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Several modern paintings and prints were dotted around the room including a beautiful pencil drawing of a horse and her foal lying down. She went to step forward to examine the sketch but was interrupted by Mrs Henderson.
“The dressing room’s through here Ana.”
Dressing room… what the hell did a farmer need with a dressing room? Ah, unless he was married, but so far, no sight nor sound of a wife. She followed Mrs Henderson into a room next to the ensuite. It was as big as hers back in Chelsea! A row of stunning suits and dinner jackets hung on the right hand side. She trailed her hand along the suits. Gucci, Dior, Tom Ford, the man was a clothes horse!
God she needed to stop with the horse references.
To the left were shelves with neatly folded t-shirts, shirts, jeans, and jumpers. Underneath were smaller shelves for shoes and boots. It was like two entirely different people used the room: comfy and casual on one side and suited and booted on the other. Since when did Farmer Giles, or should that be Dr Jekel and Mr Hyde, need all these top end clothes? Had she been as guilty as him of making ill-informed assumptions?
Mrs Henderson hummed a tune as she busied herself in the wardrobe before handing her a bundle of clothes including a pair of jeans, t-shirts and a soft cashmere v-neck jumper and several pairs of socks.
“That should keep you going until your friend arrives. Matt has some spare wellington boots in the utility down stairs, a few pairs of socks on you and they should be alright. Oh, and there are lots of coats too. Just leave your delicates in the bathroom each day and I’ll launder those for you.”
“Thank you. Are you sure he won’t mind?” she checked, not entirely comfortable with the idea of wearing this man’s clothes without his permission—but in reality, what else could she do?
“Mind? Dearie he won’t even notice,” she said, chuckling to herself. “He barely wears any of these things nowadays anyway,” she said, waving at the posh side. “Jeans, t-shirts and boots are his uniform.”
“So what’s with the all the suits then?” Ana pushed, being unapologetically nosey.
She watched as the older woman fiddled nervously with her apron before running a hand over her bun. “Oh, well, you’d better ask him about that. Shall we, dearie?”
***
“That was delicious, thank you Mrs Henderson.” Anastacia reclined in the soft leather sofa in front of the roaring fire next to Pip, feet curled up underneath, while her new favourite person pottered around plumping cushions. The large fireplace was dressed with a festive swag of red berries, ivy, mistletoe, cinnamon sticks and pine cones, with four small, homemade, brightly coloured stockings hanging from it featuring their initials sewn with little glass beads. There was even one for George. She swallowed the lump which had formed in her throat at the vivid image of this family gathered around the fire on Christmas morning, hugging each other as they opened their gifts. The room was scented with fresh pine from the large Christmas tree in the corner of the room. It was another depressing reminder that that she’d never had a real Christmas tree, just the plastic variety. Now she knew what she had been missing all these years. It smelled wonderful, a scent which no artificial room fragrance could accurately re-create : she’d tried them all. Her stomach being nicely full from the stew and dumplings was an alien feeling and she was drowsy from the couple of bottles of wine that they had all enjoyed with dinner and the brandy she now nursed in her hand. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine and heat of the crackling fire. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten so much yet felt so relaxed and content, especially as she was in someone else’s home. Not that she’d ever felt so relaxed or content in her own home. To her, home was just a space where she kept her belongings.
“Ah, you’re welcome honey, it’s lovely to cook for people who enjoy their food.”
“Well I’ve never been one of those women who can survive on celery sticks.” She regretted the white lie immediately. “I love my food, just have to work extra hard in the gym.” Truth.
“Feel free to use the pool or gym whenever you like Ana.” Pip glanced over at her from where she was sprawled out in front of the fire, flicking through a magazine with a contented George snoozing with his strong head resting on her crossed legs.
“Thanks, I might just do that. I can make use of the spare time and the few clothing items I do have with me!”
“There’s also a library on the second floor if you get really bored. That’s where Matt spends most of his evenings, a real bookworm. Boring.”
She smiled as Pip made a huge fake yawn.
“Really, well, I love reading too so maybe I’ll have to, er, have a look later. Thanks.” Meaning, I’ll wait till he’s gone out.
Pip discarded the magazine at her side and promptly stood up, disturbing George briefly. “Right, I’m bored now. Fancy coming with me to the pub?” Pip seemed to have the attention span of an adorable puppy.
“Oh, erm…” She was so comfortable she wasn’t sure she could move, or be bothered by the fact that she’d rather stay right where she was, than go out for a night out?!
