Saving Saffron Sweeting (32 page)

‘What are you getting for dad?’ I asked.

‘Oh, he’s so tricky.’ She shook her head in
irritation. ‘Socks and a chocolate orange, I
expect.’

I looked around the menswear section of the store for
inspiration. If I had been buying a gift for James, he would be
more than happy with something from here, but I knew that Scott had
more exclusive tastes. And I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get
him anything, since he had stood me up squarely last night.

Our weekend escapes had been fun, but they’d left me with
the feeling, now impossible to ignore, that I didn’t really
know him. I had thought that a dose of real life might help, and
had suggested I cook us a special dinner at my place. I’d
chopped, browned, simmered and seasoned to create a rich boeuf
bourguignon, my only error being to mix up the cooking wine with
the one we were supposed to drink. For appetisers, I’d
attempted individual soufflés, which were ready to go in the
oven the moment Scott arrived. Not only that, but I had dusted,
vacuumed, lit candles and taken a long, sensuous bath in
preparation for our romantic evening. I’d even managed to get
a fire going without smoking the cottage out.

Mungo hadn’t got the memo that this was to be a private
party. He’d shown up around six and by seven, as tantalising
smells engulfed the cottage, he was drooling all over the kitchen
floor. When Scott still hadn’t pitched up thirty minutes
later, I broke into a bag of Quavers and shared them with my canine
companion, nibbling slowly so as not to spoil my appetite. At
eight, I stirred the beef anxiously, noticing how dry it was
getting around the edges of the pot. Mungo sat up in anticipation,
his tongue lolling out.

Gloomily, I took a large glass of the remaining wine to the
sofa, where I stared into the fire. Was I so pathetic, I was
destined to be with men who messed me around? After last time,
surely Scott realised that if he was going to be late, he
absolutely had to call? Feeble or not, I was too proud to text
him.

Finally, my phone rang.

‘Where are you this time?’

‘Glasgow. We’re fogbound. I’m so
sorry.’

‘Right.’ So much for three hours of cooking and
cleaning.

‘You’re livid, I can tell.’

‘It would just be a bit more convenient if you could
confine yourself to East Anglia, when I’m slaving over
dinner.’

‘Well, if you weren’t making it so hard for me to
find projects, I wouldn’t have to go further afield, would
I?’

‘That’s not fair.’ I played with Mungo’s
ears as he nudged his chin onto my lap.

‘Look …’ Scott sighed and paused to let an
airport announcement finish. ‘Can I see you on Sunday
evening?’

‘If you want reheated beef stew, then yes, I suppose
so.’

‘Good. I have something to ask you.’

Needless to say, Mungo got a fine dinner that night, and he
didn’t seem to care that his soufflé sagged.

‘Don’t you dare go home to Violet and throw it
up,’ I’d told him as he flopped down by the fire with a
sigh of doggy contentment.

I hadn’t told my family about Scott, so I wasn’t
going to mention the dinner disaster to my mother. And I
couldn’t imagine what kind of question he might have up his
sleeve.

By now, mum was scrutinising some V-neck jumpers with Argyle
diamonds on the front.

‘That’s a bit trendy for dad, isn’t it?’
I said doubtfully, as she held up a lilac jumper with a bold yellow
pattern. My father didn’t like to wear anything that
wasn’t navy, beige or maroon.

‘Not for your father, silly. For me. I was thinking it
would look quite natty on the golf course.’

‘Mmm,’ I replied. ‘Lovely.’

Amelia had given me Saturday afternoon off as we were so close
to Christmas, nobody was looking seriously at houses. I suspected
she was using the time to plot her efforts to save the malt house.
Considering there was no obvious profit to be made from the
project, she had become impressively committed to the cause.

Not only that, but without me mentioning it again, she had
quietly started to put together welcome packs to be given to all
new residents along with their house keys. The bakery, antiques
barn, Oak House bed and breakfast and even The Plough had
promotional offers in there.

‘Never thought I’d see this,’ Brian had said
to me, and personally delivered half a dozen custard tarts for
Amelia.

Mum added the sweater to the growing pile in her basket, then
stopped and looked at me. ‘So, how are you doing,
love?’

‘Fine.’ I met her eye, but looked away quickly.

‘You look brighter, I’ll say that much.’

After a hearty portion of beef and two big glasses of wine, I
had slept remarkably well, despite the indignity of my no-show
date. I tried to change the subject. ‘Does dad need more
socks?’

