Romancing Robin Hood (20 page)

A steady squeaking sound could be heard coming down the line, telling Grace that Daisy hadn't stopped work for this conversation. She could picture her sitting on the grass in the middle of the guinea pig pen with the little creatures running all over her, pinching grass cuttings from between her fingers.

‘I mean, his name is Robert, for crying out loud! What more do you want?'

‘Thousands of men are called Robert. That doesn't mean they are perfect for me. That's like saying you love Marcus because he looks like a guinea pig, which he doesn't by the way, but you know what I mean.'

Ignoring Grace's off-kilter comparison, Daisy continued to push her point home. ‘And he's a history man, and his speciality is the fourteenth century,
and
he lives in Nottingham! I mean, woman! How perfect do you want it? Added cream and a cherry on top, I suppose?'

Grace's eyes landed on the bookshelf opposite her. It was crammed from floor to ceiling with Robin Hood DVDs, books, pamphlets, souvenirs, and even a limited edition Lego set of Robin and his Merry Men in a plastic brick-built tree house. She'd been so hung up on her new irrationality about being too big and her house not being fit for any visitors, that it hadn't occurred to her that she might not actually like Rob for himself at all. Perhaps it was the fact that he was about as close a human being she was ever going to meet to her historical (or not) hero that was the big attraction.

‘Oh hell, Daze, you don't think I only like him because of the Robin Hood thing do you? What if that's what it is? That would be awful.'

Daisy rolled her eyes and groaned. Scooping the handful of squeaky fur off her lap, she scrambled to her feet. ‘I was joking, Grace. Come on, you said he was fun, attractive, and you enjoyed his company.
That's
why you like Rob. The rest is merely the aforementioned cherry and cream.'

‘But what if he thinks that's why I like him. And worse than that, what if this is all just a burst of hormones from an obsessed woman who can see forty on the horizon, and whose clock is ticking.'

Striding across the grass to her house, Daisy ran a hand through her hair in exasperation. ‘Right, that's it. I'm getting on the next train to Leicester. Do not go out.'

By the time Daisy arrived at her house Grace had built up a mini-mountain of newspapers to take for recycling, shoved as many of the books she was in the process of reading onto the bookshelves as possible, and had removed a grey sheen of dust from the skirting boards. In fact Grace had been quite surprised to find they were painted white, and not the cracked cream they'd appeared to be for years.

‘Good heavens, what have you been doing?' Daisy lifted a hand to wipe a smear of dust from Grace's cheek.

‘I told you, I've been clearing up.' Grace sank onto her sofa with a sigh. ‘I don't think I've looked at this place through the eyes of a visitor for years. I hadn't realised how tatty it had become.'

Sitting next to her best friend, Daisy scanned the living room. It was tidier than she'd ever seen it, but with the best will in the world she couldn't declare it wasn't tatty. ‘It needs a lick of paint, that's all.'

Grace frowned, ‘Do you think I have time to do that by Friday?'

‘Only if you don't go to work?'

‘I suppose I could work part-time this week; that would do it. It does need doing.'

Daisy regarded her in disbelief. ‘I came all this way to talk some sense into you when I could have been mucking out the chickens, and you don't need me to at all.'

‘What do you mean?' Grace's forehead creased in confusion. She had a horrible feeling that her life had blown completely off track, and wasn't sure whether she liked the sensation or not.

‘Never have I heard you volunteering to sacrifice work time to do something to impress
anyone
, let alone a bloke.' Daisy's face broke into a wide smile, ‘Don't you see, Grace. This is your chance. I had no plans to meet anyone and live happily ever after, and then it happened. Now it's your turn.'

‘But weren't you terrified?' Grace's voice was very small, and she found herself thinking about Mathilda and how frightened she had made her as she faced the Folville brothers. That was a very different situation, but … ‘Of course I was. But it's an excited sort of terrified.' Daisy looked more closely at her friends face, ‘Have you slept?'

‘Not really, I couldn't stop thinking.'

‘About your book or about Rob?'

Grace found a smile creeping across her face despite herself, ‘Well, Rob actually.'

Daisy clapped her hands in delight. ‘Oh my God, you're Olivia de Havilland!'

‘What?'

