Saving Saffron Sweeting (31 page)

James wasn’t good with girlie stuff; he wouldn’t
remember details like this. I’m sure he had absolutely no
idea he’d just given me the same flowers I’d carried on
our wedding day.

‘I owe you big time,’ I said to
Nancy, two weeks later. ‘This was a disaster until you
stepped in.’

The Thanksgiving meal at Saffron Hall had just finished, most of
the guests had gone home, and the catering staff were beginning to
pick their way through the vast mounds of debris on each table.

Nancy surveyed the ballroom. ‘It looks like a whole new
disaster now.’

I smiled. ‘I’m glad I’m not clearing
up.’

Over a hundred people had squeezed into the space at round
tables of eight, and had been served a traditional Thanksgiving
dinner including turkey, sweet potatoes and green bean casserole.
For dessert, apple pie or pumpkin pie – or both – had
been offered. There had been much talking, laughing and, naturally,
giving gratitude for blessings big and small.

‘I still don’t know how you did it,’ I
said.

Nancy grinned. ‘I just spread the word a bit.’

She had done much more than that. Moving the ticketing online
had been a master stroke, and she had also persuaded the human
resources director at her company to give us a plug in the staff
newsletter. A couple of families told me they had been in the
village for Halloween, and four whole tables had been sold to
American military personnel from the Air Force base at
Lakenheath.

‘I’m amazed,’ I had said, upon learning this.
‘Don’t they have free turkey at the base?’

‘I guess they wanted something different,’ Nancy had
replied. ‘Our venue is more special.’

Needless to say, Bernard and Daphne were over the moon with the
income – and more importantly, awareness – the day had
generated.

‘Here she is!’ Bernard cried, shaking my hand
enthusiastically.

Daphne bounded up behind him, looking twenty years younger than
she was.

‘Grace, dear, this has been absolutely marvellous,’
she said, hugging me.

‘I can’t accept responsibility.’ I meant it.
‘Please meet my friend Nancy, she really turned this around
for us.’

Bernard shook Nancy’s hand. ‘Did you enjoy your
dinner, my dear?’

‘It was swell,’ Nancy replied. ‘It was so
great not to be alone this evening.’

I knew that feeling, and how hard special days in the calendar
could be. As well as raising money for the Hall, we’d offered
something valuable to those who were thousands of miles from
home.

‘So, Grace,’ Daphne said brightly, ‘we were
wondering about doing mince pies and carols on the Sundays leading
up to Christmas. What do you think?’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ I said. ‘We can send an
email announcement to everyone who was here tonight.’

‘Gosh, how flash,’ said Bernard. ‘I was going
to draft something on my typewriter.’

Daphne poked him in the arm. ‘Don’t be a clot, dear.
It’s all on Facebook these days, isn’t it,
Grace?’

We laughed.

‘Have I missed the party?’ called a voice from the
other side of the room.

‘Scott, darling!’ His mother was the first to claim
a kiss, and I was surprised to see Bernard hug his son briefly too.
I had been under the impression they weren’t close.

‘Hi Grace,’ Scott said to me, but with no attempt at
a physical greeting. He was in a dark business suit, looking tired,
somewhat creased, but absolutely delicious. The loosened tie and
five o’clock shadow suited him. I hadn’t seen him since
his trip to Manchester, although we had spoken on the phone.

‘I understand you were delayed,’ I’d said,
‘but why didn’t you let me know?’

‘The meeting was pretty intense,’ Scott had replied.
‘I was caught off guard: I thought the deal was in the bag.
I’m sorry, I lost track of time.’

‘I’ve got better things to do than sit around
waiting for you.’

‘I know, of course you do, I’m really sorry. I hated
not being able to get back and see you.’

His words were smooth, his tone sincere, but I just
couldn’t shake the feeling that if I had been anywhere near
the top of his priorities, he wouldn’t have left me
hanging.

Upon being introduced to Scott, Nancy fixed him with her
appraising, bird-like look. Not only did she know about his
dismissal of our Thanksgiving efforts, but I had told her about him
disappearing to Manchester.

‘So, I hear you were hoping tonight would fall flat on its
fanny?’ Nancy said pointedly to him.

Bernard was clearly shocked and even Daphne took a step
backwards.

‘She means
bottom
. Sorry,’ I said
hastily.

