Page 47 of The Beekeeper's Cottage
It seemed only a few minutes later that they were standing back outside the shed at the top of the garden, where Amos stood patiently as Grace swept a few last bees from his suit with a soft brush.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ she said. ‘Seeing as how attached they’ve been to you previously.’
Amos watched as they flew away, and then repeated the process for Grace before helping her from her suit. The walk back up the garden had felt intensely poignant for some reason and he was wondering what to say next.
‘Do you need to get back?’ asked Grace, forestalling him. ‘Or have you got time for a cup of tea?’
There was a huge amount of work still waiting for him at the farm, but he couldn’t refuse. It would have felt rude to simply rush off but Amos was only too aware that his willpower as far as Grace was concerned was definitely on the wane.
‘Always time for tea,’ he replied. ‘Besides, it would be good just to check where we are with everything for next weekend, so that I can make sure all the last-minute things are attended to.’
Grace gave a sheepish smile. ‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ she admitted. ‘Only I’ve thought of something else that might need doing.’
She took his suit from him and, folding it up with hers, stowed them back in the shed, together with her other tools. They walked back into the house side by side. With their outer layer of clothing removed Amos was suddenly very conscious that only the thin cotton of their tee shirts separated them. He took a deep breath and tried to push the thought away.
He watched while Grace busied herself preparing the tea but, despite his best efforts, his head was still teeming with thoughts.
‘Grace, can I ask you something?’ He waited until she nodded, a slight smile on her face. ‘Back out by the bees you said that the honey harvest reminded you how opportunist the human race can be, how we always try to profit from a situation… Something about the way you said it made me think, and I wondered whether you were perhaps drawing comparison with yourself?’
Grace turned from the counter, a mug in her hand, and gave a rueful smile. ‘You got me,’ she said. ‘Guilty as charged.’ It was a flippant comment, but her expression was sad. ‘And the closer I get to next weekend the worse that feeling becomes. I know I’m supposed to look on it as a trial run for when this place becomes a guest house, but I can’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t even be doing it. I feel like I’m prostituting myself whichever way I look at it.’ She was about to say something else but then she stopped, instead holding Amos’s look, an intense expression on her face.
Amos closed the distance between them in a moment, hugging her to him. A tight, fierce hug which took them both by surprise. Amos broke away, laughing.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry! I’m not entirely sure what came over me then. It’s just—’
But Grace was laughing too. ‘No, don’t apologise…’ She dropped her head a little. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone hugged me like that. It was rather lovely actually.’ She smiled shyly. ‘And I think, just what I needed. I’m sorry Amos, I’m in somewhat of an odd mood this morning. I’m not entirely sure why.’
‘Understandable,’ he replied. ‘Given what’s been going on lately, which does not under any circumstances mean that you are prostituting yourself, either. All that’s been happening is that you are planning for your future, Grace, here, where you belong. Next weekend will remove the doubt you’ve been living with for so long, and that can only be a good thing.’
He was trying to make her feel better but, as soon as he said it, he felt something shift inside of him. Because Grace did belong here, but the very thought made him feel rootless and restless and that was something that had never concerned him before. Grace belonged, the bees belonged, but Amos didn’t belong to anything. He didn’t share his life with anyone, not really; he’d never depended on anyone, and he’d never had anyone depend on him. And he suddenly realised that he wanted those things more than at any other time of his life. And he knew why.
17
The house looked amazing. Even Grace couldn’t remember a time when it looked quite so lovely and, although she hadn’t really set out to achieve a particular look, everything had seemed to come together of its own accord, resulting in rooms which had their own distinct character but which also blended to give an overall impression. Somehow they had managed to bring the outside inside; the palette of colours mirroring those of the garden and, with the addition of some carefully chosen fabrics and finishing touches, every space was evocative of the summer countryside.
