Page 99 of A Colourful Country Escape
Chapter 51
Bloody hell, where was she?
Lexie looked at her watch as she stood in the shadow of Nutgrass Hall’s towering gates. The damned things were closed and she couldn’t remember the code. Mrs Moon had promised to be her wingwoman, but even after a flurry of buzzer pressing, no one was coming to her rescue.
Had she made a mistake? Was this the wrong Saturday to meet Ben in the secret garden? Or maybe he’d changed his mind. He’d publicly invited her here, but the stupid gates were shut. What did that mean?
Maybe it was the fact she was twenty minutes late. Damn the extra time she’d spent faffing over the perfect totally-not-trying-too-hard outfit, that slow tractor she and Grace had been stuck behind, and the fact she now couldn’t find her mobile. It must have slipped out of her pocket in Grace’s four-by-four. And now Grace was gone.
‘Ouch.’ She rubbed her shoulders as the scorching summer heat tried to burn the skin off her shoulders. It was as though every possible thing was transpiring against her.
Was it a sign she should just go back to the shop? Eat M&Ms, sulk, and maybe come back another day? But no. She wasn’t going to think like that. She’d come a long way since she’d first cowered outside those gates. They weren’t so intimidating now.
With a huff, she hoicked up her dress and began her trek around the peripheries of the estate. Could there be an easier way in? A side gate she didn’t know of, or a loose bit of hedge? But after a sweltering march around the outskirts, there was nothing. Other than a slightly lower stretch of wall behind the peacock sheds. Hmm.
If only her not-trying-too-hard outfit didn’t consist of a long sunshine-yellow dress and pixie boots. It was not the ideal wall-scaling ensemble, but one way or another she was going over.
She tucked her dress into her knickers and took a deep breath. Right. Her rainbow not-trying-too-hard manicure was going to be left behind on the Cotswold-stone wall, but her dignity was coming with her. She didn’t care who might turn their posh nose up at the sight of a bare-legged, slightly sweaty woman clawing her way over the ramparts. She was absolutely going in. She yanked off her boots and threw them over.
Craaaaaww. Eeeeaaa, eeeeaaa, eeeeaaaa …
Shit – the peacocks. That was all she needed. The pesky things continued their fanfare as Lexie heaved and panted over the top of the wall, trying to get her grazed leg over without looking thoroughly indecent.
Just as she was trying not to cry at the distance she had to scrabble down, or the harem of peacocks, which had started to gather, she realised that a fanfare was just the thing.
‘Tom!’
The elderly gardener was ambling towards her, squinting up from beneath his battered tweed cap.
‘Young grockle. You’s back!’ Shooing the peacocks back into their shed, Tom hastened towards Lexie, pulling his wheelbarrow out from under a tree. He parked it against the wall, beneath where Lexie was clinging on with her ruined nails.
‘’Ere yer go. This should soften yer landing. Nut grass. I managed to get the last of it out, wud yer believe?’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Quick. The mistress ’as been on the prowl. Mrs Moon is tryin’ to keep ’er busy with a pot of tea. You lookin’ for Ben?’
Lexie took a deep breath, swung her other leg over, and screwed her eyes shut as she fell into the barrow of knobbly weeds. ‘Yes,’ she squeaked, as a hundred knuckles dug into her bottom. That was going to bruise.
‘Last I saw, ’e was mopin’ about near the kissing bench. ’E expectin’ you?’
Lexie checked her watch again. Forty minutes late. ‘Well, he was.’
‘Then go get ’im, girl. I’m sick of seein’ that miserable face on ’im. You’ll brighten it. Gawd knows, we needs a bit o’ cheering up around ’ere.’ He picked up her boots. ‘Did you want these?’
Lexie looked at the peacock dung that was having a party on her fake suede, and tried not to gag. ‘I’ll go barefoot.’ She clambered from the wheelbarrow and straightened herself out. ‘It’s fine.’
‘I’ll clean ’em up for yer. Borrow these if you like.’ He pointed to his old working boots, which were at least four sizes too big for her.
‘Don’t worry, Tom. I’m a big girl now.’ She threw her arms around him. ‘And don’t you dare clean the crap off my shoes, you silly bugger.’
‘It’s part of me job.’ He shrugged.
‘The only person who should be cleaning up after those things is the person who owns them.’
Tom’s eyes widened. ‘I’ll leave you to tell ’er that.’
Lexie felt herself shiver, despite the blistering heat on her skin. ‘I might,’ she replied, secretly hoping she wouldn’t have to.
After a quick goodbye and good luck, she scurried across the grass towards the secret garden, dodging stray peacock poo and praying Mrs Carrington-Noble wouldn’t spy her through a window.
With every hurried step, her stomach grew an extra knot. She tugged at her dress, which clung wetly to her back. She was a leaping, cartwheeling bag of nerves. How long until this was over?