Scott, however, was grinning. ‘No,’ he said slowly,
‘but I
was
hoping there would be
leftovers.’

Nancy raised her chin, ready to engage, but Daphne spoke
first.

‘Oh, sweetheart, haven’t you eaten yet?
There’s lots of pie and coffee.’

Scott was still looking as though he would enjoy a sparring
match with Nancy. And was he actually assessing her legs in her
short tweedy skirt and high-heeled boots? Perhaps he wasn’t
as tired as I had assumed.

‘I wouldn’t mind a forage,’ he said.

I was relieved that his hungry gaze was now directed at the
dessert buffet. He still hadn’t made any attempt to kiss or
hug me.

‘Where are you staying tonight, dear?’ his mother
asked. She knew we were an item and that Scott had slept over at my
cottage on previous visits to the village.

‘I’m not sure.’ Scott glanced at me now and
waited.

I paused. He was gorgeous and eligible, and had apologised
sincerely. More flowers had arrived, this time stunning orchids.
They were providing some much-needed wow factor in my living room.
Even so, I had left the freesias beside my bed.

I shook my head. ‘It’s getting late, we’ve had
a long day. I should go.’

Daphne nodded briskly to Scott. ‘I’ll put some
sheets on the sofa bed.’

She and Bernard went off together, arm in arm, and I imagined
them in their little flat, making Horlicks and watching the ten
o’clock news before bed.

Nancy patted her stomach. ‘I’m so full, I need to go
home and lie down. I don’t think I’ll eat for a
week.’

‘Thanks again,’ I told her as we hugged. ‘You
were incredible.’

‘I wish our relationships were as easy,’ she
whispered to me, before bidding us goodnight.

Scott took his tie off, stuffing it in his suit pocket. At last,
he put his arms around me and kissed me briefly on the lips.
‘Stay for a coffee, at least?’

His eyes were bloodshot and I wondered how far he’d driven
that day. His hands were pressing gently in the small of my back.
It felt nice to be close to him. ‘Okay then,’ I
said.

Scott helped himself to several slices of pie and I poured
coffee for us both. We looked around the chaos of the ballroom; the
caterers were making good progress in swishing everything away.

‘How about the orangery?’ he suggested.

‘Perfect.’ I needed no encouragement to chill out in
my favourite part of the Hall.

We settled in the wicker armchairs and I sipped my coffee while
Scott ate. The orangery felt completely different in the darkness,
more intimate, and the scent from the citrus plants was delicious.
Designed as a room for daytime use, the old electric lights were
inadequate and bathed us in a gentle, flattering glow.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d forgiven me,’
Scott said, when only crumbs remained on his plate. His confident,
sexy smile, on the other hand, suggested he felt very certain
indeed.

‘What for? Abandoning me in London, or for your complete
lack of faith in tonight?’ My tone wasn’t unfriendly,
but I didn’t plan to be a complete pushover.

‘Ouch. Well, as for London, I am truly sorry and I promise
to make it up to you. As for you and my parents hoping to save
Saffron Hall one party at a time …’ He pulled a
face.

‘What?’ This wasn’t fair: the dinner had been
a smashing success. Did I have to show him the profit and loss
sheet?

‘Grace, honey, it’s very sweet that you’re all
trying, but honestly, this place is on death row.’

‘Why?’ I propped my elbows on the table and cupped
my chin on one hand.

‘Have you seen the grounds? The stables are crumbling, the
swimming pool should be condemned. The house itself needs
rewiring.’

Right on cue, the orangery lights flickered. This was such a
romantic setting, but I was feeling more irritated with him than
I’d ever been.

‘And don’t get me started on the plumbing,’ he
went on. ‘Most of it’s probably lead.’

This rattled me. I hoped the hundred Americans who’d eaten
here tonight didn’t know their water had come through
poisonous pipes. If they did, we’d have a class action
lawsuit to add to our troubles.

‘But it’s so beautiful,’ I said, sitting back
and gazing at the glass roof. It was a cloudy night, threatening
rain, but I could just make out the moon overhead. ‘How can
you not want to save it?’

‘Grace, you’re adorable.’ He shook his head.
‘Just because it’s beautiful doesn’t mean
it’s viable.’

I liked being called adorable, but had a feeling it wasn’t
meant as a compliment.

