did. Alessandro blew Becca a kiss while Clayton said, ‘Goodbye, Miss Tilly,’ very formally but grinning as he did so. Then they were gone to the sound of the expensive car roaring off back down the dale.
‘Well!’ said Becca, giggling. ‘That certainly brightened up the afternoon.’
‘Bit full of himself though, isn’t he, that Clayton Silver?’I said, cross with myself for getting drawn in by his easy charm and trying not to recall his smiling eyes, his tight black T-shirt, his broad shoulders and his grin. I remembered the actresses who’d arrived at Club Balaika with him. Well, they were welcome to him. How upset the new celebrity-conscious Jake would be to have missed them.
With that, a group of spindly, mud-covered cyclists, clad in very unflattering bright yellow Lycra, parked their bikes outside and came in demanding soup and sandwiches. The magic had definitely gone. Becca sighed and went to serve them. I quickly sent a text to Susannah, saying, ‘Country life MUCH more interesting than I thought,’ and tucked my phone in my bag. Then I got it out again and sent a text to Jake, telling him who’d been in the pub. Seemed only fair. Then I went off to the loo.
There was a sampler in the passage, the twin of the one in the bar. ’ Wine is a mocker ‘, it said in neat, tiny stitches. ‘ Strong drink is raging .’ Which was a bit daft to have in a pub. No wonder Dexter had hidden it away out of sight.
But then in the Ladies there was yet another of the things on the wall next to the Tampax machine. ‘ Vanity of vanities. All is vanity .’ I could see it reflected in the mirror when I was brushing my hair. Probably Dexter’s idea of a joke. I thought of some small girl having to spend hours stitching it. It seemed a very stern lesson to learn so young.
‘Probably see you tomorrow,’ I said to Becca back in the bar.
‘You never know, we might have some more interesting customers,’ she grinned as I went out to find PIP in the car park.
Chapter Six
I took a deep breath. I’d only had two small glasses of wine. I was driving just over a mile. I’d be all right. I got into the little van and off I went up the high moor road.
In the farmyard I could see Mrs Alderson doing something with a hose. Torrents of water were pouring over the yard as she waded along in wellies. She waved and I turned in. I’d better explain to her about Jake, I suppose. I stopped the engine and stepped out onto the damp concrete and was hit with a very agricultural smell. Cows, I guessed, wrinkling my nose and looking down at the small rivulets washing against my shoes.
‘Oh, it’s you!’ said Mrs Alderson, surprised, and directing the jet of water into the furthest corner away from me. ‘I thought it was Reuben Stephen. This is his van.’
‘Not any more,’ I said, and explained as she laughed. ‘I hope old Wes isn’t charging you full rent for this heap!’
‘No, just a token gesture.’
‘Good. Well, this car knows its way round these tracks, so you’ll be all right. And Wes will always come out and rescue you if it breaks down. Are you sure you’re OK up there on your own? I noticed your young man…’ She stopped, tactfully. ‘I mean, it’s perfectly safe, but if you’re not used to it, it can be a bit spooky.’
‘It was fine, thank you,’ I said firmly. ‘I lit the fire andhad one of your ready meals for supper. It was great, thanks.’
We both looked up the fellside to the cottage. Above it I could see a quad bike parked and a tall figure striding over the moor with a bale of hay. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked very like the person who’d opened the door of the pub and left so quickly.
‘Matt, my eldest,’ said Mrs Alderson quickly. ‘Home for a while and helping out. If there’s anything you want, just ask.’
I thanked her and wanted to ask about the house and the stream, tell her about my mother, but with that I was suddenly deafened by a vastly magnified telephone bell
‘Well!’ said Becca, giggling. ‘That certainly brightened up the afternoon.’
‘Bit full of himself though, isn’t he, that Clayton Silver?’I said, cross with myself for getting drawn in by his easy charm and trying not to recall his smiling eyes, his tight black T-shirt, his broad shoulders and his grin. I remembered the actresses who’d arrived at Club Balaika with him. Well, they were welcome to him. How upset the new celebrity-conscious Jake would be to have missed them.
With that, a group of spindly, mud-covered cyclists, clad in very unflattering bright yellow Lycra, parked their bikes outside and came in demanding soup and sandwiches. The magic had definitely gone. Becca sighed and went to serve them. I quickly sent a text to Susannah, saying, ‘Country life MUCH more interesting than I thought,’ and tucked my phone in my bag. Then I got it out again and sent a text to Jake, telling him who’d been in the pub. Seemed only fair. Then I went off to the loo.
There was a sampler in the passage, the twin of the one in the bar. ’ Wine is a mocker ‘, it said in neat, tiny stitches. ‘ Strong drink is raging .’ Which was a bit daft to have in a pub. No wonder Dexter had hidden it away out of sight.
But then in the Ladies there was yet another of the things on the wall next to the Tampax machine. ‘ Vanity of vanities. All is vanity .’ I could see it reflected in the mirror when I was brushing my hair. Probably Dexter’s idea of a joke. I thought of some small girl having to spend hours stitching it. It seemed a very stern lesson to learn so young.
‘Probably see you tomorrow,’ I said to Becca back in the bar.
‘You never know, we might have some more interesting customers,’ she grinned as I went out to find PIP in the car park.
Chapter Six
I took a deep breath. I’d only had two small glasses of wine. I was driving just over a mile. I’d be all right. I got into the little van and off I went up the high moor road.
In the farmyard I could see Mrs Alderson doing something with a hose. Torrents of water were pouring over the yard as she waded along in wellies. She waved and I turned in. I’d better explain to her about Jake, I suppose. I stopped the engine and stepped out onto the damp concrete and was hit with a very agricultural smell. Cows, I guessed, wrinkling my nose and looking down at the small rivulets washing against my shoes.
‘Oh, it’s you!’ said Mrs Alderson, surprised, and directing the jet of water into the furthest corner away from me. ‘I thought it was Reuben Stephen. This is his van.’
‘Not any more,’ I said, and explained as she laughed. ‘I hope old Wes isn’t charging you full rent for this heap!’
‘No, just a token gesture.’
‘Good. Well, this car knows its way round these tracks, so you’ll be all right. And Wes will always come out and rescue you if it breaks down. Are you sure you’re OK up there on your own? I noticed your young man…’ She stopped, tactfully. ‘I mean, it’s perfectly safe, but if you’re not used to it, it can be a bit spooky.’
‘It was fine, thank you,’ I said firmly. ‘I lit the fire andhad one of your ready meals for supper. It was great, thanks.’
We both looked up the fellside to the cottage. Above it I could see a quad bike parked and a tall figure striding over the moor with a bale of hay. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked very like the person who’d opened the door of the pub and left so quickly.
‘Matt, my eldest,’ said Mrs Alderson quickly. ‘Home for a while and helping out. If there’s anything you want, just ask.’
I thanked her and wanted to ask about the house and the stream, tell her about my mother, but with that I was suddenly deafened by a vastly magnified telephone bell
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