I was unsuccessful.

‘It’s none of my business …’ she said,
and I braced myself for what was inevitably going to be a pointed
question.

‘… but have you heard from James?’

I blinked. Yes, totally nosy. Still, what did it matter?
‘Not since I met up with him in London.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know you’d seen him.’

I filled her in briefly on his conference trip and Hyde Park,
but not the freesias.

‘And how do you feel, now you’ve had some time
… to yourself?’

I shook my head, not because I was unwilling to talk, but
because I didn’t know what to say. I feigned interest in the
fabric composition of a pack of rainbow striped socks.

‘Gracie.’ Mum took the socks out of my hands and put
them back. ‘Marriage can be very hard.’

I grunted in acknowledgement.

‘Especially these days. Young people now have such high
expectations.’

‘Er, mum, I expected my husband to be faithful.’

She nodded. ‘I know you did. We all do. It’s just
… well, sometimes, Grace, you have to wonder whether
it’s better, in the long run, to compromise.’

I put my head on one side. ‘Compromise?’

‘There are thousands of happy marriages which
haven’t always run smoothly. That’s all I’m
trying to say.’ She added a three-pack of boring navy socks
to her haul.

What point was she making here? ‘You’re not saying I
should take him back, are you?’

‘That’s up to you, love. I’m just suggesting
you think about your long-term happiness. Be sure you’re not
cutting off your nose to spite your face.’

‘Easy for you to say. You’ve got dad.’

She smiled softly and gave a tiny shake of her head.
‘Nobody’s a saint, Grace.’

‘Maybe. But I’m not going to let a man make a fool
of me again.’

‘I just want you to be happy. And there’s more than
one path to get there.’

I watched as she fished in her handbag for her shopping list,
surreptitiously slipping the happy rainbow socks into my own
basket. Then, as she looked at me again, I plastered a Christmas
smile on my face and said brightly, ‘Fancy a
coffee?’

The next day was a Sunday. Amelia, Nancy and I
took a field trip to Snape Maltings, claiming it was for research.
Actually, it was a girls’ festive outing, before Nancy headed
back home for Hanukkah and Amelia went to her parents in
Bournemouth. Shopping, eating and gossiping were high on our
agenda. As such, we’d only been there an hour when we decided
brunch was a necessity. The three of us clattered upstairs to the
charming white-walled cafe with its scrubbed wooden tables and
thick overhead beams.

‘I’m so impressed with what they’ve done
here.’ Amelia’s eyes lit up as she spied bacon
sandwiches on the menu. ‘I knew about the music festival, but
not the rest of it.’

‘Agreed.’ I was tempted by the full English
breakfast but decided that was too piggy, even for me. I hoped
Nancy wouldn’t mind both Amelia and me tucking into bacon.
‘And the shops are fantastic. I plan on getting all my
Christmas gifts in one fell swoop.’

‘Ooh, there’s a whole building of antiques.’
Nancy consulted the Snape map on her phone.

‘Are you allowed to fraternise with the
competition?’ I asked her.

She winked. ‘I won’t tell if you
won’t.’

‘Won’t tell what?’ Amelia said.

‘Tell Peter that Nancy’s been buying antiques
without him.’

‘Why, has he got some kind of monopoly on you?’
Amelia asked.

‘Well, not quite.’ Nancy was looking exceedingly
pleased.

Amelia frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘You know.’ I tilted my head towards Nancy and
attempted to waggle my eyebrows. ‘The dishy and delightful
Peter.’

‘Er, the gay Peter?’ Amelia said loudly, cocktail
ring glinting as she made a camp gesture.

I shushed her as our food arrived.

‘Peter’s not gay,’ Nancy said evenly.

‘Yes, he is,’ Amelia daubed HP sauce on her
sandwich. She took a huge bite and looked at me to back her up.

I caught her eye meaningfully and shook my head.

‘No, he’s
not
,’ said Nancy
definitively. She grinned and picked up her fork to tackle her
scrambled eggs.

‘Holy crap!’ Amelia choked on her bacon butty.

Nancy thumped her on the back, smiling. ‘Nothing’s
happened yet,’ she protested.

‘Yet? Wow.’ When she could talk again, Amelia raised
her cappuccino cup to Nancy. ‘Here’s to you,
darling.’

After we’d munched for a few minutes, I looked at our
stylishly simple surroundings. ‘Do you think we can save our
malt house and create something like this?’