‘Anyway,’ he smiled at me, ‘if you and the
parentals are determined to keep trying, I have another project to
keep me out of trouble. One that would mean I could spend quite a
bit of time in the village.’ He looked at me meaningfully,
his confidence bubbling just below the surface.

‘Oh?’ Naturally, I was now super-curious.
‘What?’

‘The malt house.’ He leaned back in his seat,
pleased. ‘Or, I should say, the land it’s
on.’

‘What about it?’ I narrowed my eyes.

‘This area desperately needs short-term corporate
accommodation. It’s all very well for the bio-tech staff on
long contracts, but what about the ones only coming for a month?
They need luxury executive housing.’

‘And you want to convert the malt house?’

He shook his head. ‘Not convert. Demolish. It’s a
brilliant location.’

‘Oh – my – God,’ I said slowly.
‘Please tell me you’re pulling my leg.’

‘Er – no.’

‘But it’s the heart of the village!’ I said.
‘It’s how we got our name.’

‘No, it’s a decaying heap of wasted
space.’

I too sat back, but in dismay, not in complacent satisfaction.
‘I just don’t know what to say.’

Scott was looking at me in wide-eyed puzzlement. ‘You have
a problem with it?’

I blew out slowly. ‘Hell, Scott, yes, I do. And if you
can’t see that, then that’s a problem all of its
own.’

Word travelled faster than a celebrity divorce
on Twitter. The villagers were furious. From the post office to the
pub and even in the bakery, I was met with tight lips and waspish
comments.

‘I’m not conspiring with him,’ I told Brian as
he wrapped up two Chelsea buns. ‘I hate the idea of the malt
house being demolished.’

‘Maybe you do.’ He sighed. ‘But it
doesn’t help that people see you riding around in his flashy
car, smiling at him.’

‘What can I do?’ I asked.

‘There’s a meeting tonight at the pub. Come to that,
and get your thinking cap on.’

‘Okay. Absolutely.’

‘Oh, and another thing.’ Brian leaned over the
counter. ‘Bring Amelia. Round here, she’s the sharpest
knife in the drawer.’

Brian was wrong. Amelia certainly was a shrewd,
strategic thinker, but I had never seen anything like the
organisational power of the Americans, once they got worked up
about something. Mary Lou had rallied her troops and they were
thirsty for blood. I was amazed at the sense of ownership they were
displaying in protecting Saffron Sweeting’s heritage.

‘I grew up with strip malls and four lane highways,’
said a woman with a Scarlett O’Hara accent. ‘I
don’t want that for my kids. We came to England for your
history and your countryside.’

‘Agreed,’ came a male voice. ‘We moved here to
escape the billboards. What’s next, KFC?’

Fergus looked alarmed at the thought of competition for the pub
and started giving out free bags of crisps.

Aware of my precarious position, I sat quietly in the corner and
observed proceedings. Amelia and Mary Lou had emerged as natural
leaders of the small but passionate group. The former, I suspect,
was simply flattered that so many of the villagers were looking to
her for advice, but to her credit, she got them organised into task
forces. One group was to start a publicity campaign under the
banner of
Save Saffron Sweeting
. A second group was to
research legal options for protecting the malt house. And a third
group was in charge of approaching conservation charities, in case
one could be persuaded to step in and help.

‘Grace, which committee do you want to join?’ Amelia
singled me out.

For a moment, I wondered which of the options would infuriate
Scott the least. Then I realised I didn’t care. Saffron
Sweeting was my home now, and these people were my tribe.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said, ignoring the nudging
around me. ‘But I think we should talk to Snape Maltings.
They seem to have a booming business and their malt house is
intact.’

‘Right,’ said Mary Lou briskly. ‘Put Grace
down with non-profit liaison.’

My shoulders sagged slightly and I caught an icy look from
Violet. It looked like it might be time to pick which side I was
on.

‘No, mum, definitely the navy.’

We were Christmas shopping together in Marks and Spencer and my
mother was eyeing up a scarf set for Harry.

‘But the red is more festive,’ she protested.

‘Precisely.’ Harry would be a hundred times more
likely to wear the blue than the garish red. I placed the navy
version firmly in mum’s basket.

We didn’t often shop together, and as long as I
wasn’t looking seriously for things for me, I quite enjoyed
it. My mother was an impulsive shopper and easily distracted, but
in short doses she was fun.