Page 17 of Sunny Skies and Summer Kisses

Wilf’s been rolling in fox poo!!! Stinks

something shocking!! Need to bathe

the little sod. Will get there asap B xxx

Anoushka chuckled to herself. Brogan’s black Labrador was an adorable softie, but he’d developed a terrible penchant for rolling in anything undesirable he encountered – the more disgusting, the better – and regularly needed bathing because of it. She fired a quick text back.

Hi Broge, no worries. Good

old Wilf! Hope you get him

smelling sweeter soon! See

you when you land. A xxx

She couldn’t help but smile as she pressed send.

Anoushka paused, toying briefly with the idea of heading back home, waiting ’til she’d got word from Brogan that she was at the pub, but quickly talked herself out of it; she was almost there, after all.

A moment later, she pushed open the heavy oak door of the Sunne. A familiar wave of warmth rushed at her, immediately lifting her spirits thanks to the gentle burble of chatter and the mouth-watering aroma of landlady, Bea Latimer’s, delicious home-cooking. It was regularly said that the pub welcomed you in like an old friend and Anoushka couldn’t argue with that this evening. With its thick, uneven walls and age-darkened oak beams, it oozed charm. Indeed, it had recently been described as a “delightful gem” and the “epitome of country style” by a columnist in a national magazine who’d waxed lyrical about it, declaring they couldn’t wait to return. Bea’s former incarnation as an interior designer was evident throughout the place, from the soft furnishings in colours that reflected the shades of the surrounding moorland, to the hand-forged light fittings (courtesy of Jimby), whose mellow light cast a gentle glow around the room. The open fire blazed away merrily, as it did each day, in the vast inglenook fireplace.

Feeling uncharacteristically nervous, Anoushka scanned the room, a little squirm of anxiety making itself known in her stomach. She knew her time with Damon had given her confidence a dent but she really didn’t want to have to explain about him to others; she didn’t relish people asking questions. She spotted a slew of familiar faces including a huddle of local farmers no doubt discussing the latest prices livestock was getting at the mart over in Middleton-le-Moors. She headed towards the sturdy oak bar where the polished brass handles of the beer pumps gleamed back at her. Portia, the landlord and landlady’s daughter, had just finished pouring a glass of wine for Ella Welford – another of Kitty’s relations. She was standing at the bar with her boyfriend, Joss Campion, while landlord, Jonty, whose half-moon spectacles were perched precariously on the end of his generous nose, was deep in conversation with local farmer John Danks.

‘Hello, darling, what can I get you?’ asked Portia in her cut-glass accent that stood out against the broad North Yorkshire vowels that burbled around the room. Her welcoming smile went some way to calming Anoushka’s nerves. Like her mother, Bea, she was effortlessly stylish. Tonight, she was wearing a cream silk shirt over faux leather jeans, her long blonde hair hanging in an impossibly glossy curtain down her back.

‘Hi, Porsh, can I get a bottle of Pinot and three glasses, please?’ Anoushka asked, returning Portia’s smile.

‘You can indeed.’ Portia regularly helped out behind the bar when she was visiting her parents and by all accounts was happy to stand in for Brogan this evening.

‘Hiya, Noushka,’ said Ella, her tone friendly. ‘How’s things?’

‘Good, thanks, Ells. You?’

‘Not bad.’

‘Now then, Noushka.’ Joss leaned around Ella and smiled at her.

‘We don’t usually see you in here on a Saturday night; I thought the bustle of York always beckoned.’ Ella reached for her glass of wine, taking a sip, oblivious to the dread her words had triggered in her friend.

Anoushka tensed. She knew Ella wasn’t being nosy, but questions like this were the very reason she hadn’t been keen to venture out tonight; she wasn’t ready to explain how she’d broken up with Damon. And besides, he’d occupied way too much of her headspace recently, tonight she wanted to push him well and truly out of her mind. She caught Portia’s eye; Portia would know why Brogan wanted to swap her shift, not that Anoushka minded, the young woman had a kind heart and wasn’t in the least bit gossipy.

Portia flashed her a sympathetic look. ‘Ah, well, York’s loss is our gain,’ she said. ‘I, for one, am delighted you’re here, darling. I haven’t seen you for an age; we’ve got lots to catch up on.’

‘Yeah, I don’t think I’ve seen you here since Christmas.’

‘That would be right,’ said Portia. ‘And I gather you’re meeting up with Brogan and Kristy this evening; I might pop over and join you later, if I have a spare minute, that is.’

‘That’d be good.’ Anoushka gave her a grateful smile. ‘Kristy should be here just after eight, and Brogan’s just texted me to say she’s running late, apparently Wilf’s been up to mischief, rolling in the dreaded fox poo.’ She scrunched up her nose.

‘Oh, no! Poor Brogan,’ said Ella.

‘Ughh! How ghastly! Nomad and Scruff did that last time I took them on a walk, little horrors,’ Portia said of her parents’ rescue dogs. ‘I’ve never smelt anything like it. Took forever to get rid of the pong.’

‘Yeah, rolling in yucky stuff’s a favourite pastime of Mabel and Ethel if they get the chance – the smellier the better; they can’t seem to get enough.’ Anoushka chuckled. ‘Anyway, I think I’ll go and snaffle that table by the window before someone else grabs it.’ She reached for the tray Portia had set up for her with three glasses and the wine in an ice bucket. ‘See you folks later.’

‘Will do, darling. Have fun.’ Portia beamed a smile at her.

Anoushka had been sitting at the table for a good ten minutes, savouring the warmth belted out by the chunky, vintage radiator that sat beneath the window, when the door opened, admitting a chilly blast of air. She ceased scrolling through social media on her mobile and looked up to see Lady Carolyn Hammondely and her husband, Sim, bustling into the room. Her heart gave an unexpected flutter when Gabe followed up behind with Bob on a short lead. She hadn’t factored in seeing him here tonight.

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