Page 60 of The Beekeeper's Cottage
Grace gritted her teeth. ‘No, but I know a man who does.’ She took hold of Flora’s arms and gave them a squeeze. ‘I have to get back,’ she said. ‘But I’ll call you, soon, I promise.’ She took a couple of steps. ‘I think I may just have lost everything I thought I ever wanted, but in doing so I’ve found the one thing I really do want. I’m not going to let that slide through my fingers now.’
‘Of course! Oh, Grace… the weekend… I never even asked you how it was going.’
Grace took a few more steps. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll be in touch.’
She hurried back towards the house, giving a bemused Flora a farewell wave as she reached the edge of the field and began to climb the slope into her garden. Her breath was ragged as she climbed, anger fuelling the muscles in her legs, and she had just drawn level with the hives when she stopped. She could hear the steady thrum from within, the bees at their busiest, and she frowned, suddenly remembering how these bees had found their way to her – a phone call from a nearby farm to say that they were hanging from a tree and if she had room could she come and collect them. And she had, boxing the bees up in the age-old way and placing them at the foot of her empty hive. When she opened the box, she watched as the bees began to explore, instinct taking over until, as one, they began to move up the ramp, following their queen into the hive. These same bees had now grown in number and were busy and productive and happy. There was nothing special about her hive, no reason why the bees should choose it over any other. All she had done was provide the right conditions and the bees, knowing this, had made it their home. It could have been anywhere.
She ran the rest of the way, hurtling into the kitchen, praying that Paul was still there, and that he was alone. He looked up as she came in, sitting at the table, relaxed and utterly unaware of what was about to happen. She could see the expression change instantly on his face as he realised what kind of mood she was in, but this was Grace, who didn’t usually say boo to a goose, and who certainly wouldn’t cause a fuss now, would she…?
He recoiled as she placed a palm down on the table opposite him and leaned across, jabbing the forefinger of her other hand towards Paul’s chest.
‘What did you say to Amos?’ she snarled. ‘And don’t you dare lie to me.’
A slow smile broke over his face. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Missing him?’
She had a sudden urge to hit him, to wipe the smug smile off his face. In the split second it took for the thought to flash through her mind, she saw an image of herself doing just that, the delicious surprise as she decked him one, and the total disbelief that she could ever be capable of anything like that. The thought buoyed her up – Paul had no idea what she was capable of. And truly, before that moment, neither did she.
‘Answer the question,’ she hissed. ‘We both know he’s gone, just as we both know that you’re the reason he has. So, I’ll ask you again, what did you say to him?’
‘Moderate your voice, Grace. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was married to a fishwife.’
‘No? Or that I’m married to a total bastard perhaps? Don’t worry, Paul, no one has to wonder about that, they already know it.’ She glared at him, chest heaving.
His gaze flickered to the door as he swallowed a little nervously. He wanted to ask her what she meant, but he wouldn’t, not yet anyway.
‘Very well then, have it your own way. I simply suggested to Amos that given his past, which no doubt he has taken great pains to avoid having to discuss, he might find it better if he moved on, just in case someone were to reveal all.’ He smiled. ‘Well I did tell you, Grace, that if ever you wanted to find out where he really came from, you only had to ask…’
‘So tell me,’ she said, the challenge clear in her voice.
‘Really? You want to know?’
‘I don’t care what he’s supposedly done, Paul. After all it can be no worse than anything you’ve done – the difference is that Amos has remained a decent, kind and caring human being. Besides, I don’t suppose you do know anything about Amos – how could you? You’re just resorting to your usual bully-boy tactics because that’s what you do, Paul, it’s what you’ve always done.’
He got slowly to his feet, towering over Grace. ‘Well now, that’s where you’re wrong. I recognised Amos the minute I saw him, although it took me a while to figure out where from. It wasn’t until I saw him changing the tyre that it jogged my memory; that ever so humble “who me”look he’s perfected.Thathasn’t changed over the years, I can tell you.’
Unwillingly, Grace could feel herself being drawn in by his words.
‘Because of course a few years ago, maybe five or six, I was still on the news desk and—’
‘I don’t care about that, Paul, just tell me where he’s gone, where he came from, I know it’s on the Worcestershire border somewhere.’
He baulked at her response. ‘No, I think you’ll want to know the whole story, Grace, just what you’re letting yourself in for… After all, that is what this is all about, isn’t it? An affair of the heart…? Well, how lovely, but I’m not so sure you’ll think the same way once you know the truth.’
‘Oh, this is ridiculous.’ She drew herself up. ‘Are you going to tell me where he’s gone or not?’
His expression was snide. ‘Well, I’m not sure I can remember, it was a long time ago…’
Her nostrils flared as she stared at him, wondering how on earth she could ever have thought she was in love with him. And then she spotted her handbag hanging on the back of the kitchen door. She marched across the room to retrieve it, checking she still had her phone tucked in her back pocket at the same time. It was time to go.
Returning to the table, she dumped her bag on it momentarily, fishing within it for her car keys.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Out,’ she replied. ‘Following my heart.’
He stared at her, his mouth working. ‘But what about brunch?’ he asked, light dawning.
She took off her apron and threw it at him. ‘Cook it your bloody self,’ she said, backing away.
