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He ran his finger down a gaping crack in the plaster. ‘Does work start soon?’
‘The electricians and plumbers arrive on Monday while Shane and Tim get on with cleaning up the tiles to be reused. Luckily the windows and doors are OK and most of the plaster mouldings, too.’ She gazed around the Bar Parlour, its missing fireplace and bar making it look like a mouth with gaps in the teeth.
Ben drifted over to the mood boards still standing at the end of the bare room. ‘And this is how the place will look?’
She joined him, casting him a quick glance to check he wasn’t just being polite – not that he struck her as someone who’d bother. ‘Yes, this is the storyboard for the project beginning with photos of the building as it was when Gabe bought it, to my vision of the finished article. My 3D drawings are called rendered models and the 2D are the floor plans. The colour swatches make it look pretty.’ Her heart gave a tiny kick of excitement that the project was finally underway.
‘It’s a Victorian building and must have been quite grand for a village. When Middledip was bypassed by better roads in the eighties it couldn’t support two pubs, and the more homely The Three Fishes was the one to survive. After The Angel closed, the landlord died and the landlady lived here alone for more than twenty years. She eventually died without a will and distant cousins had to be tracked down to inherit. It was a long time before it could be put on the market and then nobody seemed to see its potential.’
She lifted her gaze to the beautiful plaster ceiling roses where big glass lights had dangled until Shane took them down to protect them. ‘I’m amazed nobody bought the place just to get the period features and sell them to a reclamation yard. The moulded brickwork on the front elevation alone must be worth a fortune. Maybe the grounds were so overgrown that everyone forgot The Angel was here.’
‘Until Uncle Gabe decided his tree surgeon nephew would love to take out all the overgrowth.’
‘It does seem as if you’ve been handy,’ she agreed, glad to see the faint smile return. His default expression seemed so grim. ‘Luckily, Gabe not only knew The Angel was here but was willing to invest in the building to give the village its coffee shop if additional funds could be raised to see it restored. Otherwise, The Angel would probably have fallen down from neglect.’
‘Generous of the village to contribute.’
‘What swung it was that the village hall had to close because the roof timbers are rotting. They’ll cost a massive amount to replace, much more than to fix up The Angel. The village hall committee’s obliged to slog through applying for grants and asking the county for money. We were able to just spring into action.’
He quirked a brow. ‘Bad luck for the village hall.’
‘I do feel disloyal. I’ve been to the hall to so many parties and stuff. But accommodating all the groups that used to meet at the village hall meant Jodie and Gabe could call it a community café and start fundraising.’ Alexia led him through a doorway. ‘This was the poor-relation bar. It says “Public” in the glass in the door – when the door’s hanging where it’s meant to be.’ She flicked a switch as she stepped into the room and the strip light flickered into life. A couple of stray slivers of 1970’s woodchip wallpaper lingered up near the ceiling, suggesting the Public hadn’t been deemed worthy of the red flock of the Bar Parlour. ‘It’s where pub customers used to play skittles and darts. It’s not as grand as the Bar Parlour but will work brilliantly for groups.’
Ben gazed around the big empty room with its scarred floorboards. ‘I’m surprised that whoever orchestrates things at the village hall didn’t say the funds you raised ought to go to them.’
‘I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s happened,’ Alexia acknowledged ruefully. ‘The village hall committee’s headed up by the formidable Carola, the one who demanded fish at the barbecue. She’s vehemently opposed to the community café and says the villagers should never have been asked to raise money for a building and a business that belongs to an individual. But nobody had their arm twisted. The village hall and The Angel Café have no relationship to each other, and Gabe, Jodie, me and your boss, Christopher Carlysle, who accepted responsibility for The Community Café fund, aren’t about to hand over the dosh to Carola.’
A suspicion of a twinkle lit Ben’s eye. ‘If I hadn’t come from a small town myself I’d be astonished at the politics.’ Then his phone beeped and he pulled it out to silence it. ‘Interesting as this is, I’m going to have to get home. That’s the alert to remind me that Barney needs his dinner.’
‘You must feed him.’ Alexia felt a tiny prickle of disappointment at losing his company, not to mention an opportunity for her to spout about her pet project, but told herself not to be so idiotic. ‘I’ll hang on here for a bit longer before I lock up.’
He hesitated. ‘On your own?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you start! I could run around Middledip at night with my hands full of cash and nothing bad would happen. Honestly, I’ll wander home when I’m ready.’
‘Giving your friends time to quiet down?’ He half-smiled, his eyes bright in the overhead light.
She felt her cheeks heat up again. ‘That would be the plan.’
‘Can’t you just tell them to be more considerate? It’s your house.’