‘You know, when she played the role of Maid Marian opposite Errol Flynn's Robin Hood. The bit when she's talking to her lady-in-waiting after she has met Robin for the first time.'

Beaming, Grace said, ‘Oh yes! She talks about not being able to sleep as “a nice kind of not sleeping,” because she can't stop thinking about the man she loves.'

‘Exactly.' Daisy stood up, ‘My Lord, the case for the defence rests. Now, as I'm here, and this place is no more going to get decorated than Kevin Costner will ever make a convincing Robin Hood, we might as well make use of my visit and go and get the dreaded wedding shoe shop over with.'

Reluctant to buy footwear she'd only wear once, but thrilled to have her best friend to talk to, Grace stood up, ‘OK, but on one condition.'

‘Yes, we can go to the cafe and grab a cup of tea first.'

‘Thanks, Daze, you're a star!'

Collapsing in a heap, holding a shoebox bag each, Daisy and Grace didn't stop giggling as the waiter laid two menus onto their table.

‘I can't believe you did that, Daze!' Grace dropped her new shoes to the floor, and picked a menu. ‘You're shameless!' ‘Well, honestly!' Daisy laughed through her indigence, ‘How thick are some people? How on earth can she have thought that Aberdeen was in Saudi Arabia? I mean; honestly!'

‘I can't even remember why we were talking about Scotland now anyway.'

‘It was that set of matching tartan shoes and handbag you spotted.' Daisy picked up her own menu. ‘I think after the double nightmare of shoe shopping and being hit on the head with such startling ignorance I need a glass of wine!'

‘Good plan!'

Having ordered two hefty-sized glasses of Pinot, Grace said, ‘You know, it isn't funny really. She was only young. Maybe she never did geography at school?'

‘Don't you go making excuses for her! It was a clear case of all that peroxide leaking into her brain and a diet of reality TV,
Geordie Shore
and
Made in Chelsea
. Even if she doesn't know where in Scotland Aberdeen is, she should have known it is
in
Scotland, for heaven's sake. Whatever happened to general knowledge?'

‘Take a swig of that wine, Daze, quick, before you fall off your high horse!' Grace shook her head, ‘She was happy in her work, that's all that matters.'

‘Oh, stop being so nice!' Daisy picked up her menu, and started to giggle again, ‘Perhaps I shouldn't have given her a quick lecture on the layout of the British Isles though.'

‘I'm not sure if she looked more confused than shocked, or more shocked than confused.'

Opening her new box of shoes on her lap, Daisy shook her head ruefully, ‘I'll say this for her, though, she knows her shoes.'

‘And we don't! Maybe we should count ourselves lucky she didn't give us a Jimmy Choo lecture in revenge!' ‘Who?' Daisy creased her forehead.

Grace pointed her menu at her best friend, ‘See, you don't know everything either! He's a shoe designer. Very expensive.'

‘How on earth did you know that? Don't tell me you're a secret shoe buff?'

‘Hardly. I've heard my students discussing them.' Grace nodded towards to two ivory satin-covered shoes in Daisy's lap. ‘They are lovely. What will you do with them afterwards? Seems a shame to only use them once.'

‘I was thinking that. I'll probably dye them black. How about yours?'

‘I'm not sure. I can't imagine I'll need anything with heels again.'

‘Your own wedding perhaps?' Daisy wriggled her eyebrows mischievously.

‘I am going to ignore that! Now, what are you eating?'

Daisy sighed as she ran her eyes down the menu of tempting choice of pizzas and pasta, ‘I suppose I ought to be careful. I really don't want to grow out of my wedding dress now that I've bought it.'

‘Oh, not you as well!' Grace groaned, ‘I was hoping you'd talk some sense into me about that, and here I am finding you're as bad as I am.'

‘What are you talking about?'

As Grace, talking barely above a whisper so only Daisy and not the other customers could hear, launched into her whole worried about Rob seeing her naked confession, her cheeks prickled with dots of embarrassed heat.

Daisy listened carefully until Grace had finished speaking, before saying, ‘So that was why you came home alone. You wanted to stay the night with him, didn't you?'

‘Oh course I did, he's lovely, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't more than a little curious to see what he's like stripped, but … Oh Daze, what if he sees me naked and runs a mile? Petite I'm not!'

