Page 78 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
She winced. “You’d think I’d know that by now.”
“You’re doing brilliantly,” he assured her. How could he have ever doubted her?
“I don’t think we’re going to have her want to help again.”
“That’s her loss.”
“It’s the village’s loss.” She sighed. “And I hate to feel like I can’t manage this.”
“It sounds like you’re managing just fine.”
“Really?”
He nodded, conscious of another of those moments when he felt like he was drowning in the depths of her eyes. Beautiful eyes. Sparkling with warmth and affection.
And, it seemed, gratitude. “Thanks. It just feels a little overwhelming at times.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job. You know we appreciate you.”
“I don’t think Patricia does now that I’ve given her this feedback.”
“We were all there and heard what you said, so if she complains, then call one of us in and we’ll back you.”
“Thank you, Liam.” Her smile tugged at him.
Another moment passed between them, and suddenly George’s idea last weekend didn’t seem so foolish after all. He could—should—invite Liv out. See if they could take a drive somewhere. Maybe have a meal.
His phone rang. He checked it. Saw it was Sir Humphrey. Then realized he had several missed calls. “I, um, need to get this.”
“Sure. I’m going to finish up here then go check on George.”
He nodded then answered. And gave his own wince when he heard what was said.
Chapter 17
Liv stifled a yawn as her mother continued nattering with Gran during their regular Sunday video call.
The fatigue of cleaning last week was nothing to compare to that induced by the visitors of this weekend. While she’d spent most of Friday working in the office, Saturday was spent putting out fires. Not literal ones, thank goodness, but those induced by things like running out of stickers at the front gate, which had necessitated using their wet-weather option of paper tickets instead. And the realization that stickers were so much easier to read. A glance at a red dot or a green meant they knew if it was a combined house-and-garden tour or garden visit only.
Hurrying back, she’d overheard people complaining about the state of the WCs and lack of toilet paper, which meant finding her courage and venturing into the men’s loos and not gagging while she cleaned it up. Regular cleaning was certainly something they couldn’t neglect.
Then George had called to ask her to relieve her from gift shop duties while she took a break. “And we need more postcards too. We’re running out.”
While Liv was running the gift shop, someone alerted her that the extension power cord to the ice cream van had accidentally been unplugged, so it now couldn’t serve ice creams. She’d plugged that in and, after George returned, finally headed back to the office, only to see from the window some small children were punching one of the parterre garden’s topiary balls, their parents oblivious and talking on their phones. She’d rushed outside, not wanting to yell across the lawn, and managed to alert the parents, who had the grace to look embarrassed and then sharply reprimanded their children, while several older people muttered and looked on with judgemental eyes.
These weren’t hard things, but the fact that they came one on top of the other stole from her time from dealing with the other tasks she needed to do, like further developing the website and adding Gary’s artwork information to the site. Yesterday’s numbers of visitors had proved they might need to investigate online ticketing, which would add a whole other level of fun and expense for their modest website, which was all they could afford.
So many things. So little budget. So few volunteers. And she couldn’t afford to get any more offside.
Patricia hadnottaken Liv’s feedback well, huffing about interlopers from the antipodes, and it seemed that they’d be destined to live with the bright purple-and-pink posters a while longer. And Valerie had not appreciated Liv asking her to rearrange the dining setting, which had been weirdly organized from the smallest coffee spoon to the longest table knife, instead of being set as if for a meal.
And then there was Liam. He who always seemed to hover around the edges of her mind, demanding attention she didn’t quite have enough time to give. There had been a couple of moments yesterday when she’d felt a wave of … something pass between them. Almost enough to make her wonder if he really might ask her for a date. Then he’d had his phone call, and she hadn’t seen him at all yesterday, even though she’d lingered until it was obviously late.
He hadn’t been at church today, either, which left her feeling a little anxious. But asking George about his whereabouts was asking for trouble, or at least tease. And she was so tired, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t cry.
“Liv, are you quite all right?” Her mum peered closer at the screen.
“I’m just tired.”