They had decided on a wash of gentle white on all the walls to give a unifying finish, and Grace had found the perfect colour which reminded her of the blush of velvety rose petals. The result was stunning. Its subtle gleam gave the rooms an airy look and was the perfect backdrop for richer-coloured blooms which Grace used as decoration and on the patterned soft furnishings. Some of the heavier, more architectural prints which Paul favoured had been replaced by Flora’s botanical ones, and the bold colours and designs added to the theme rather than detracting from it.
And the favourite of all of these rooms was the one that Grace was standing in now, her new bedroom. She had relocated to a smaller room but, by adding some clever shelving and storage, she had just as much room for her things, exactly as Amos had promised. The room felt cosy and nurturing, and – most important of all – it was hers. It was not a room she had ever shared with Paul and neither would she. Their old bedroom, a much bigger room, was now available for guests and it was here that she was intending to put Zac, the man from America who they were all hoping to impress. His two colleagues would also sleep in newly redecorated rooms and Paul, although appearances would have to be maintained, would be sleeping in a smaller room next door to hers, but separate, and that was all she cared about. Paul would almost certainly not be happy about the new arrangements but that would be his problem and not hers.
She had thought long and hard about whether this was the right time to make all these changes, but she was conceding her house this weekend and it was the last concession for Paul she would ever be prepared to make. She couldn’t get away with much, but she could get away with this and, small victory though it was, she claimed it. Their guests and Paul would be arriving with Dominic in about three hours’ time and she knew that for the next two days she would have to act her socks off and adopt a persona she despised, in order to truly set herself free. She couldn’t help wondering if the price wasn’t too high.
Amos had seemed increasingly uneasy over the last couple of days and, although he had promised that he would be on hand over the weekend, she could tell that he was finding it tough. What she wasn’t quite so sure about was why. And as more and more time went by, Grace also realised that this was bothering her a great deal more than she thought it would, or perhaps should. But the truth of the matter was that every morning when she got up, she thought of Amos, and the same was true when she closed her eyes at night. When she wanted to share something, it was with him, when she laughed, it was because of him, and when the room was empty of people it was him she wanted to appear.
She could hear Flora calling her from downstairs and went to join her. She would never have been able to do all that she had without her friends’ help and even though Flora had a hugely busy weekend of her own ahead of her, as did everyone else at the farm, they had all worked their socks off to get the cottage ready.
‘Oh, Flora…’ Grace’s hand went to her mouth as she entered the living room. Flora was carrying an enormous bowl filled with peonies, roses and sprays of eucalyptus.
Her friend grinned in reply. ‘Where would you like this one?’ she asked. It was the fifth display of flowers that Flora had created, having arrived with Ned about an hour ago, laden with blooms of every variety.
‘The hallway, definitely,’ said Grace, decisively. ‘Having those colours there will give a stunning first impression of the house.’
‘Right you are then,’ replied Flora and beetled off.
Grace gazed around the elegant sitting room, before moving back through into the kitchen. It looked like a florist’s shop at the moment, but the cut stems and fronds of greenery, unused flowers and vases would soon be tidied away and then the table would be set for their late supper. Simply dressed, it would provide the perfect informal setting for their meal. The night-scented stocks which stood in two huge tubs just beyond the patio doors provided ample invitation to explore the garden, and the lights which Amos was busy hanging now would add to the temptation.
She went out to join him, smiling at the sight of his bright-red boots halfway up a ladder. She would know those feet anywhere.
Waiting until he had finished tying off the length of wire he was holding, Grace looked across the lawn. Around its perimeter, lengths of small globe lights had been strung, looping through the trees. The light they gave was softer, more diffuse than fairy lights and, with careful placement, they seemed to disappear into the distance. Closer to home, on the patio, were two dozen jam jars, carefully hoarded over the last couple of weeks, each containing a small tea light candle. The rims of the jars were decorated with tiny sprigs of gypsophila and ribbon and, once lit, would be placed around the flagstones. Come the falling light of dusk it would look utterly enchanting.
