Miles stares at me. ‘Keep going…’
I’m not sure it’s any of his business, but there’s no point hiding who I am. ‘I don’t do dinners, I hate to eat in front of strangers, I’m super picky about what I put in my mouth, and I refuse to do small talk. Is that enough for you?’
‘I’m always up for a challenge.’ The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. ‘Nothing I’ve heard there has put me off.’
I can’t believe he’s still pushing this. ‘So now I’m a game you use to prove how macho you are? Excuse me for stepping away from that.’
He gives a sniff. ‘It’s your call. I can’t force you to enjoy yourself.’ He looks down at the bags. ‘How about a lift home? Unless you’ve already lined up Pickfords.’
‘I haven’t.’ I have to give him this one. ‘A lift would be great, thanks.’
He tilts the screen, and hoists it under one arm. ‘Days like today are when I’m pleased I ordered the long wheelbase model with the opening panoramic roof.’ He gives a sheepish grin. ‘When the salesman told me I would be, I didn’t believe him.’
Another thing to call him out on. ‘That’s bullshit, Miles. Guys like you don’t need persuading; you want every bell and whistle going.’ I stuff the remains of my muffin in my mouth, pick up my bags, and follow him out of the barnyard to the car. It has to be said. ‘For this one time only, I concede– it’s a good thing you grabbed yourself the cottage parking space.’
The car is parked in the field by the shepherd huts and as we reach it a few minutes later, Miles takes a paper bag from his jacket pocket. He brings out a pastry, breaks it in two, and hands me half.
‘Before we get in, tell me what you think of this.’
I’m staring at him. ‘Let me guess– you don’t want crumbs in the car?’ He’d have a fit if he saw mine on a normal day. If he saw it after I’ve had a hay bale in the back, he’d expire.
He rolls his eyes. ‘I often drive company cars. Keeping other people’s things clean is a basic courtesy.’
As I push the pastry into my mouth and chew, he’s watching me so intently I respond straight away. ‘It’s an apricot turnover.’
He nods. ‘But how good is it?’
I’m confused. ‘What’s this sudden interest in pastry?’
He pulls a face. ‘Nothing important. It’s good to do product analysis occasionally, that’s all. So be honest.’
‘Product analysis of baking? You’ve picked the right woman forthatjob.’ I smile remembering that first day at the cottage when I couldn’t eat those croissant things fast enough. Then I look at the last piece of apricot slice in my hand. ‘Honestly– I’ve had better.’ Because truly, compared to those, I wouldn’t give this the time of day. And then I finish it, clap my hands and swirl my skirts in the wind to get every last crumb off. ‘Shall we get going? If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get my screen up.’
Did I really say that? If I did, it’s only because I’m excited about having something to hang my dresses over. And possibly because when Miles sees this idea in action, I know it’s going to drive him around the bend.
Between us, I can’t wait.
14
Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Inhale, exhale
Saturday
‘Whatthe hellhappened here?’
It’s Saturday morning, and since I put my newly acquired screen into position Pumpkin and I have spent the morning ambling between the cottage and the harbour, bringing more of my clothes from the car. The sun has come out, and so have the visitors, but as Pumpkin was feeling especially sociable, we’ve only managed two trips so far.
With the screen’s four sections zigzagging across the floor between the kitchen island and the sofa, it’s given me a surprisingly useful amount of draping and hanging room, and once things are up there, they’ll be easily visible, which is a feat in itself. No more digging in rucksacks for lost tulle skirts or vintage flowery tea dresses or silky hot pant shorts– they’re all out on glorious show. Not only that, but I can also get to them from both sides.
As expected, it took approximately five seconds for Miles to walk in, take in the changes at my end of the tranquillity zone and kick off with his complaints.
He’s so predictable, I’m ready for him. ‘I know the screen has patina, but if I cover it with vintage wallpaper, I’m hoping it will make a pretty signature piece slash room divider.’
He’s shaking his head. ‘It’s not the screen, it’s what’s on it– it’s like your laundry trail has gained a fourth dimension.’
I look through the open square window and exchange what the eff? glances with Pumpkin who is out in the field, nibbling grass. Then I turn back to Miles. ‘Thank you for making the room so tidy, Betty, and don’t the sweet peas on the kitchen island look gorgeous… might be nice, Miles.’ Then I have another thought. ‘If you’re thinking of folding up my clothes, don’t you dare!’