‘I could. But if I can move my career in the direction I want to then Jodie’s hoping Shane will move in when I move out. Two lots of rent will smooth my way considerably.’
Grey eyes thoughtful, he considered her. Almost offhandedly he said, ‘I can’t leave Barney hungry. He’s so young he needs feeding three times a day. You could come and meet him, if you want? It would fill an hour before you go home.’
Alexia debated quickly. It wasn’t that she couldn’t find something to keep her occupied for an hour or two at The Angel but, truthfully, she was intrigued by the idea of a late evening stroll through the woods with this man. He termed himself an oddball like his Uncle Gabe, but Gabe just happened to be one of the nicest men she’d ever known. Going over her plans for The Angel could wait. ‘I’d love to meet Barney and see how Woodward Cottage has turned out.’
They ferried the cooling grills into the kitchen in case of rain, then Ben waited as Alexia locked the big front door before they stepped together into the quiet night-time village.
Ben paused. ‘We could walk down Little Lane and hook back on ourselves up the track to the cottage, but it’s about three miles. It’s quicker to take the footpaths, if you’re not scared of the dark. I have a torch on my phone.’
Alexia laughed at the idea she might be scared. ‘I grew up here. I know my way around the bridleways and my phone has a torch, too.’ A feeling was fluttering about inside her. But it wasn’t fear.
Angling right and crossing Port Road, Ben lit up his phone ready to leave the pavement and take the bridleway. Beside him, Alexia followed suit. The bright white lights illuminated the path and the vegetation that soon replaced the fences on either side. Insects flitted through the beams as if anxious about what the humans were up to.
What was he up to?
He glanced at Alexia. ‘Certain you don’t want to go around by the road?’
In the backwash of the light he saw her brows lift. ‘What, walk three miles instead of one? The bridleways are safe.’ She reminded him of the cartoon character Betty Boop with her dark curls and mischievous smile. And her curves.
She also possessed the easy confidence and self-sufficiency that made him see why, by trying to look after her, her old boyfriend had been doing exactly what was most likely to aggravate her.
‘OK, if you’re sure.’ He set off again, deciding to accept it all as part of this strange ending to an odd day.
It had begun badly.
Opening his mail, he’d discovered he’d been granted his decree nisi.
Just plain white paper with typing on, he hadn’t even realised what it was at first. He’d stood on the old flags of Woodward Cottage reading the words that symbolised his failure and loss. Grief had risen up and made him want to break things, which was the only reason he’d given in to Gabe’s urging to attend the wrecking party.
He’d hurled stuff into the skips as if each bent curtain rod or cracked mirror had caused the end of his marriage. He’d only meant to hang about for one drink to wash the dust from his throat but then Alexia had arrived in front of him with big eyes and a wide smile and launched friendliness at him like a missile. When he’d tried discouraging her with boorishness he’d found himself apologising the instant hurt and dismay had filtered across her features.
When her infectious smile forgave him it had been as if she’d released one of his inner knots of tension.
Fun seemed to radiate from Alexia at a time when he’d all but forgotten what fun was. It had made him feel the first inclination to reclaim that distant, half-forgotten Ben, the one who’d liked a good time.
As the evening had progressed he’d found himself enjoying her company, wanting to know more about her, being interested in what she had to say.
Finally, she’d made him think about the decree nisi not as a symbol of failure but of liberty. A strange topsy-turvy instinct had seemed to pop the invitation to Woodward Cottage out of his mouth and he’d probably looked just as surprised as she had.
Maybe it was just basic need, but now a startling question was revolving in his mind. Could he still pull? It had been eight years since he’d made love to anyone but Imogen. Then for two years he’d gone without sex in a daze of pain and grief. Strange that the urge should flood back today but it was swamping him, compelling him to ease the need.
This woman beside him, with her smile and fitted T-shirt, was paying attention to him. It wasn’t that she was the only woman who’d done that since Imogen and Lloyd had ripped his guts out … just the only one he’d responded to.
He was man enough to admit to himself that her being commitment-averse and aiming to get out of the village at no distant date was attractive, too.
He cleared his throat. ‘So tell me more about your career plans.’ He might be rusty but he was pretty sure asking a girl about herself was a safe conversational gambit.
Alexia gave a little skip as if the subject put springs in her heels. ‘I’m an interior decorator.’
‘Painting and wallpapering?’ He could envisage her up a ladder wielding a paint roller. She’d seemed completely at home getting her hands dirty at the wrecking party.
