Page 40 of The Runaway Bridesmaid

‘You are welcome here any time, Rosie, even without this joker.’

They drained their coffees and were preparing to leave when Mike returned, soaked to the skin. ‘It’s bad out there Charlie, not sure your Land Rover will make it down the track. It’s like a quagmire in the Amazon rainforest.’

‘We’ll risk it, Mike, but thanks for the warning.’

‘Okay, send my regards to your mum and dad. They must be so relieved the season’s over for another year.’

‘Yeah, will do, Mike. Bye,’ said Charlie hurriedly as he guided Rosie through the door.

‘What did Mike mean? Are your parents farmers, too? I don’t know anything about your family, Charlie?’

‘Oh, Mike’s parents are friends with mine. We’ve known each other since we were kids, that’s all. Come on; we’d better make a run for it.’

They galloped across the slick cobbles to the Land Rover, their heads bent low against the downpour. As Rosie leapt up into the passenger seat, the rain accelerated its onslaught and to her horror, a violent shard of lightning split the blackened sky in front of the windscreen. Charlie revved the engine and began to pick his way back down the dirt road, the ancient vehicle rocking from side to side as they made their way from one muddy crevice to the next.

At the end of the mile-long track, the Land Rover’s wheels refused to breach a particularly deep pothole and the tyres could gain no grip in the sleek mud. The harder Charlie pressed the accelerator, the deeper the rut became. He slammed his fists on the steering wheel in frustration before turning to face Rosie.

‘There’s a village pub about half a mile in that direction where I can fulfil my debt of honour to pay for dinner, or we could sit it out here until Mike gets the tractor down to drag us free?’

‘Oh, the pub please, I’m starving.’

Rosie grinned. Despite the weather, surprisingly, she was enjoying herself.

‘Good choice.’

Charlie helped Rosie down from the cab and flipped up her Barbour’s collar, resting his eyes on hers. ‘I’m sorry our date turned out so wet and muddy. I guess my promise that I could show a girl a good time hasn’t exactly been fulfilled. All I wanted to do was show you that I possessed some talents like Able Angus, but how was I to know you’d been selected by the US Olympic team for archery?’

‘But I had lots of fun.’

Rosie grabbed Charlie’s elbow and linked her arm through his. She hadn’t realised he’d viewed this afternoon as a proper date, more an afternoon opportunity to show off his sporting prowess. It was her turn to smirk now; she enjoyed sparring with Charlie, and she had loved seeing his face when her arrow had hit gold.

As the sky above them crackling with electrical pressure, she joined Charlie in the half mile dash to the pub while the cruel meteorological gods threw a barrage of unrelenting rain in their path. Soaked to the skin with both rain and perspiration, she had never been so relieved to stumble into the welcoming shelter of the Dog & Gun, smiling with delight when she saw a roaring log fire in front of which to steam her clothes and toes.

‘Hi, Charlie. Good to see you, mate. Your usual?’

‘Good grief, do you know everyone around here?’

‘Not exactly everyone, but Rosie, this is James Thompson, the best pub landlord and mate in the whole of the country. James and I went to school together.’

‘You chose a great day to venture out to the Wye Valley, Charlie boy. This storm’s set for the night. They’re saying the level of rainfall that has fallen in the last hour is unprecedented and the damage it’s causing is immense. Apparently, villages have been inundated despite sandbagged precautions, several bridges have been washed away in mud slides, and quite a few of the roads between her and the town are impassable, even by four-by-four vehicles. They’re advising against all travel unless absolutely necessary. Where’s your transport?’

Charlie explained its abandonment.

‘Ridiculous choice of vehicle anyway, Charlie. You want to get yourself a decent four-wheel drive instead of that big girl’s blouse you usually drive. I’ve got a spare room if you wantit? Reckon you should grab it before someone else does. We’ve suffered terribly this year with the floods. I reckon you won’t get your car moved until morning. Can’t ask Mike to liberate the tractor in this weather.’

‘Thanks, James. We’ll take it.’

‘Be careful with him, Rosie.’ James set down two drams of whisky on the highly polished bar. ‘This’ll warm you straight to your bones. I’ve got pheasant stew tonight. Think we’ll be short on diners. I’ll bring it over to the fireside for you.’ James disappeared to the tiny galley kitchen without waiting for their answer.

‘Ergh.’

Rosie wrinkled her nose in distaste as she sipped at the proffered glass of amber nectar.

‘You’ve got to drink it like this.’ Charlie knocked his back in one.

Rosie watched him and then, not to be outdone, repeated the action, which culminated in a coughing fit as the alcohol fumes shot up through her nose. Charlie laughed and shouted to James to bring over the bottle, which he obligingly left on their table.

What strange customs they have in these isolated rural English pubs, thought Rosie. Leaving a full bottle of single malt for their customers to help themselves? But the medicine performed its cure just as James had promised. Warmth spread its smooth caress across her chest and scorched down to her extremities, after which a soft, mellow glow invaded her bones.

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