“Feel free to stay here if you like. Matt will be around somewhere and he’ll keep you company if you’d prefer.”
To be glared at by Mr Dark and Broody… in that case, there was no way she was staying here.
“No, that’s okay, I’d love to come with you and have a look around the village,” she said, prising herself out of the chair. “Just let me put on some warmer clothes and grab a coat and wellies and I’ll be right with you,” she said, edging backwards from the room until she slammed into something hard and unmoving…
She spun around to face Matt’s unimpressed hard stare.
She bobbed her head forward slightly. “Is that look on your face permanently?”
He didn’t bother to even acknowledge her and instead looked past her at Pip. “Where are you off too?”
“The pub. You want to come along?” Pip asked.
“No, I’m fine. Be careful in the snow, take a torch and make sure you have your phone fully charged.”
She rolled her eyes at her brother. “Yes Dad,” she mocked. “Besides, James will be there and he’ll give us a lift home if we need it.”
Anastacia glanced back over her shoulder at Pip.
“He’s such a sweetie Ana, and he’s the Stud’s vet. Wait ’till you see him, and the other local farmers. Why women go to the city to look for hot, available guys is beyond me. I tell you, this is where they should be. Go and make yourself even more gorgeous and we’ll get going.”
***
Matt felt a spark of something strike him and stir his interest. Despite his earlier caustic remarks to her on the drive in, a world famous model in the village would cause a stir and possibly a scene, and as she was staying here… well, it was his responsibility to make sure nothing brought the Stud or his family name into disrepute. Never again. He ignored all possibility that it was the fact that other men would relish Miss Harper’s attention.
“Wait, on second thought, I’ll come along too. You need a chaperone and George could do with the exercise to work off that chicken.” His accusatory stare was ignored by Mrs Henderson who continued to tidy around the room. “I’ll get my coat. George, come on lad.” George pricked up his ears, stretched his front legs, and trotted after him.
Why the hell was he going? He’d planned on a quiet night in, catching up on some paperwork for the Stud and looking over some potential new bloodlines before trying to get some much needed sleep.
He was going to keep an eye on Pip and keep Miss Darling out of trouble. Yes, that was it. No way was he going to make sure Ana stayed away from the Waddington Single Farmers crowd. Nope. Not that, no Siree.
***
“So what’ll it be Matt?”
“Evening Bob, pint of the guest bitter for me and…” Matt glanced over at Ana and raised a brow in silent question.
“Hmm, I’ll have the same,” she replied confidently to Bob..
“Are you sure?” Matt said, raising his brow even higher.
She turned to face him and put a hand on her hip. “Yes. Why?”
Matt shrugged, “Just thought you’d prefer wine to beer, or at least something with a straw and cocktail umbrella in it.” He shared a knowing smile with the long serving bar owner..
“Is that so? It’s dangerous to make assumptions, Mr Darling. I should know, before I met you, I assumed all Yorkshire folk were salt of the earth types, friendly to all travelers,” she chastised, and Matt heard Bob try unsuccessfully to stifle his laugh as she continued, “Apparently us Southerners have been living under a misapprehension that all Yorkshire people are warm and welcoming, walk around sporting a flat cap with a friendly ferret in their coat pocket.” She held her hand up towards the bar. “No offence Bob. But then I met you.” She drilled Matt with an accusatorial stare.
Matt glanced back at the barman for support and took a deep breath. “Make that two pints Bob, and whatever Pip is drinking when she drags herself away from the games room.”
Bob was still struggling to keep a straight face. “Sure thing. You ’n your feisty southern lass go ’n grab a table and I’ll bring ’em on over.”
***
Matt ignored the barman’s comment as he turned to face her. “It seems Pip has abandoned you with me. Shall we?” Matt motioned for her to make her way over towards a quieter section of the bar and a table with two large red leather chesterfields in front of another roaring log fire. God she could get used to these, but there was no way she could have one fitted in her apartment in London. Not that it would ever get used, she was barely there… she caught herself and remembered that she’d be in New York soon and she doubted her apartment there, chosen by someone else, would have a real fire.
Once settled she took a closer look around the warm, friendly, and inviting pub. It had taken about thirty minutes to walk there, slowed down by the snow and slippery road. She and Pip had become instant friends and had linked arms and giggled like school girls as they slid around almost losing their balance several times while Matt muttered to himself as he walked behind them with George in tow. It had suddenly hit her how much she had missed close female companionship. She and her mother hadn’t been close. Ever. She’d never had a sister or female cousin and her closest friend had been Alix. She decided that she liked it and could very easily get used to it, and that scared her. Two days; that’s all you’re here for Ana, then back to reality.
