Page 50 of The Beekeeper's Cottage
‘I did tell you,’ she replied evenly. ‘As soon as I could, but that was difficult seeing as you neglected to get in touch about any of the arrangements for this weekend. Or indeed to check if I needed any help.’
‘Well, it could have been very embarrassing, not even knowing where my own bloody wife was sleeping.’
‘I never know where you sleep, Paul. How does it feel?’
She took a glass from the cupboard and ran water into it from the tap. ‘I suggest you get some rest. From the sounds of it you have a busy day lined up tomorrow. Goodnight.’
Her hand was shaking so much it was all she could do to keep the water from spilling and she had almost made it to the door when Paul’s voice came again.
‘So who helped you do all the work then?’ he asked. ‘All the painting, moving the rooms round… and don’t tell me you strung all those lights up in the trees by yourself, Grace, because I know you didn’t.’
She knew what he was asking: not who had helped her at all, but whether it was a man who had done so. She turned slowly, composing her face into a neutral expression despite the dim light. Amos had been an almost physical presence in her mind the whole evening. In fact, at times she was certain she had actually felt him close by, but she was damned if she would make any mention of him now.
‘My friends helped me,’ she replied. ‘You know, our neighbours, Ned, Flora, Hannah… and Fraser too, who’s doing incredibly well after his operation, thanks for asking.’
They had been his neighbours too for years and it irked her that he hadn’t even thought to ask how they were doing, but she would have to be careful to make no mention of the business she was planning on running, or the fact that with her help, business at the farm would be expanding too. She inhaled more deeply, trying to get her breathing under control – his questions were beginning to irritate her intensely. What right did he have to question her, or anything she did?
‘Well how public-spirited of them,’ he remarked, drawing on his cigarette so that its tip glowed red. He blew out the smoke slowly, knowing it would annoy her.
Clenching her fingers into her palm, she waited a couple more seconds but, despite the sneering look on his face, he remained silent. Taking the opportunity, she turned and walked away, her face hot.
It was cool in her room, and she stood for a few moments barefoot on the carpet, trying to draw in the peaceful atmosphere the room exuded. The fact that Paul’s behaviour didn’t surprise her was no comfort. Despite the importance of this weekend, he still couldn’t help himself. And the evening had gone well, in fact, it had gone brilliantly. The compliments had flowed for everything she had done; the simple supper of prawn and lemon linguine had been well received and, as the night stretched out and they retired to the patio, the atmosphere had been relaxed and convivial, the conversation tumbling and turning around a variety of subjects. Their guests were intelligent, well-read and charming, and she had even found herself enjoying their company, in spite of the occasion.
She crossed to the open window. Paul needed to be careful and, as a result, so did she. His behaviour could so easily backfire and she didn’t want to be taken with it if it did. Wondering how on earth she was ever going to sleep, she’d begun to turn away when a slight movement caught the corner of her eye. She turned back, but all was still in the garden below. And yet…
She lifted her face to the moon and breathed deeply, a slow smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Amos might not be with her, but she was sure it had been him in the garden just now, keeping a watch; it was just the sort of thing he would do. She turned away, feeling his comfort wrap around her.
18
It was early when Grace opened her eyes the next morning to a still and silent house. She lay for a few moments listening to the sounds of the garden below her window and gathering herself for the day ahead. Despite her conversation with Paul the night before she had slept well. She could only hope that his bile would have calmed during the night and not be further inflamed by a hangover this morning; she didn’t think she could cope with a repeat performance. Their guests would be out for most of the day but Grace still had a lot to prepare for and she would rather do so with a clear head.
Pulling on her usual jeans and tee shirt, she went soundlessly downstairs to freshen up the rooms and make a start on the breakfast preparations. Taking a tip out of Hannah’s book she had decided to make fresh bread rolls and croissants and, although she had bought the puff pastry, she was making the bread from scratch.
The kitchen was flooded with sunlight and, after flicking on the kettle to make herself some tea, she opened the patio doors to let in the gentle morning air. The sky was already a cloudless blue and looked set to continue that way and, as Grace stared out across the garden, she couldn’t help but wonder whether Amos lay sleeping somewhere just out of sight. She hoped so; just knowing he was around made her feel better.
She was turning out a ball of sticky dough onto the floured work surface when she heard soft footsteps behind her and turned in greeting. Like her, Zac had forgone the business dress of the day before and was clad in jeans and a soft shirt, worn loose. He was also barefoot.
‘Good morning,’ he replied, echoing her words. ‘Another beautiful one too by the look of things.’ His smile was easy. ‘I hope you don’t mind my interrupting,’ he continued, showing her the book he carried. ‘I hadn’t expected anyone to be up just yet and I’m a sucker for a quiet spot of reading first thing in the morning.’
Grace indicated the table. ‘Be my guest,’ she said. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea. Or sit outside if you’d rather, it’s probably warm enough already. What are you reading?’
He held up the cover which depicted a stack of books. ‘Rereading,’ he said. ‘Stoner, by John Williams, one of my all-time favourites.’
Grace held a hand to her heart and sighed theatrically. ‘He should have followed his heart, don’t you think? And given up everything for the woman he loved…’
Zac looked at her in surprise. ‘You’ve actually read it? Blimey, I rave about this book to people all the time and they just look at me blankly.’ He paused. ‘Maybe that’s why I like it so much, I feel like it’s my secret pleasure. And yes, you’re right, he should have.’
Grace laughed. ‘Then don’t let me keep you,’ she said. ‘I won’t tell a soul.’ She looked down at her floury fingers. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee to go with it? I won’t be a moment.’
‘Tea would be great, thanks… but let me – that is, if you don’t mind?’
‘Idon’t mind in the slightest but this isn’t really the way it’s supposed to happen. It should bemelooking afteryou, not the other way around.’
Zac glanced over his shoulder. ‘Then I won’t tell a soul,’ he said, eyes twinkling in amusement. ‘Would you like another?’
‘Yes please, I’ll have tea too.’
Zac removed her cup from the side and instinctively opened the cupboard above the kettle, taking down a mug. He grinned. ‘They’re always in the same place, aren’t they? In everyone’s house.’
