The Way to a Woman's Heart (4 page)

‘Moving in? Here? Two of them? So he’s – they’re – going
to be your lodgers, are they? Is Hideaway a B. & B.? Is that what you didn’t say and why you need to employ me to look after George?’

‘Sort of,’ Poll said evasively as George and his coterie of animals scampered off downstairs. ‘It’s very sad. Ash and Roy lost their previous home, poor things. Oh, but you won’t believe how divine Ash is. Late twenties, absolutely gorgeous looking, and he’s a chef. Or he was – although he’s looking for another post now of course. His accommodation went with his job, but the restaurant owner didn’t take to Roy, Ash’s companion – clearly a nasty case of homophobia – and Ash was given notice to quit.’

‘Oh dear,’ Ella said. ‘That sounds very unfair. But there must have been some really good reason or else this Ash could have sued for wrongful dismissal, couldn’t he? You can’t just sack people because of their sexual preferences, can you? So, is he a friend of yours? Is that why you’ve offered him a home?’

‘No, not really. It’s a bit more complicated than that.’

Ella, already in brain-meltdown and deciding that Poll’s explanation about just how complicated would definitely make things even more convoluted, didn’t ask. ‘And what about, er, the unsuitable boyfriend? Roy? Is he a chef too? What’s he like?’

‘No idea,’ Poll said cheerfully. ‘But he’s not a chef. I’ve got the idea he’s an older man and I think Ash said he does something with pylons.’

‘Pylons? You mean like in the “Wichita Lineman”?’

‘I guess so. The job probably means he’s away a lot and
possibly explains why he didn’t come to any of the meetings I’ve had with Ash. Or he was probably too embarrassed after being the cause of them being thrown out of their previous home.’

And he’s probably also a twenty-stone biker with tattoos who plays loud thrash-slash-clash-rock with a penchant for devil worship and biting the heads off bats, Ella thought darkly. ‘But surely, with George to consider, you must have checked this Roy out too, if he’s going to be lodging here?’

‘Oh, yes. Um, actually, no. I’ve, um, made bad business decisions in the past so I left my solicitor to do all the investigations and stuff this time. He assures me he found absolutely nothing doubtful at all. So we can safely assume Roy is as pure as the driven snow.’

Hmm, Ella thought, still far from convinced. Roy had probably simply changed his name to duck under the investigative radar.

Oh, God – not only was she no longer entirely sure why she was at Hideaway Farm, but she was now going to be sharing it with a homeless chef and the gay Berkshire equivalent of an early Ozzy Osbourne.

Fantastic.

Poll fiddled with her beads. ‘Look, there’s so much I need to tell you, but I’ll just go down and say hello to Ash again and introduce myself to Roy and get them settled in, if that is them in the car, of course, and make George’s lunch, then hopefully we’ll be able to sort things out… OK?’

‘OK.’ Ella nodded, trying to fix on a cheerful I-can-cope-with-anything smile. ‘That sounds lovely.’

Ella waited until the door had closed behind Poll, then exhaled in confusion. Well, whatever was going on, she’d agreed on three months’ trial and she was just going to have to make the best of it.

And at least Hideaway Farm was exactly what Poll had said it was in her letters. Digging out her mobile from her handbag, Ella quickly texted her parents, her sister, her ex-flatmates, three ex-work colleagues, and her two best friends to let them all know she’d arrived safely, the decision had been the right one, the countryside, house and especially her room was fabulous, all was absolutely hunky-dory, and that she’d be wearing a daisy-chain tiara and cherry earrings and saying ‘me duck’ before they knew it.

She hesitated slightly before texting Mark. She wanted to speak to him, to hear his voice, but knew it would probably end in tears, so she quickly sent a non-committal and brief ‘arrived safely. beautiful house. lovely people. all ok so far. speak soon. Love E x’.

Then bobbing beneath the low, sloping ceiling, she ran across the polished floorboards and stared out of one of the large open sash windows at the back of Hideaway Farm.

Below her was a dusty yard enclosed by a tall wall, a faded blur of grey slates and old-gold sandstone, glittering in the sun like encrusted gemstones, and dotted with lichen and moss – and yes, there were lots of hens scratching happily about in the borders that glowed with tumbled flowers.

And beyond the yard she could see snaking glimpses of Hideaway Lane, just visible over the wall and through the
lilac bushes, and the end of the quaintly named Cattle Drovers Passage – and then, there was nothing.

No houses, no people, no traffic. Just trees, and blossom, and fields, and so much sky – as far as the eyes could see – all wrapped up in a warm, drowsy silence.

It was, as she’d known it would be, absolutely perfect.

Well, apart from the little niggle about Poll, of course. She already knew that Poll was in her forties and divorced – Poll had been very open about her circumstances in her letters – and now she also knew, by her own admission, that Poll was not completely honest.

Ah well, Ella thought as she sorted her pared-down clothes into neat piles on the gloriously downy bed, she’d discover more over lunch, wouldn’t she? Unless lunch was totally dominated by the homeless gay couple, of course.

Hey-ho…

Finding homes for her things in the lavender-fragranced drawers and wardrobe, Ella hugged herself in delight at the sheer gorgeousness of her room. It was exactly like a suite in a country-house hotel – simply too lovely for words. Poll had provided everything she could ever need. Cool on the scorching day, voile curtains floated sensuously at the windows, there were jugs of flowers everywhere, and a small television set and stereo sat on top of a bookcase, which in turn was crammed with a mixture of old cloth-bound editions and sparkly new paperbacks.

How long was it since she’d even opened a book? Although, maybe now she was a country girl she’d be able to catch up on her reading which would be great…

And – ohmigod! Look at that!

