Page 12 of Valentine Nook
The pair of them are looking at each other in the way I know I’m missing ninety percent of the conversation.
“Sorry . . . what’s happening?”
“Nothing . . .nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Clemmie turns to me, her expression full of frustration. “Lando just didn’t know we’d put Bluebell Cottage up for rental, and he’s kind of annoyed. But, like I said, he’s been in a mood for months. He’ll get over it eventually.”
“Oh.”
I pick up one of the glasses and take a large mouthful because I don’t really know what to say. I feel bad that he’s annoyed, but on the other hand, I had nothing to do with the rental, and I’m paying ten thousand dollars a month, so he probably needs to lighten up.
“And Eddie won’t say anything about you being here, will you, Eddie?”
Eddie looks like he couldn’t care about anything except making sure his beer taps are polished.
“Secret’s safe with me,” he replies, and I’m pinned once more by his steely gray eyes. “As long as you remember this is the best pub in the village, not The Cupid’s Arrow.”
“Got it. I can remember that for sure.”
“And you’re joining our cricket team for the summer fair.”
“Um . . .”
“Eddie, leave her alone. She’s only just arrived,” Clemmie chides playfully and picks up her Diet Coke. “And please can we grab a couple of bags of salt and vinegar? I’m showing Holiday around the village.”
Turning around again, Eddie removes two of the smallest bags of chips I’ve ever seen from a basket and passes them to Clemmie, who shoves them in her pockets.
“Don’t leave it too long next time,” he grumbles.
“We’ll be back tomorrow. Now I have a new buddy,” Clemmie replies.
“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” I add, reaching for my purse. “What do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s put it on my tab.” Clemmie nudges me gently. “Come on, I want to show you something I think you’ll like.”
I figure Clemmie’s taking me to another store or another part of the main street, but five minutes later, we’re walking through a field toward a cluster of huge oak trees. My sneakers have soaked through from the rain clinging to the long grass, but I forget all about it when we reach the center.
A tiny waterfall about twenty feet high drops into a perfectly round rock pool.
My gasp echoes around us. It looks like something you’d find in the rainforests on a remote island off South America, not in the English countryside.
I make out a small ledge behind the waterfall, which, over time, has carved a couple of steps leading to the pool. The water is crystal clear—no moss, no leaves or dirt. Nothing. I can’t tell how deep it is, but at the bottom, I can see a large pink rock, the exact shade of the blossom trees.
There’s a magical quality to it. Although that could be because Clemmie’s whispering and the buzz of Diet Coke has gone straight to my head.
I’m genuinely speechless, and it’s totally worth the fences we climbed over to get here.
As if reading my mind, Clemmie says, “There’s a much easier path leading from the gate at the back of Bluebell Cottage. If you ever want some privacy outside of the cottage, you can come here.”
Having seen how busy the village is, I’m surprised at how quiet it is.
“Do people swim in it?”
“No, it’s on our private land. If anyone’s here, they’re trespassing, but you’re welcome to,” she replies, sitting down on the grass verge and patting the spot next to her. “No one ever comes here, though.”
“What is this place?”
Removing the packets of chips from her pocket, she rips them both open with her teeth until they’re flattened out and places them between us.
“It’s Cupid’s Waterfall. He’s the symbol of our village, and legend has it his parents came here for a quickie.” She giggles through a sip.