The pub looked like an old coaching house with low hanging ceiling and exposed wooden beams: lots of brass trinkets scattered about and Toby Jugs hanging from those low ceilings. It was the sort of old style country pub that the big chains tried to replicate en mass, sometimes successfully. Both she and Matt had to duck their heads when they’d walked in and she’d smiled at the brass sign saying, “Duck or grouse”. She ducked.
It was made up of a number of smaller rooms and it was clear that each area was distinct. The room immediately to the right as they entered entertained the more senior patrons enjoying card games and dominos and she imagined that, before the smoking ban, the room would have featured a permanent smoky haze. She could hear more enthusiastic noise from the far end of the pub and Pip had told her that that was where the games room was before disappearing off in search of James, leaving her with Matt and making a vague promise that she’d be back shortly. She began to wonder if she had been played by Pip and whether there was an agenda she was missing…
The rest of the eclectic pub was made up of quiet tables with couples and families enjoying what looked like good home cooked food if the smells were anything to go by. There was a lovely atmosphere and every so often there would be a louder cheer and laughter from either the games room or from the chap’s playing dominos.
Bob delivered their drinks and made a quick getaway. “Cheers.” Matt held up his pint glass to her and took a long gulp.
“Cheers.” She sipped on the frothy beverage. Hmm, okay, an acquired taste but no way in hell was she going to say anything other than “Yum” as she placed her glass on the table and crossed her legs.
“Okay, so if I’m going to be staying with you, I think it’s only fair you tell me more about yourself. It’s clear that you have formed an opinion about me so it’s only fair I get to see whether my opinion of you is correct.”
He mimicked her position. “And what opinion is that? Not that I am remotely bothered, you understand, but please do enlighten me.”
“I’m not ready to disclose it yet,” she challenged. “I’ll reserve my final judgment until the end of this conversation.” She took another sip of the disgusting drink.
“Ha,” he chuckled, “what is this, Mr and Mrs?”
“What? Not that I’m saying you would but you could just Google me to find out everything about the nitty gritty of my life. I’m sure even my bra size is on Wikipedia if anyone was interested.” She wasn’t joking.
His intense stare made her feel nervous, but not in an entirely bad way.
“Okay, let me get you started. Why are you so grumpy?”
He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, “Pass.”
“You can’t pass,” she said, shaking her head and leaning forward.
“I can do anything I want Miss Harper.”
Okay, the Grumpy Farmer was back, she thought as she rolled her eyes and slumped back in her chair dramatically.
He sighed. “Okay. Fine.” He conceded in defeat, “You win, but I’m not talking about that, and you first.” He smirked, pointing his finger at her. “Favourite film?”
“When Harry Met Sally. You?”
“The Italian Job. The original,” he added, raising his finger. “I loved vintage mini’s as a kid. Favourite… er, book?”
“Easy, Gone with the Wind, hands down best book ever. You gotta love Scarlett’s independent nature and her attitude to life, not to mention the fabulous fashions of the mid eighteen hundreds. Not that I envy the tight corsets, although some of my shoes are likely just as painful. You?”
“Oh erm, I’m not sure, probably just some Dan Brown thriller or something.” He shook his head and picked up a beer mat, twirling it in his hands.
“Ah ah, no way Mr Darling. Come on, just tell me. If you don’t then I’ll just think the worst.”
“Okay, fine, it’s The Princess Bride. Okay.” He pulled at the corners of the mat.
Ana grinned and doing her best Vizzini impression lisped, “Inconceivable!”
“Yeah, Yeah laugh it up.” He gently tossed the beer mat at her and she caught it on instinct. “Impressive.”
“You’re a closet romantic aren’t you?! I love that book too. So did you read the kissing parts too?!”
“No,” he refuted too quickly, “it’s got really good action sequences in it and Mrs H used to read it to me when I was a kid, and then Pip demanded I read it to her when she was younger. She insisted on me doing all the accents. You know…” He cleared his throat and in a hilariously bad Spanish accent quoted, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” A wry smile curved from the corner of his mouth as reached to pick up his glass and drank his beer.
Ana couldn’t help but laugh as his awful Spanish accent. “Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself. Don’t worry Farm Boy, your secret’s safe with me.”
