Pink Wellies and Flat Caps (35 page)

‘What do you mean you can’t find it?’ groans Georgie, wrapping a scarf around her head and shivering.

I pull my shawl tighter around me and tuck my freezing hands inside it.

‘Everything is so neat in there,’ I say pointing to the glove compartment. ‘I’m terrified to touch anything.’

She glares at me.

‘How do we get help then?’

‘I’m working on it,’ I say quietly.

‘Oh well, that’s okay then,’ she retorts sarcastically, ‘it will only take them about three hours to get here and by then we will have died from hypothermia, but God forbid you should mess up Charlie’s precious glove compartment.’

I suppose she has a point. I’m just about to open the glove compartment once more when a highway recovery van pulls up behind us.

‘Yay, the cavalry,’ cheers Georgie, who quickly applies lipstick before clambering from the Jaguar.

With the scarf tied neatly around her head she emerges from the car in the manner of Grace Kelly.

‘Well hello,’ I hear him say in a flirty throaty tone, ‘two damsels in distress I see.’

I wouldn’t say
in distress
exactly. Mind you, his half-undone flies are distressing me, just a touch. In fact, his whole demeanour distresses me, period. He must be shorter than Ronnie Corbett, with a receding hairline, beer belly and the shiftiest eyes I have ever seen. I really can’t believe he is trying to flirt with us.

‘We were going to phone the AA but couldn’t find their number. Are you going to rescue us?’ pouts Georgie acting for all the world like the stereotypical damsel in distress.

He winks in what I imagine he thinks is a seductive manner and saunters towards the Jaguar in the style of James Bond, except he has a slight limp and resembles one of those shifty characters in a horror film. You know the type, the one you stupidly trust even though he looks as suspicious as hell only to have him slash everyone to death. My stomach churns. The last thing I need is for Charlie to find my mutilated body in the Jaguar. He’ll never forgive me if he can’t get the blood out of the upholstery. The truth is, as desperate as I am to get the Jaguar going again I am terrified of anyone touching Charlie’s car, apart from the AA of course, who I know Charlie would trust with his life. I climb from the car, wobble on my wedges, and stroll to the breakdown guy when a huge gust of wind almost knocks me off my feet. I let out a cry as my shawl is whipped from my shoulders and spins around in the air like a kite.

‘Oh my God,’ cries Georgie, ‘that’s your cashmere shawl isn’t it?’

We stand with mouths open, watching the thing spin round and round in the air like a cashmere tornado. If only I was controlling the strings. The cold icy air stings my face and makes my eyes water. The wind drops and we watch mesmerised as the shawl begins its descent. I look to the right to see an articulated lorry heading towards it and then everything seems to happen in slow motion, and then the shawl is just a few feet from the ground. I try to work out if I can dive into the road and rescue it before the lorry hits it. I must have taken a step forward because Georgie yells
no
and pulls me back so viciously that my wedge slips and I slide backwards, land on my bum, and skid forward into the road all amidst Georgie’s frantic screams. This is how I am sitting, with my arse cheeks freezing and my hands over my eyes as the lorry rushes towards the most expensive item of clothing I own, apart from the bras of course. It hits the shawl sending it back into the air before it falls miserably
and lands in a crumpled heap. We watch helplessly as two more cars drive unmercifully over it.

‘Shit,
’ mumbles the breakdown man, who looks at us with awe written across his face.

‘Don’t worry, she’s got tons more,’ laughs Georgie.

He regains his composure and walks towards her.

‘Where are you lovely ladies headed anyway?’ he asks cockily while zipping up his flies. For one awful moment I thought he was intending on undoing them even more. That would really have freaked me out.

‘Cornwall,’ volunteers Georgie before I can stop her.

‘Let’s get your bonnet up then shall we ladies?’ he says with yet another wink. At least I presume he is winking. I’m now beginning to wonder if there is something wrong with his eye. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be very much that is right about him. I reluctantly admit to not knowing where the lever is to open the bonnet.

‘Leave it to me,’ he smiles arrogantly while giving my breasts the once over.

I shudder and grasp my cardigan from the back seat and drape it around me so my perfectly hanging boobs are well hidden.

‘I’ve got a mate in Cornwall.’

Yes, you would have, I think.

‘Oh really,’ says Georgie feigning interest.

He leans inside the car.

‘He lives in Bodmin, you know, well known for the Brown Willy.’ He laughs raucously and hiccups several times.

Good God. Georgie and I exchange looks but remain silent.

‘Brown Willy,’ he repeats. ‘It’s a hill.’

I raise my eyebrows and Georgie pretends to laugh.

‘You know what your problem is don’t you?’ he says seriously, poking his head out of the car.

We shake our heads. Oh my God, is this where he produces the garden shears and says
you ran into the wrong guy didn’t you …
Slash slash slash. I hold my breath.

‘You’ve run out of fuel. The little indicator tells you that.’

I breathe a sigh of relief. What little bloody indicator would that be?

‘You are joking?’ says Georgie, giving me her most filthy look and hanging onto her scarf for dear life.

‘I thought there was a full tank,’ I say defensively. ‘Charlie normally has a full tank.’

‘Well aren’t you the lucky little lady,’ he winks.

‘I’ll put a litre in, unless you want me to fill you,’ sniggers our rescuer. ‘That should get you to the services.’

I glance forlornly at my cashmere shawl, thank him kindly and turn to Georgie who is standing with her hands on her hips.

‘If you need to do anything else, I’d do it now. We should really get on our way,’ I say as forcefully as I can manage.

‘We were on our way until you ran out of petrol,’ she snaps.

