Page 79 of Bea's Book Wagon
‘Fizz!’ said Lochlan, unpacking the bottle of champagne she’d snuck in at the last minute, cold from the fridge. ‘Now this really is a decent spread,’ he said, popping the cork with a bang.
‘Here,’ said Bea, ‘we’ve got strawberries too,’ she said, popping one into her mouth, followed by a glug of champagne.
‘Hey, what about me?’
‘Here you go,’ she said, feeding him one in a way she hoped was seductive.
‘Fancy a spot of skinny dipping?’ he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Do you know how cold that water is?’ Bea laughed.
‘I’m sure we’d warm up pretty quickly—’
‘Knowing my luck someone would steal our clothes.’
‘But there’s no one else here, Bea, it’s just us two.’
‘We haven’t got any towels or anything.’
‘Spoil sport,’ he joked, before reaching for a sausage roll. ‘God, these are spectacular,’ he laughed.
‘I got them from the café, Joyce is an excellent cook.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ said Lochlan. ‘So, what have you been up to? How’s business?’
‘Good,’ said Bea, taking another sip of her champagne. ‘I did an event at the WI, I’m starting a book club on the village green and my online store is nearly ready to launch. Oh, and I’ve got a book speed-dating event at the pub on Monday night.’
‘Wow, you have been busy,’ said Lochlan, through a mouthful of pastry.
‘I’ve got a few more events booked in for the summer as well; you’ll have to come along, see for yourself, you’ve not seen the wagon yet, I’d love to show you one—’
‘I’m going to be pretty busy for the next few months, this deal in London is big, if I can pull it off—’
‘You’re going back to London?’
‘Back and forth. Don’t worry, I’ll be around some weekends, we can still hang out.’
‘Oh, okay . . ,’ said Bea. Hang out? Is that what they were doing? Admittedly they’d not had a conversation about whether this was going anywhere, but she’d thought, hoped, it was leading somewhere.
‘So, have you made any plans for the rest of the day, if skinny dipping is definitely off the agenda?’ he asked, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
‘Yes, I thought we could head into Rye to look at—’
‘Actually, I’ve booked a slot for us to visit Lamb House, up in the Citadel there. I’m sure you’ve been before, but I haven’t, and I thought it might be nice to go together?’
‘Oh, I’d love to!’ said Bea, reaching over the remains of their picnic to squeeze his hand and pushing aside a flicker of annoyance that he’d gone ahead and booked something when she’d asked him to leave the plans for today to her. ‘It’s one of my favourite places.’
Tucked away in a narrow, cobbled street, Lamb House is a beautiful Georgian property with a strong literary history. Now a National Trust property, the house was once home to Henry James, as well as a string of other literary greats, including E. F. Benson and Rumer Godden. Bea had spent many hours wandering around the walled gardens and wood-panelled rooms, taking in the atmosphere. It was no wonder it had inspired so many writers to produce some of their greatest works there.
‘I’m guessing we won’t be needing a tour guide then?’ Lochlan teased. ‘Shall we make a move?’ he said, starting to collect the empty Tupperware and plastic glasses. ‘I’ve booked us in for two, so that should give us plenty of time to have a wander first.’
‘There’s a couple of great second-hand bookshops I’d love to show you, so the more time we have the better,’ Bea replied, popping the last strawberry in her mouth.
‘Oh, shit! Is that rain?’ asked Lochlan, as a huge drop of water landed on his cheek.
‘But it wasn’t forecast,’ said Bea, looking up at the sky just as the heavens opened. ‘Quick, over there,’ she said, throwing everything into the hamper and darting towards the cliffs.
‘You’re soaked,’ said Lochlan, as she tried to shake out her dress where it was clinging to her legs.