‘No, that’s a painter and decorator. I do some of the same hands-on things but also project manage, come up with ideas and overviews, and produce some one-off and bespoke decorative items. In DIY, a householder decides on the look they want, sources the materials and carries out the decorating. I’m kind of the alternative option, working with clients to give them ideas and help them decide what they want. Then I create it, either via sub-contractors or by doing the work myself. Sometimes it’s a redecoration of a single room; sometimes it’s a much bigger project, particularly refurbishments. I’ve made it my business to build up a fantastic network of tradesmen who like working with me because I listen to them and properly utilise their skills. Do you know how vastly tradesmen are underrated? Especially by certain architects and designers.’
Taking the right-hand fork in the path, she climbed the stile that marked the beginning of Carlysle land, dropping down lightly on the other side. ‘My friend, Elton, started training at the same time I did. He stayed the course and became an interior designer, making him vastly superior to me – he thinks.’
He swung himself over the stile in her wake. ‘But didn’t you just say you are an interior designer?’
‘No.’ She came to a halt as if she couldn’t make him understand while she was in motion. ‘I’m an interior decorator. An interior designer has a professional qualification, a degree. As Elton never ceases to remind me, I dropped out of uni.’ She sent Ben a conspiratorial grin. ‘But I put up with his superiority because he’s working for an investment property developer. He wants to concentrate on acquiring the properties and he’s looking for someone else to oversee projects – which could be me! So I’m working hard on getting my portfolio and website “looking great and up-to-date”. Elton won’t present me to the investor until he’s completely happy.’
They started off again, Ben following Alexia along the narrow path, and soon approached the point where the path curved round the small lake. Ben realised he was training the beam from his phone onto Alexia’s behind, and angled it down to her feet. ‘But it’s all dependent on one money man?’
Glancing over her shoulder, she sent him a look of slight reproof. ‘Money woman. She’s made a lot in industry, apparently, and now she’s making more by investing her money via Elton and telling him to spin it into gold.’
‘I can see why you’d want to be part of that. Will your parents mind you leaving the village?’
‘Mum lives in Bettsbrough and Dad moved to Bolton with his new wife.’ She stopped short as the path swerved to the left. ‘Wow!’
They stepped further into the clearing where the silent cottage waited in the moonlight. Ben had permission to make a garden in the clearing if he wanted but he liked the woodland floor as it was, the great horse chestnut trees rising up from a leaf-mould carpet.
Alexia gazed at the tiny building. ‘I can’t believe this is Woodward Cottage! When I used to come here you could see more ivy than walls. There were no windows or doors, the stone was crumbling and in the end the roof fell in. What a great renovation! It looks as if it came from a fairy tale.’ She took her time, studying the stonework, admiring the dormers in the roof. Then, wandering on past the log store, she paused where a framework leant against the back of the cottage, a roll of netting on the ground alongside. ‘What are you building?’
‘Barney’s aviary. He’ll be ready to move in to it in a few weeks.’
‘But it’s enormous.’
‘Not compared to the entire wood, which is what he should have been flying around.’
‘True. Loss of mobility means loss of freedom.’
His throat was suddenly dry. ‘That’s right.’
She turned to give him a smile. ‘Gabe must think a lot of you to trust you with one of his animals.’
He nodded. ‘My uncle can usually find room for a creature in need.’ When Ben had been unable to stay on in Didbury, where everything he’d thought was his was his no longer, Gabe had provided a refuge. When Ben had been a kid in the shadow of his golden big brother, Gabe had given him time. If anyone had stopped Ben turning his second-child grievances into teenage troublemaking, it had been Gabe.
‘Come and meet Barney,’ he suggested, turning on his heel and almost mowing Alexia down in his haste to get away from his personal darkness and into the light.
Alexia had to hurry to keep up with Ben as he led her to his front door and directly into a sitting room.
She blinked as he hit the light switch. Revolving in the middle of the room, she admired the beams, the staircase rising up from one corner, the black woodstove on the hearth. Two chairs that didn’t match stood either side of the fire on a rug of silver grey and willow green. ‘The inside doesn’t disappoint.’
‘Make yourself at home. Coffee?’ Ben went on into the next room.
‘Tea, please.’ Alexia heard a tap run then the unmistakeable sound of a kettle beginning to heat up.
‘Can we light the stove in here?’ she called. ‘I know September’s a bit early but I love firelight.’
‘Go for it. Matches on the mantel. One thing I’m not short of is firewood.’
The stove door screeched when Alexia opened it. Crouching, she swiftly made a bed of screwed-up newspaper to criss-cross with kindling from the basket in the hearth. There was something satisfying about striking a match and watching the blackening newspaper shrink as the flames grew brighter and bigger.
Ben arrived with two mugs, a whisky bottle and two glasses. ‘Nightcap?’
‘Definitely.’ Alexia settled on the rug with her back against an armchair so she could feed the dancing fire as Ben poured the whisky.