‘I tell you what, Grace, let's meet food halfway until after the wedding. I can't afford to buy new dresses for either of us. And while neither of us will ever conform to a size 10, I know for a fact that research shows that the majority of men like women with curves rather than stick women, and the best thing we can do is maintain who we are now, rather than getting any bigger or any smaller. After all, the size you are now is the same size you were when Rob first set eyes on you a few weeks ago.'

Grace narrowed her eyes suspiciously, ‘You sound like you're reciting a speech.'

‘I am quoting Marcus verbatim. I had an almost identical meltdown when I made similar excuses not to sleep with him the first opportunity I had.'

Grace shook her head in despair at the both of them and raised her wine glass, ‘Here's to good old-fashioned female paranoia! Where would we be without it?'

‘Happy?'

‘Good point!' Grace grinned, ‘Shall we order a couple of chicken and bacon salads then?'

‘Perfect. With maybe just one side order of chips?'

Chapter Twenty-two

Mathilda swallowed the bile that swam at the base of her throat as she was stood before the long table in the main hall, at which sat all the Folville brothers, including the previously absent John.

There was no doubt that the pecking order had changed now that the older brother was in residence. Eustace's disgruntled expression said as much, even without the corroborating evidence of the uneasy atmosphere and the generally hostile body language. Mathilda, wasn't sure if this was being directed towards her, or if it was a show of bravado from the younger brothers to the head of their household, which was a position only achieved by accident of birth.

Mathilda had other things to worry about though. Like staying upright, not swaying, or showing any weakness in front of the assembled men.

‘My brothers have informed me of the reason for your presence in my home.' John was even less pleased with this than he sounded, and as his tone was so sharp Mathilda could almost feel it cutting into her. ‘I would be obliged if you would prove to me that the risks taken in sending out a hostage to relay a vital message have been worthwhile. Frankly, I was surprised you returned.'

Mathilda was vaguely aware of Robert staring at her. The expression of displeasure on his face made John's evident annoyance seem insignificant, and made her wonder why she hadn't run away as well.

‘So,' John tapped his dagger on the table impatiently, and Mathilda noticed that it was almost identical to the one she had hidden beneath her tunic, but for the colour of the stone, ‘the message from the Coterels? I assume you got it?' ‘I did, my Lord. I spoke to Nicholas Coterel as instructed.' Mathilda clenched her toes inside her boots, and concentrated on not letting her eyes swim out of focus.

‘And? Come on, girl, what was the response?'

‘He said, “The message is well received. Three days. Midnight.”' The glow of the fire behind the table was making Mathilda's eye's water, and now her mission was fully complete, and the message delivered, she could feel her body shutting down, as if it was refusing to take the instructions from her brain telling her to stay on her feet. Luckily, an arm came to her elbow however, before the ground had the chance to reclaim her.

‘Forgive the interruption, my Lords,' Sarah bowed with her usual sharp respect, ‘but if you have finished with this girl, I require help in the kitchen.'

Without giving the household time to respond, Sarah steered Mathilda to the side of the hall behind the servants' dividing tapestry, and sat her onto the straw cot she'd been allowed to rest on before.

Frowning with confused gratitude, Mathilda opened her mouth to say thank you, when the housekeeper put a finger to her lips, and spoke in a guarded whisper, ‘Nothing you can say to them tonight will please them. When was the last time you ate?'

‘But …'

Sarah shook her head sharply, and shoved a hunk of fatted bread into Mathilda's shivering hands, and placed a cup of hot broth on the floor next to her. ‘Don't you get it, girl? It is not safe to talk now. Eat that and then sleep.'

The housekeeper disappeared back into the hall, and Mathilda dug her teeth into her supper, surprised that Sarah had not only taken the trouble to rescue her from the brothers' suspicious eyes, but had also kept some of the servants' supper warm for her.

As Mathilda chewed, she could hear Sarah's boots crossing the stone floor and then the sound of her offering ale to the brothers. The dig of the dagger's handle in her ribs alerted Mathilda to the weapon she still carried. Not wanting to sleep with it on her person for fear of stabbing herself in the night, she pulled it from its hiding place and hid it carefully under her cot, ready to return it to Robert as soon as she had the chance.