There was even a tiny fridge and courtesy tray and a Teasmade beside the bed!

How fantastic!

Ella laughed in delight. Her grandparents had a Teasmade. She thought they’d died out in the 1970s.

Oh, this place was bliss…

‘Ella!’ Poll’s voice echoed distantly up the stairs. ‘I’m so sorry, but it looks as though we’re going to have to delay our little chat for a while. Please come down for lunch whenever you’re ready. George is in the garden having his, but Ash Lawrence has just arrived.’

As she reached Hideaway’s front door, Poll sighed. Typical. The day which had started so well had now disintegrated into chaotic confusion. Again. This definitely wasn’t how she’d planned things. Her last hope that she and Ella would have more time alone to discuss her plans for Hideaway without interruptions had definitely bitten the dust.

The tall, slender, deliciously dark man in jeans and T-shirt uncurling himself from the driving seat of the loaded estate car had seen to that. Not, of course, that it was his fault. That – as usual – was all hers.

Poll took a deep breath, carefully lifted her long skirts, safely negotiated the steps, and held out her hand to Ash Lawrence.

‘Ash, hello. How lovely to see you again. You’ve made good time. And I’m so sorry about the mix up in the dates.’

Ash Lawrence stopped stretching, smiled and shook her hand firmly. ‘I just hope we haven’t caused you too much trouble by arriving unexpectedly.’

‘None at all,’ Poll lied cheerfully. ‘It was my mistake.’

‘If you’re still not quite ready for us I could go away and come back tomorrow. I’ve been sleeping in the car for a while now – one more night won’t make any difference.’

‘No!’ Poll was horrified. ‘You can’t do that – no. We’re all ready, honestly, and – oh, yes, please bring your stuff indoors and I’ll show you to your room and – ah – and this must be Roy.’

She turned her welcoming smile to the tall, thin, gawky Art Garfunkel lookalike who was emerging from the estate car’s passenger seat.

‘Er, no.’ Ash shook his head. ‘Actually, Roy’s been staying with someone else on a very temporary basis since we had to leave the restaurant, but there wasn’t room for me as well. This is Joe. A mate of mine. He’s going to help me move my heavy stuff in. Roy’ll be along later.’

‘Oh, right. Hello, then, Joe.’ Poll turned back to Ash. ‘I’ll look forward to meeting Roy when he arrives. Look, shall I just show you to your room? Then you and Joe can get your bits and pieces in without too much interruption.’

‘Lovely, thanks.’ Ash flashed the devastating smile again. ‘You’ve no idea how grateful I – we – are. Right, Joe, if you start unloading, I’ll find out where we’re going.’

Coming downstairs and after several false starts, Ella eventually found her way to Hideaway’s kitchen. As there was no sign of Poll on the stairs or in the house, she assumed the Ash-arrival was still taking place outside.

Wow, though – she looked around in delight – whatever
else Poll had not been truthful about, she certainly hadn’t lied about the kitchen. It was exactly how she imagined a farmhouse kitchen would be: quarry-tiled floors and nubbly plastered walls, with a huge refectory table surrounded by ancient Windsor chairs, and several gorgeous floor-to-ceiling dressers loaded with china, and pots and pans hanging from a clothes airer contraption – oh yes, and herbs drying there too! Ella inhaled the wonderful scent of thyme and basil and parsley. Cooking in here was going to be absolute bliss.

And wow again! Walking from the cool kitchen into the searing heat of the garden, Ella was met by a tidal wave of warm, honey-sweet air and a deluge of butterflies.

In the lee of the farmhouse, the yard was exquisitely country cottagey, with a little patch of lush lawn and flower-packed beds to one side, shaded from the sun by fronding trees, and set out with a canopied swing seat and parasoled wooden table and chairs. It was idyllically pretty, like something from a child’s picture book.

On closer inspection, the floor of the high-walled dusty yard was actually mellowed bricks, with a sort of hollowed out bit in one corner which was clearly George’s dirt pit. Ella smiled delightedly, watching him now as he industriously chugged his vividly coloured lorries in and out of the miniature quarry, helped by the sturdiest dog, while the remaining dogs, cats and hens had all found respite from the heat beneath the overhanging branches of the heavily blossomed lilac trees.

The remains of George’s lunch were on the table, and Ella
flicked the buzz of inquisitive wasps and bees away with her hand.

George looked up and waved at her, yelling some unintelligible and lengthy greeting. Ella waved back.

She sank on to the canopied swing seat and rocked gently back and forth, watching George playing, swamped with pleasure. Why, oh why couldn’t Mark be here to see this? Surely, seeing this place, meeting George, he’d understand that this really was her dream come true. She’d always adored children, and had always wanted to be a nanny for as long as she could remember, but had been persuaded to do business studies and find a ‘proper job’ by her teachers and parents. So, reluctantly, she’d gone along with it until the urge became just too much to bear. And now, she thought, gazing up at the cloudless sky, and listening to the sound of country silence and George’s cheerful prattle, she’d made a stand and taken a life-changing decision.

Why did everyone seem to think it so wrong for her to have these incredibly strong maternal feelings? Why should she be made to feel as though she’d somehow let down the sisterhood by not striving for a career but simply wanting to spend her life with children: initially other people’s, and then eventually her own? Why was it considered so dreadfully old-fashioned to actually aspire to being a contented homemaker and mother?

It was not only her family who thought she was throwing away her life on looking after children. Mark thought so too…

Ella pushed the thoughts of their last angry row out of her
head. She was here now, and Mark was in London, and they had agreed on three months apart to resolve their differences.

She definitely wasn’t going to think about Mark. Well, not right now anyway.

George looked across at her again and waved a plastic shovel in the air. Ella smiled at him. He was just so cute…