Page 4 of Wild About You

‘Jamie?’ said Fi. ‘He’s alright.’

‘No, he’s not!’

‘His bark is worse than his bite.’ She smiled at me as she raked chopped vegetables into a wok. They gave a satisfying hiss as they hit the hot oil. ‘You’ll get on fine.’

I sipped my wine fitfully and settled deeper into the faded armchair near the table. I loved being in Fi and Richard’s kitchen. They bought the house as a near ruin when they got married – a stone-built, eighteenth-century cottage down the lane from the estate cottage allocated to me – and over the years they’d extended it. The kitchen was in the extension – it was the perfect mix of old-fashioned country style and chic new: flagstones, pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, a battered old sofa by the woodburner, but alsosmooth white surfaces, soft-close doors and the largest picture window I had ever seen, revealing the hills beyond. I cringed when I thought about the first time I visited after the building work was finished, chattering away about the parties and gigs I had been to, feeling the epitome of both metropolitan chic and grime after a long day’s work, my bag stuffed full with gifts of overpriced chocolate and different coloured sparkling wines. I remembered looking out of the picture window, wondering why on earth someone would choose to come and live somewhere so empty, so wild. Fi had smiled at the look on my face, helped me out of my coat, and plonked a stoneware mug of tea in front of me with a slice of cake so fresh it had steam coming off it.

‘You wouldn’t believe the sunrises,’ she said, a look of calm, relaxed contentment on her face. And sure enough, as the days passed, I had unwound too. I stopped feeling so jittery; even my breathing became less shallow. That experience had stayed with me ever since – had brought me to Stonemore as much as my need to escape the past.

I was beyond glad I’d had a week off before starting work, as I’m not sure how I would have coped with grumpy Lord La-la when in the midst of emotional exhaustion. And as well as unpacking and journalling, I’d spent a good chunk of it comatose in my new home, mostly sleeping through the sounds of the wildlife outside the walls and within them (thanks, meeses), in the deafening silence of the countryside. The rest of it I’d spent in the kitchen I was sitting in now, staring at the flames in Fi and Richard’s woodburner as wechatted. When I told Fi she had saved me, she said ‘Ach,’ and nudged me, but she had.

‘What’s going on?’ Richard had been tempted out of his study by the smell of spices and garlic as Fi added them to the cooking vegetables.

‘Jamie hasn’t been an instant hit with Anna,’ said Fi, giving him a mischievous smile.

‘Do you mean you’re not bedazzled by his rolling acres?’ Richard stole a slice of carrot from the pan with a flourish. ‘He’s quite the eligible bachelor.’

‘Are they rolling? More jutting, grim and rainswept,’ I said. ‘And I’m surprised he’s not married already. I thought members of the aristocracy were betrothed early in life.’

‘Maybe a couple of centuries ago.’ Fi crumbled a dried chilli into the pan. ‘Anyway, he was in a relationship until a few months ago. It’s not been easy for him.’ Her tone hinted I should cut the earl some slack.

‘Who was she?’ I asked, curious despite myself, as Fi emptied noodles into a pan of boiling water.

‘Her name is Lucinda Fortescue-Menzies,’ said Fi.

‘Shut up!’ I cried, and Richard snorted into his wine. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just I distrust surnames that aren’t pronounced the way they’re spelt. It’s a trick to catch out plebs like me.’

Fi smiled gently and reprovingly. ‘She’s a cross-country rider and stables her horses on the estate. Ach, I feel bad talking about Jamie like this. Set the table, would you? It’s almost ready.’

‘Will do.’ I got up to help. ‘I promise I’ll be nice to theboss. I’ll be working mainly with Callum, anyway. And he’s far more acceptable.’

‘I’m glad we haven’t put you off entirely,’ Fi said, with a raised eyebrow.

I wasn’t feeling quite so cheerily capable the next morning. There was something about being at my desk at the crack of dawn, combined a with a faint but annoying hangover-headache, which made me feel the tiniest bit fragile.

I’d got home the night before at a perfectly sensible hour. The ten-minute walk from Fi and Richard’s cottage to mine had felt unexpectedly peaceful, despite the fact that I was on my own in the middle of nowhere, having refused Fi’s offer to drive me home. The route to my cottage was along a lane made hollow by centuries of boots and hooves, bordered by ancient trees with fields on either side. I enjoyed hearing the sounds of the countryside at night – the wind rustling through the branches, the crunch of my boots on the gravelly lane – and when I looked up, I could see the stars perfectly, tracing the small number I knew: three points of Orion’s belt and from there, Bellatrix and Betelgeuse. It was only when a fox shrieked that I sped up and hurried home like the big scaredy-cat I am.

It was when I got there that the sense of warmth and comfort from my evening with Fi and Richard really wore off. The front door opened directly onto the main ground-floor room, and as I walked in I remembered I hadn’t lit the woodburner earlier in the day, so the cottage was coldas well as dark. I clicked the light on and looked around at the room that served as my living room and kitchen, with a sense of emptiness. Despite the pictures I’d put up and my few belongings dotted about, it felt more like a quirky holiday cottage than a home. And there was something else missing too. In a vulnerable moment the week before, I’d texted Sean my new landline number,just in casehe wanted to get in touch (I’d remembered there was very patchy mobile reception on the estate). When I checked the handset there were no missed calls and no messages. It wasn’t as if I’d really expected it – not consciously – but the unmistakable fall in my chest, and my sudden sense that this place was less than homely, told me all I needed to know. Somehow, there was a small part of me that was still waiting for him to realise he’d made a mistake. Still waiting for one more chance to turn things around; putting together what I might say when he said he wanted to try again. Sean was like a word puzzle I hadn’t quite cracked, floating around in the back of my mind as my brain attempted to piece things together. I was used to finding solutions to problems, and a small part of me refused to stop looking for one.

I did some tipsy journalling:

New boss is hot. Callum also hot. Clearly this is my disturbed brain processing the break-up and finding every available man hot. Must try to be less scattergun in my affections.

I carefully wrote the word ‘Ice Queen’ in the centre of the page, drew some branches out of it, and promptly fell asleep before I thought of a single icy precaution I could take.

Thanks to the alcohol, I only dozed fitfully and ended up getting up extra early with a headache, then got to my desk at stupid o’clock, because what else was there to do? I sat there, feeling queasy and slightly dozy, staring into the middle distance as my computer booted up.

‘You should take more water with the wine.’

I was startled awake from thevery slightdoze I was in by the earl, yet again looming over my desk. He was dressed in a blue linen shirt over slate-coloured canvas trousers, and I considered asking him sharply wherehiscoat was. I glanced at the clock on the wall. 6.30am. What the hell was he doing here?

‘Do you always take a tour of your staff’s offices before they get in in the morning?’ I said, more sharply than I had intended.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Not always. Usually I just rely on the security cameras.’ His gaze was steady, unblinking, not a hint of a smile in his blue eyes; I sensed in that moment, he was making a catalogue of my faults, and we held each other’s gaze a moment too long. I realised I was giving him a hard stare, my heartbeat refusing to return to normal after the shock of being surprised. Luckily my rational brain kicked into gear with the thoughtAnna, you’ve only said two words to him and you’re already making an enemy of him. Be sensible.

I got to my feet, pinned my best, most professional smile to my face, and held out my hand. ‘Let’s start again, shall we? Anna Whitlock, pleased to meet you.’

He hesitated, then shook my hand – his was warm and dry, the handshake firm. His eyes glittered, and I had the sensethe assessment was still going on. ‘Pleased to meet you, Anna. And there’s no need for formalities. My staff call me Jamie.’

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