He settled himself against the opposite chair. ‘So you’re completely done, you and Sebastian?’
She was suddenly conscious that his legs had come to rest close to hers. She took a sip of the neat whisky, feeling its fiery kiss in her throat. ‘Completely. Jodie always said I’d settled for him because he was nice and kind. Maybe she was right.’
Ben snorted. ‘I’m pretty sure most men would hate that description. Might as well say “dull and boring”.’ His eyes glittered at her over the rim of his glass, the reflection of the fire flickering like flames in the whisky.
She took another sip, feeling lassitude weigh her limbs as it combined its effects with the beer she’d drunk earlier. ‘Aren’t you “nice and kind”?’
‘Not so you’d notice. Why did you “settle” for Sebastian?’ He shifted slightly and their legs brushed.
Alexia felt a tightness in her belly. Was he doing it on purpose? ‘The boyfriend before him was “high maintenance and awkward”. It was exhausting.’ She circled back to the question he’d side stepped. ‘I’d describe myself as “bright and bubbly”. Your turn.’
He screwed up his face in a mock-ferocious frown. ‘I’m “prickly and disorientated”.’ The frown faded. After several moments he added, thoughtfully, ‘And horny.’
Alexia, taking a sip of whisky, choked.
Ben flushed fierily, giving a laugh that ended on a groan. ‘And cringingly out of practice! Sorry, that was dire. Wipe it from your memory. I’ve obviously forgotten how to do this.’
Alexia giggled. Despite his show of embarrassment, she noted that his gaze didn’t drop entirely, hinting that he was interested in her reaction.
His legs still grazed hers. Heat reached her through the fabric of their jeans, a heat Alexia doubted came from either stove or alcohol – though the latter probably encouraged her to be more airily direct than she would usually have been. ‘You haven’t, erm, put in any “practice” since your marriage ended?’
He sobered. ‘I needed recovery time. And now I’m floundering.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Hints and clues gratefully received.’
Alexia was entertained by his frank request. ‘Well,’ she mused, lounging a little more deeply against the armchair. ‘Bringing the tea and whisky on one tray was smooth but not pushy, allowing me the opportunity to choose whether to drink more alcohol. And mirroring the way I’m sitting is supposed to be the right thing to do to make me trust you, isn’t it? So you’ve got that right as well.’
‘Ticks in two boxes.’ His eyes smiled.
Alexia turned her expression reproving. ‘But, seriously, if you invite a girl home to see your barn owl, you really ought to have one.’
He jerked upright. ‘Barney! He’s in his box. I haven’t fed him yet.’
He dumped his glass on the tray, scrambled up and shot into the next room.
Rolling to her feet more slowly, possibly because the room was getting a little fuzzy, Alexia followed him into his kitchen in time to see him ease an open box of translucent white plastic out from under the counter. An indignant rustling came from within. Carefully, Ben positioned the box on the red quarry tiles. ‘Alexia, meet Barney. Barney, you just wait in your tub for a minute while I get your supper. Alexia’s going to keep you company.’
Ben busied himself elsewhere in the kitchen while Alexia sank down beside the tub and peeped inside. ‘Ohhhhhh …’ she breathed. Peeping back was a pair of round black button eyes topping a hooked beak that looked way too big for the little plate-flat face and ball-of-fluff body. One wing hung badly, like an empty sleeve.
The beak opened and emitted a surprisingly loud HEHHHH, like gas leaking under pressure.
Delighted, she laughed. ‘You are so gorgeous.’ Extending a cautious finger, she touched the off-white fluff of Barney’s chest. ‘As soft as down.’
‘I suppose it is down. He’s a bit young for feathers.’ Ben was still occupied with whatever he’d taken from the tall white fridge. ‘Look away if raw stuff upsets you. He eats mice and chicks. I buy them frozen from a pet food supplier.’
‘I’m a country girl. I know animals have to eat and that they eat each other.’
Ben returned to kneel beside her, in his hand the red lid of a sandwich box covered in chopped meat. Delicately manipulating a pair of tweezers he lifted Barney out, and touched a tiny piece to Barney’s beak. Barney, with a bob of his head, grabbed it quick and scoffed it down with much chomping of his beak.
‘Cute!’ The slightly acrid smell of Barney warred in Alexia’s nostrils with the much nicer man-and-whisky smell of Ben as he patiently fed the youngster. Barney bobbed energetically and made little breathy noises that sounded to Alexia as if he were trying to squawk with a sore throat.
Ben murmured soothingly as Barney’s supper vanished, addressing him solemnly as ‘little guy’. Alexia watched, fascinated by the contrast of Ben’s strong tanned hands and the tiny ball of fuzz snatching at every morsel of food that came his way.
