Second Thyme Around (7 page)

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Authors: Katie Fforde

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

BOOK: Second Thyme Around
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She refused to touch it. ‘I’ve told you why! I don’t want it!’
‘Then give it to charity!’ He stuffed it into the neck of her jumper.
She snatched it out and thrust it deep into his breast pocket. ‘
You
give it to charity! I’m sure there must be a benevolent fund for trainee chefs suffering from nervous breakdowns caused by tyrants like you!’
‘I think I should tell you that, in chef terms, I am a pussycat. I don’t hit my staff with ladles, or throw boiling water over them. And if I shout a bit, or let slip the occasional four-letter word, they’re all adults, they don’t have to stay.’
‘Enzo never shouted at everyone, and he was a brilliant chef.’ This wasn’t entirely true. Enzo
could
cook like an angel, but more often didn’t.
‘He was the most hopeless, bloody unprofessional idiot ever let loose in a kitchen!’
‘How would you know? You didn’t see him cook!’
‘Yes I did and I ate his food. When I came to look the place over. I’ve never seen anything so unprofessional in my life. I’m surprised he wasn’t closed down by the Environmental Health officer.’
‘Well anyway, at least he was a success as a human being!’
‘That really depends on how you define “success”.’
‘At least he was happily married!’ she shot at him, wishing she hadn’t a moment later. She didn’t know that he hadn’t married again. ‘Though, perhaps you are too,’ she added more quietly.
‘No, I’m still divorced.’
‘So the woman you left me for left you, did she?’
‘No, I left her, actually.’
‘Oh.’ Perdita suddenly needed to get away from the kitchen, with its sodden floor, crowded surfaces and memories of the awful stress of cooking.
He followed her into the sitting room and sat down in the armchair, while Perdita knelt before the wood-burning stove, and delicately coaxed back some flames.
‘So, is there a man in your life?’
Perdita had a log in her hand. ‘That is absolutely none of your business!’
‘I’ll take that as a no then.’
Perdita was dearly tempted to throw the log at his head, but resisted, tossing it instead into the stove, with less care than necessary. ‘No! You can’t take it as anything! It’s just none of your business!’
‘You asked me if I was married!’
‘No I didn’t! You volunteered the information!’
‘You volunteer it too, then.’
Perdita sighed sharply and got to her feet before collapsing into the Windsor chair opposite his. ‘Like you I’m still divorced.’
‘And not engaged, I see.’ She looked quizzically at him. ‘No ring,’ he added.
‘I hardly ever wear jewellery. It cuts into your fingers when you’re digging and gets clogged up with soil.’
‘So, are you engaged?’
‘I told you, it’s none of your business.’
‘So you’re not. Knocking thirty and no man on the scene. Dear, dear. Lovely girl like you. What is wrong with young men these days?’
She narrowed her furious gaze. ‘I do have a boyfriend, if you must know. But he lives quite a long way away, and I don’t see him often.’ That should shut him up.
‘Oh, I am glad.’ Clearly, he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘Then could I invite you both to dinner with me at Grantly House? I’d like to show you the changes I’ve made to the menu.’
‘Does that mean you’d be eating with us? Or would you be in the kitchen?’
‘I’d be in the kitchen. I’d come and talk to you, of course, since you would be my guests, but I wouldn’t spoil your romantic evening.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘So does that mean you’d like to come?’
‘Of course, I can’t make arrangements without consulting – him.’ If she made up a name, it might lead to all sorts of complications.
‘Of course not. But in principle you’d like to come?’
‘Oh, yes. We’d love it.’ Like a snowflake enjoys a visit to hell.
‘Good.’ He got to his feet. ‘Well then, since you’re not going to offer me tea—’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘I’d better get back. Thank you so much for lunch. It was very interesting.’
‘Thank you so much for coming. It wouldn’t have been nearly so much fun without you.’
‘No need to be sarcastic, Perdita. I did help with the washing-up.’
‘That was the worst part.’
‘Let me change your mind about that.’ Before she could think what he was doing, he took the cheque out of his pocket and thrust it down the front of her jumper. Before she could react, he got one arm round her shoulders and then kissed her, so hard and so long that she would have fallen over if he hadn’t been holding her up.
‘You bastard! How dare you?’ she hurled at him, the moment she could speak.
He turned, from halfway down the path on the way to his car. ‘The advantage of being the wicked ex-husband is that you don’t have a reputation to lose. Nothing I could possibly do could make you think any worse of me. Goodbye, Perdita. See you soon.’
She was so outraged by the kiss and his subsequent remark that she only remembered the cheque when she heard a crackling sound as she turned to stomp indoors. By that time his car had roared off.
She stood in her sitting room, simmering quietly, then slumped into the armchair and stared at the flames which flickered behind their glass doors.
‘I’ll get the bloody cheque to Lucas if it’s the last thing I do. Then I have to find a boyfriend. A big one. Who looks likely to punch him on the nose if he so much as thinks about touching me,’ she said aloud. ‘Sod him, sod him, sod him!’
Her indignation was not, she knew, because of his rapine kiss, but because of her reaction to it. Not that he had turned her knees to jelly, made her wish the kiss could last for ever, or anything remotely romantic. But she hadn’t felt revolted, or raped, or violated, or indeed any of the proper, politically correct emotions felt by women when men forced themselves on them. In fact she had responded to the feeling of a strong man’s arms around her.
‘It’s my hormones, letting me down,’ she muttered. ‘I
have to find a boyfriend – not only to punch Lucas, but for
me
! Because I need a man to hug me. Because, however much you love them, you can’t cuddle lettuces!’
 