Amelia puffed up her cheeks. ‘I dunno,’ she said.
‘It would be amazing, but I’ll be honest, it’s a
long shot.’

‘They’ve really got it together here,’ I
sighed. ‘No wonder Scott was sniffing around.’

‘Was he?’ Nancy asked.

I nodded. ‘He brought me here on a date: I thought he was
just trying to make sure I had a good time. Silly me. It was
obviously a business visit for him. He already had his beady eye on
the Saffron Sweeting malt house.’

‘Except he wants to demolish ours, not convert it,’
Amelia pointed out.

‘It probably costs more to preserve something like this
than just to start again,’ Nancy said practically.

‘Yes, well, money isn’t everything,’ said
Amelia as she fished in her Mulberry handbag for a Dior lipstick,
then crossed her legs and accidentally kicked me with her new Coach
boot.

I threw her an ironic look, which she missed completely. She was
totally behind this malt house project; perhaps her altruistic side
had surfaced at last. And although she said our chances of saving
it were slim, I felt more hopeful. We’d stirred up a little
publicity and the previous week, a dishy journalist from the local
Cambridge paper had interviewed several of us.

‘Anyway,’ Amelia narrowed her eyes at me, ‘if
anyone’s fraternising with the enemy, it’s
Grace.’

‘Oh, c’mon,’ I said. ‘I didn’t
know what Scott was up to.’

‘But you do now,’ Nancy said crisply.

They were both looking at me unflinchingly. I gazed down at my
lap.

‘He stood me up on Friday,’ I said, after a
pause.

If I was looking for sympathy, I didn’t get it.

‘Where?’ Nancy asked.

‘My place. I cooked dinner.’

‘And he didn’t show up?’ said Amelia.

‘No. Fog in Glasgow. Flight was cancelled.’

Nancy and Amelia exchanged looks.

‘How many times is that now?’ Nancy said.

‘How many what?’ I asked.

‘That he’s blown you off.’

Amelia looked momentarily confused, but I knew what Nancy
meant.

‘Only twice,’ I said.

Nancy snorted. ‘Only? How many times does it
take?’

I made a little pile of the sandwich crumbs on my empty plate.
‘What are you saying?’

Nancy wrinkled her nose and blinked at me through her glasses.
‘Just that he’s not treating you real good.’

I glanced at Amelia, who had her elbows on the table and was
resting her chin on top of interwoven fingers.

‘Actually, darling, he’s not behaving very well in
general, is he?’ she said.

‘No.’ I screwed up my napkin and ran a weary hand
through my hair. ‘He’s not.’

Nancy and I had left our cars in Saffron
Sweeting, so Amelia took us back to the Hargraves office in her
green Mercedes. We were almost at the shortest day of the year.
Despite leaving Snape in the early afternoon, it was now dusk. As
we passed the malt house, I was sure I spotted a Jaguar through the
gloom.

So far, December had proved damp and foggy. As I transferred my
shopping bags into the Beetle’s boot, I thought the village
looked almost Dickensian.

Ignoring the welcoming promise of the pub, I trekked back in the
direction of the malt house. The long building was in shadow, of
course. It looked doomed and mournful, like the Titanic after her
lights went out. Beside it, the beech trees were now bare. As I
stood looking up, an owl hooted, making me jump and reminding me
why I was here. Yes, there was the Jaguar, with Scott sitting in
the driver’s seat, fingers moving over his iPad. I tapped on
the window and now it was his turn to jump.

‘Hello, gorgeous.’ He smiled in surprise as the
window slid down. ‘I was on my way to see you.’

I shrugged wordlessly, shoving both hands into my coat pockets
and hunching my shoulders against the damp chill.

‘Hop in,’ he said. ‘It’s cold out
there.’

I shook my head. ‘I’m okay.’

Scott looked surprised, then turned to grab his coat from the
passenger seat. He got out of the car, sliding his arms into his
jacket. Then he gave me a quick hug and lowered his head for a
kiss. I turned away.

‘Are you hungry? Would you like to go out for
dinner?’ He settled for brushing the hair off my face.

‘There’s leftover beef, remember?’ I
couldn’t believe he’d forgotten.

‘I’m so sorry about Friday night,’ he said.
‘I mean it.’

I nodded dubiously and gazed at the chunky zip on his trendy
navy jacket. It said
Barbour
in tiny letters.