like the farm workers, who effortlessly knows what machines are for and how to use them, which Poppy and I were grateful for. And he did it all without once being condescending. Even if Poppy and I knew the basic principles of ‘hitch up and pull’, it’s useful to have experienced hands that know exactly which switches to push when.
After how negative Nic’s been all morning, it would have been no surprise if things had gone downhill at the speed of jumping off a cliff. They do say putting someone in a tricky situation is a fast-forward way to show you a person’s true character, and as Nic lay jammed under the rear axle, he showed us a whole new, less arsey side to his personality. He also had the same thing going on as Mel Gibson inBraveheart, where the muddier he got the bigger his phwoar factor became. Which was less good news for me. But, hell, if it means getting my van out of the mud, I’m happy to deal with a racing heart rate.
And then, rather than turning up at Rose Hill Manor looking like we’re on a mud run, we whip back to Poppy’s for a clean-up while Rafe’s farm guys very kindly hose down the van for me.
By the time we go again, the paintwork is back to being all pink and beautiful and I’m wearing Poppy’s tights and some borrowed hiking boots, so I’m certainly rocking the chunky foot style. And this time – just to be sure – we’re travelling in convoy, with Poppy leading the way.
As we wind down the lane, I’ve given up caring so much that I flick the CD player on and tap my fingers to the sound ofAlways on My Mind.
Nic lets out a squawk. ‘The Pet Shop Boys?’
‘It’s upbeat and wedding-y. What’s not to like?’ It’s also one of the tracks off my mum’s favourite Get Up and Dance playlist. She loved to party, and when she reached the stage when she couldn’t move or talk anymore and all she could do was lie on her back, listening to it never failed to cheer her up. Quite a few of those tracks have made it onto this CD I made. It used to be my personal challenge to sneak it past Phoebe; at some point in every wedding fair I’d always lift the mood with my upbeat compilation of less obvious love songs.
I flash Nic a fierce stare. ‘I love trashy pop and I refuse to apologise for that.’ The fast tempo and words of regret are just what I need to bolster me for what’s ahead.
Nic’s eyes are wide with surprise. ‘It’s not a criticism, I just haven’t heard them lately.’
I blink away my own prickles, relax slightly. Then stick with my plan to let the house make its own impression. As we approach the manor entrance for the second time, I bump the CD onto the next track and turn up the volume so the words toThis Is Itare reverberating off the side of the van and hopefully lodging themselves in Nic’s head.
He shuffles in his seat. ‘And now a subliminal message from Melba Moore?’
I ignore that, take the turn and edge along between the avenue of trees towards the manor. But even though I fade the music at the vital moment, we’re suddenly back to how we were before driving into the bog. The most I get from Nic is a sniff as he shifts the position of his legs – which I’m definitely not noticing or looking at because I’m way too busy steering. Seriously, I’ve run off the road once already, I can’t risk it happening again. And even if Nic is unmoved by the low slant of the afternoon sun turning the stone on the front of the house to the colour of warm honey, at least I enjoy it.
As we pull up beside Poppy’s Landy, next to a front door flanked by bay trees in hammered lead boxes, I can’t tell if Nic’s lack of any comment at all is because he doesn’t like it, or because I’ve overdone the music and numbed his brain entirely. If it’s simply down to mud fatigue, no one could blame him.
As we get blown towards the front door, I’m trying to stay relaxed and light. ‘So, this is where Jess and Bart live, but Poppy’s manager, Kip, takes charge of weddings here.’
Having Poppy grinning at me from behind Nic makes me feel so much better. Her squeeze on my elbow lets me know she hasn’t forgotten that a few summers ago when the venue was first open, I once brought Ben to a wedding fair here put on by Brides by the Sea. Obviously that day, as soon as I’d got enough notes and pictures for a piece on the blog, I headed straight for the sweet table and Ben ended up flat out on the lawn by the beer gazebo. Which was very much the pattern we followed. Needless to say, unlike lots of other couples, we didn’t make a booking.
I make sure my skirt is nipped firmly in place between my knees, then give Nic a bright smile. ‘So, the main house opens onto lawns that roll down to the lake.’ I only have a few more minutes to clinch this, so I’m not holding back. ‘Even from out here you can see it offers the perfect combo – a wonderful party venue that will give you amazing photographs too.’
Nic’s nodding. Which has to be a good sign, doesn’t it? ‘In terms of the space to move around, this certainly looks much better than anywhere else we’ve seen.’
‘Wow, did I hear a “certainly”?’ I give Poppy a nudge. ‘That’s the best I’ve had all day.’ It’s great to be part of a double act.