He rolled his eyes at her at her teasing. “Favourite ice-cream flavour?” he asked as a distraction.
“Ben and Jerry’s Peanut Butter every time. Yours?”
He pursed his lips and dropped his brows. “You know, I really don’t think I have a favourite, probably just boring vanilla.”
“Even vanilla can be exciting… given the right topping,” she said, winking at him and then laughing at his bemused and slightly shocked expression. Was that a blush in his cheeks?
And so it continued…When he wasn’t being grumpy he was actually good company, but she couldn’t fail to notice the inquisitive looks they attracted from the locals. Matt was clearly known to all and attracted a female following of varying ages, and some of the looks she received were positively venomous. The message was clear: “he’s our hottie, so back off London chick.” She would’ve found it quite funny if she wasn’t in fear that the one with the blonde quaffed hairstyle, red talon nails, and matching lipstick might actually cause her some physical harm. She was a viper dressed perfectly in vintage Chanel. She had to give the snake kudos for that.
She averted her eyes from the unfriendly female stares and bent down to stroke George’s ears as he curled up in front of their table, basking in the heat from the fire. As she brought her head back up to the table, a young barmaid approached their table tentatively, finally gathering courage to come over and ask for her autograph. Anastacia didn’t fail to notice her lick her lips, flutter her eyes, and stick out her small chest. Ana was a model. She noticed such actions. She assumed it was for Matt’s benefit but he seemed completely disinterested and she actually felt sorry for the young woman. Slightly.
She caught Matt’s unease and displeasure as she signed the girl’s notebook and posed for a selfie with her, Matt having refused to take the picture.
“Doesn’t that…” he paused as if looking for the right word or trying not to swear, “bother you?”
“What, your rudeness, or her polite request for a photo?” she teased whilst sitting back in her chair. At his cool stare she continued. “It’s just part of the job. You probably have bits of yours that you hate but tolerate.” She took another sip of her drink before adding, “Like putting up with annoying models who land at your door with no coat and wearing fabulously inappropriate shoes.” She winked and shrugged her shoulders. “This is mine.”
His thoughts were clearly elsewhere as he stared into the crackling fireplace and ignored her. Stubborn man..
He stood abruptly. “Another one?” he asked, and she couldn’t help quoting back at him in the hope she could raise a smile.
“As you wish.” Maybe he had the book in the library back at the house aanndd… Maybe taking that sleeping pill and drinking so much alcohol wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had…
***
Matt had to hide his smile from her. Stubborn redheaded woman, he thought. It was obvious that she hated the pint of bitter but was clearly not going to let on. She may be a top model but she was no top actress. He couldn’t get his head around what her day to day life must be like: constant interruptions and silly requests for a signed piece of paper and a photograph. No privacy. Why the hell would that appeal to anyone?
He stole a quick glance over his shoulder. George, the traitor, was curled up enjoying Ana’s attentions yet again. He lifted his head briefly to gaze lovingly at her. Good grief, he thought, he had it bad. As if hearing his thoughts, George turned his head to him and gave him a look which Matt loosely interpreted as “What the hell are you waiting for? Get on with it mate.”
He quickly averted his gaze back to the bar and dropped his head in shame. Yep, definitely jealous of his dog.
As he waited for Bob to finish serving him he reflected on his surprise at the fact that he was actually enjoying himself. He’d popped into the pub several times since Emily’s departure but never really just sat back and chilled, enjoying someone else’s company. How strange that a woman, apparently known all over the world but not to him and who represented almost everything that he despised, would be the one person he could actually talk to… that he actually wanted to open up to. Yet something still held him back. She was a stranger after all, even if his sister and Mrs Henderson were treating her like a long lost Darling, home for Christmas.
Okay, so he was attracted to Ana. There, he’d admitted it, if only to himself, and secretly he loved the fact that she was wearing his clothes. She was a model, her job was to attract, so he decided he wouldn’t continue to beat himself up about it. There was no point even thinking of taking it any further. He certainly wasn’t ready for another relationship and anyway, she likely had some macho male model/actor/singer as a companion. They probably stared at themselves in the mirror each morning before congratulating each other on their respective attractiveness.
He returned to their table and set their drinks down. “Are you married?” Shit, why the hell had he just blurted that out? His mouth and brain were clearly not on the same wave length.
It was Ana’s turn to choke on the dregs from her glass.
“Sorry, “she finally managed to mutter, still clearing her throat. “Erm, no I’m not. You?” she countered, raising her brow.