The breakdown guy slams down the bonnet and shakes his hips at us like some kind of rock god. Frankly it just makes me feel a little nauseous. I only hope he isn’t going to break into a performance of Greased Lightning because if he does there is every chance I will throw up. John Travolta he most certainly is not.

‘Thank you so much,’ Georgie says with a beaming smile
and a sidelong look at me.

Good
heavens, she surely isn’t expecting me to give the guy a tip is she? That isn’t to say I can’t think of any. I fumble in my bag as they both stand staring at me. I pull out my purse and Georgie grabs it. Before I know what she is doing she is handing him a twenty pound note. I fight back my gasp, watch in horror as he gratefully accepts it and with a final salute walks back to his van. Georgie waves madly as he reverses and I struggle to keep the smile on my face.

‘Have you gone mad?’ I say, kicking her in the shin.

‘It was the only way I could think to get rid of him. I’m dying to have a piss and he’d love to have watched. He was a proper pervert.’

‘So we paid him off?’

‘Kind of,’ she says crossing her legs and hopping towards the bushes. ‘I can’t bloody hold it.’

‘All the same don’t you think a tenner would have been sufficient to pay off a pervert? Anyway the services aren’t that far
, can’t you hold it for a bit longer?’

She grimaces.

‘I don’t hold out much hope for Charlie’s Jag then. I may well christen it good and proper, but if you want to get going.’

‘You’d better go in the bushes, hurry up though, I’m freezing.’

Two minutes later we are back on the road and I allow Georgie to fiddle with the radio. It is easier than listening to her grumbling.

‘Yay, I’ve found a station,’ she squeals, turning up the volume.

‘So Maria, for the Christmas festivities are you going the whole hog,’
laughs the presenter
, ‘and getting a nice bit of pork?’

‘Of course John, Christmas isn’t the same without a nice bit of gammon. Check our Facebook page for how to cook your pork this Christmas
…’

‘Are you going to Myrna and Phil
’s?’ asks Georgie casually, totally unaware of my inner turmoil.

I nod.

‘You won’t be getting a bacon butty then,’ she laughs.

Oh my goodness. What if the new owners at Trenowyth decide that Pepper will make a nice bit of Christmas pork? No matter what happens I have to rescue him. Edward has probably forgotten all about him by now, in much the same way as he has forgotten about me. I can’t bear the thought of
him being a bacon butty, Pepper that is, not Edward.

‘Talking of which, I’m starving,’ continues Georgie
. ‘I may get one at the services.’

I suddenly feel very sick.

I was perfectly happy to stay in a bed and breakfast close to Stantonford but Georgie has other ideas. After all, this is a short break for her, and she wants to enjoy it. Considering I have every intention of using her as a piglet-sitter on the way home it seems only fair to go along with whatever she wants. The foyer is impressive, housing deep cushioned red-leather armchairs along with a well-stocked bar that boasts the best champagne in the county.

‘This is fab isn’t it? Just what I’m used to,’ she smiles.

My hands are tingling from the cold and my whole body feels weary from driving. I could happily climb straight into bed.

‘Dinner is at eight, would you like me to book a table?’ asks the receptionist, smiling with a soft welcoming voice.

‘Ooh yes,’ says Georgie gleefully.

I’ve never known a woman to eat so much. I really don’t know how she isn’t twenty stone. I glance around the foyer and my eyes rest on a handsome man who is being tongued to death by a tall blonde. Heavens, it isn’t one of
those
hotels is it.

‘If you could just sign here, and if we could have your car registration here
,’ she says pointing to the guestbook.

‘Oh
my God,’ cries Georgie.

I pull my eyes from the sex on fire couple.

‘That’s okay. I’ll just pop out and get it,’ I smile at the receptionist.

‘Oh no,’ says Georgie in a strangled voice.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Oh
God, what are we doing? We’re already booked in at that other hotel,’ Georgie says in a slow monotone voice while pulling faces at me.

What the hell is
the matter Georgie?

‘We are?’

‘So sorry,’ she mumbles to the confusion of the receptionist. I shrug and take the bag she pushes into my hands.

‘Let’s go,’ she hisses.

‘But it’s nice here.’

‘That’s probably why Charlie is staying here.’

I freeze.

‘He’s here?’

‘According to the guestbook he is. What a bastard. I should have known he would pick the best hotel, relegating us to some crap B and B.’

I was right all along. Charlie is in Cornwall and he is planning to rescue the farm animals. I have to warn Jed and all the others. The big question is, when is the big rescue going to happen, and who will be first? I need to study the plans, and soon.

‘Come on. We need to get ourselves booked in somewhere quick and go over Charlie’s plan. There’s no time to lose.’

The cold air hits us as we leave the warm foyer and head back to the car. Georgie unwraps a flapjack and hands me half. I look behind guiltily. It would be just like Charlie to pop his head over my shoulder and say
doesn’t that have animal fat in it?

‘I can’t believe you’re doing this
,’ says Georgie, yanking the door open with such force that I cringe. ‘I bet ten years ago you would never have imagined yourself doing this either.’

She wraps a
pashmina around her neck so many times that she begins to look like one of those tribal women with neck rings.

‘Doing what?’

‘You know, being an activist and fighting …’ she flaps her hand around and looks thoughtful, ‘other activists. You know, helping protect the endangered species and all that. Putting your life on the line for the animals …’

‘Well
…’ I begin.

‘I’m proud of you,’ she says getting all teary.

Let’s hope she feels this way when Pepper is squealing and shitting in the back of the car all the way home. Mind you, I imagine she will be cursing and moaning so much that we probably won’t hear Pepper’s oinks. Oh dear, I feel quite sad to think that I had been right about Charlie sneaking up here. Can I really marry a man who isn’t honest with me? The thing is if I don’t marry Charlie what will I do?