Page 10 of Valentine Nook
I must have been more tired than I thought on arrival here, because there’s no way I noticed this.
It’s seriously stunning and so quintessentially English that it doesn’t look real. It could be a film set, but even the movies couldn’t make anything this cute.
While it’s notbusybusy, it’s not quiet. Everywhere I look are people, and out of habit, I pull my sunglasses off my head and slip them on to cover my eyes.
The main street is easily the length of a football field, with a lilac explosion of wisteria climbing up two-thirds of the stone storefronts, which pops against the pale green window frames on each building. Store signs swing ever so slightly in the breeze as customers enter and exit, their bags overloaded with goods.
I spot a couple of black Labradors sitting obediently by a flower stall laden with a rainbow selection of buds and blooms, and a long line snakes halfway down the street from what looks like a coffee shop, but it could be a bakery.
Someone’s tied their horse up outside a store called The Valentine Cook, which sells groceries based on boxes of fruit and vegetables stacked outside, reminding me of a rustic version of Erewhon. And I now understand why New England is called New England if this is what they were trying to replicate.
But the best bit, I realize, is that no cars are driving down it, and none are parked. All the cars passing by have come around the road and headed over the bridge past my cottage.
“Welcome to Valentine Nook.”
I turn to find Clemmie beaming proudly, eager for me to love it like she does.
“You grew up here?”
“Yes.” She nods. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? I can be having the worst day, and I’ll come and sit by the fountain, and suddenly, everything seems okay again.”
I join her as she perches on the edge of the fountain’s stone wall, and I turn to study it. A large cherub takes center stage, aiming his arrow down the middle of the road. He’s surrounded by dozens of woodland creatures and animals all carved into what must have once been an enormous rock.
Around the opposite side, people throw coins into the water, making the bottom glitter in the sunlight, reminding me of the Trevi Fountain in Rome, except smaller.
I can understand why Clemmie loves it so much. I’ve been here two minutes, and I’ve already forgotten my bad mood from this morning and the water dripping from the ceiling.
“Yes, gorgeous.”
“I’m so happy you like it.” Her arm loops into mine and squeezes gently. “It’s one of the oldest villages in England. Been in my family for five hundred years.”
My neck snaps around. “Whoa, what?”
I’ve never heard of someone owning a whole town before, and the concept of something being five hundred years old is a little hard to grasp, but Clemmie just nods enthusiastically, like it’s totally normal.
“My great-great-great. . . whatever . . . grandfather owned the land and built the village. If you can believe it, it hasn’t changed much, although my father modernized it a lot, bringing in more money for the village and its businesses. And now my brother is in charge.”
“Which brother?”
“Lando, the moody one.”
Shit. I really should have read the information Ashley printed off for me.
“Now . . .” Clemmie pushes up from the fountain wall and points down the road away from the main street. “Down that lane is the village cricket pitch, and a little farther on is Foxleigh Park, the polo club where my brother Miles plays. There’s a game every week, but next month is the big summer tournament, so you must come. It’s lots of fun. Ooh . . .” she gasps. “The Valentine summer fair is in a couple of weeks too.”
“Summer fair. Cool. Polo. Got it. Cricket? I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s kind of like baseball. But also nothing like it. You’ll have to see for yourself,” she replies and catches sight of my confused expression. “Sorry, I know this is a lot to take in. We can do cricket and polo another day.”
I chuckle. “Thanks. Information combined with jet lag is making it hard to compute.”
“How about I show you the shops? And there’s a spa one road over that does the best mani pedi outside of London.”
“Lead the way.”
I soon figure out Clemmie is that person who knows everything and everyone.
It takes us twenty minutes to get about fifty yards because she stops to speak to each person we pass, or rather, they stop her. Three times she gets invited to afternoon tea.