It was a few days after the lunch party that Perdita came across Kitty, poring over catalogues.
‘Hello, what’s all this?’ Perdita asked. ‘I thought you hated shopping by mail order?’
‘I do. It’s environmentally unsound, but I’ve just realised that if I look through these I can do all my Christmas shopping without ever going out.’
‘Don’t you feel up to going out?’
‘I feel up to going out,’ Kitty explained, irritated by the concern in Perdita’s voice, ‘but not inclined to thrash my way through crowds of people.’
As Perdita often felt like this herself, she stopped worrying and looked across at the selection of catalogues Kitty was going through. ‘They’re mostly plants. Do your friends and relations want plants for presents?’
‘Of course. Everyone loves plants.’
‘But five hundred busy Lizzies, and five hundred universal pansies. Think of all that planting out! And Christmas is such a busy time for most people.’
‘Not everyone raises plants for a living, like you do,’ said Kitty. ‘Besides, these won’t come until March.’
‘Well, don’t give me anything in a plug I can’t make money out of.’
‘Well, what would you like?’
Perdita sighed. ‘A man. Or, better than that, a table lamp. I’ve put one in the kitchen now, which does improve things a bit, but it means I haven’t got one in the sitting room.’
‘That’s easy. I’m sure there’s a catalogue here with them in. You could choose your own.’
Perdita chuckled and flicked through the clothes catalogue with the attractive male models in it. She still
liked the vet in sailing trousers. ‘What would happen if I rang up these people and asked to be put in touch with him?’ She showed Kitty the picture.
Kitty peered at it. ‘They’d think you were a crank and refuse to tell you anything about him. And quite right too. His eyes are too close together.’
‘That’s only because he’s squinting into the sun! But I take your point about being a crank. They’d never divulge details about the people modelling, or no one would do it. I’ll have to think of something else.’
‘Is it Lucas that brought this on? I must say, he has got very attractive in his old age, hasn’t he? I never thought much of him as a young man, but a few years have improved him enormously.’
‘Do you think so? What do you want for Christmas, then?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, but I do want to talk to you about it.’
‘Talk then. But you will have to think of something. Otherwise I’ll order you some surfinias or whatever they’re called.’
‘The Ledham-Golds have invited me for Christmas,’ said Kitty. ‘I wasn’t going to say if I would go until I’d talked to you about it.’
Perdita felt a bit flat. She and Kitty usually spent Christmas together, and while neither of them felt it was their favourite time, exactly, it was at least familiar. ‘Well, I think you should go. It would make a nice change.’
‘I could ask them if they could have you as well. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind having an able-bodied person about, but they are all awfully elderly.’ By this she meant well over seventy, still a good ten years younger than she was herself. ‘It wouldn’t be a lot of fun for you, but I don’t want to leave you on your own.’
‘I wouldn’t mind, honestly. I think I’d quite like having it on my own – if I couldn’t have it with you, of course. You tell the Ledham-Golds you’ll go. They probably need
cheering up. Doesn’t his sister live with them, or something?’
‘That’s right. She does the garden and Veronica does the house. Bernard does the crossword and watches
Countdown.
’
‘I’m quite fond of
Countdown
myself. It’s got a cult following, you know.’
‘Hmm,’ said Kitty disapprovingly. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means students watch it.’
‘When they should be doing their work, I dare say.’
‘Probably. What about a giant lily? Look, it grows to over six foot high!’
Kitty snorted, disgusted by the notion. ‘I’d rather have a knitted bed jacket from the church bazaar.’
‘You’re so difficult to buy presents for.’
‘Just get me soap, darling. Now, are you sure you don’t mind having Christmas on your own?’
The thought of being on her own at Christmas really didn’t bother Perdita, but she knew it bothered Kitty. She wouldn’t allow herself to accept the Ledham-Golds’ invitation while she felt Perdita would be lonely on Christmas Day.
No amount of telling her would persuade Kitty that a day spent pottering about at home, dipping in and out of the Christmas specials, was an attractive prospect to Perdita. She worked hard, and had very little time to mooch about and refresh her batteries. A day off when she could legitimately be a slob became more tempting the more she thought about it. But she couldn’t convince Kitty.
The problem was solved a few days later when Perdita got a card from an old school friend, Lucy, who had married shortly after Perdita and subsequently disappeared off to the Caribbean. Unlike Perdita she had stayed married, even when an island in the Caribbean had turned into an island off the north coast of Scotland. Her
card arrived on the first of December, indecently early.
I’m really organised this year as, you will see from the address, we are supposed to be moving to Shropshire next week,’ it said, in gold pen. ‘Madness, I know, what with having to do F.C. for the children. It should have been October, but house sales never go to plan. I know the house will be wonderful eventually, but at the moment it’s crumbling and ancient and will cost megabucks to get habitable. I don’t suppose you fancy spending Christmas with us? Seriously, it would be lovely to see you sometime.’
This could be the solution. Lucy had always been what she liked to call spontaneous, which other people felt meant unpredictable, and her throwaway invitation could be a godsend. Perdita, to check her friend was still in the far north, gave her a ring.
After a lot of shrieks and how are yous, and I can’t believe the children are that bigs, Perdita said, ‘I don’t suppose you meant it when you asked me to spend Christmas with you?’
‘You’re not saying that you want to come? Oh, Perdita! It would be marvellous! I only said it as a sort of joke – but prayer might be more like it. I mean, there’ll be no hot water or carpets or curtains, or anything. It’ll be hell. You’ll probably hate it, but we’d love to have you!’
‘And I’d love to come. It would be such fun to see you again and meet your children.’
‘Are you sure? Jake’s brother is coming. His marriage has just broken up. Can you really cope? There’s an Aga, but we’re not sure if we’ll be able to get it lit in time.’

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