Chapter 36
Was this one of the best evenings of his life?
Jed had never been one for hyperbole, but he actually thought it might be. Out of nowhere, from the moment Esme had arrived this evening on the doorstep of the Cedars, life had just become . . . better.
Better than better.
Close to perfect.
It was like getting to know the best friend you’d been waiting to meet all your life. When people talked about finding their soulmate, maybe this was what they meant. Except it didn’t feel as if they were getting to know each other; rather, it was as if they’d been friends for ever, bonded in a way that was utterly unbreakable.
Despite the fact that they couldn’t be more unalike.
Esme was wearing a grey linen pinafore dress over a flowery blue and white T-shirt and was extremely proud of her blue and white flip-flops, which had been a terrific bargain from Oxfam (‘Two pounds, and they’d have been ten times that much in a proper shop!’). She’d also brought him a cellophane-wrapped bag of fudge made this afternoon in her own kitchen in between teaching her older grandchildren how to make flapjacks and fairy cakes. Tonight’s chef, Alastair, had also greeted Esme with delight, the two having known each other for years. Jed had opened an excellent bottle of Bordeaux, a Chateau Latour Pauillac, and the three of them had enthusiastically discussed food – their shared passion – whilst Alastair prepared and cooked four superlative courses.
But that had been a couple of hours ago, following which Alastair had cleaned up, tidied everything away and left them to it. Now, with the many tea lights flickering in their silver holders on the dining table and bright stars visible in the sky through the vaulted glass roof, Jed and Esme were drinking wine and still chatting non-stop about every subject imaginable.
‘I can’t believe we loved the same bands, bought the same albums,’ Jed marvelled. To him, it felt like magic.
‘I’m only two years older than you are.’ Esme was amused. ‘We were young at the same time. Why wouldn’t we like the same bands?’
True enough. Having fallen into the habit of dating women younger than himself, he was used to their taste in music being miles, even decades, apart. Which was entirely his own fault, of course. It had started off as a show-offy thing, being seen with a super-glamorous younger girlfriend on his arm, and over the years had become par for the course. Until Juliet had come into his life and he’d fallen in love with her brain.
‘Ever seen any of them playing live?’ he asked.
‘Couldn’t afford it back then. I was too busy being a mum. Any spare money we had was spent on the girls.’ Esme’s voice softened. ‘Besides, we could always watch the bands on Top of the Pops .’
‘Live concerts are a whole different experience, though. You should try one.’
She laughed. ‘They’re still pricey.’
‘You’d love it.’
‘Do they have people dancing?’
‘In the audience? Of course they do.’
‘My family makes fun of me when I dance. They call me Octopus Arms.’
‘Show me,’ said Jed, and she waved her arms in the air along with the music currently playing through the speakers.
‘Most of my girlfriends have made fun of my dancing.’ He grinned and did the same.
‘The thing is, maybe we’re the ones doing it properly,’ said Esme, ‘and everyone else is wrong.’
Take That were now singing ‘Could it be Magic’. Turning the volume up to maximum and getting to his feet, Jed held a hand out to her. ‘You know what? I think you’re right.’
Without a moment’s hesitation, Esme joined him and together they began to dance. Arms were waved with abandon in the air, their feet did their own eclectic thing, and they sang at the top of their voices, word perfect because they both knew the track off by heart.
For the next twenty minutes they danced non-stop and sang along to all their favourite Take That numbers, from ‘It Only Takes a Minute’ and ‘Relight my Fire’ to ‘Rule the World’ and ‘Back for Good’. By the time they’d finished belting out ‘Never Forget’, their throats were dry and their voices were starting to go. Laughing and pouring herself a big glass of sparkling water from the fridge, Esme collapsed onto one of the jewel-toned velvet sofas overlooking the pool outside. ‘I have to say, I think we were both exceptional.’
‘The crowd were screaming for an encore.’ Jed cupped a hand around his ear. ‘What’s that? You want one more?’
‘The crowd are going to have to wait. I’m shattered.’ She clinked her glass against his tumbler of cognac. ‘Anyway, thank you. I’ve had the best time.’
‘Me too. Thanks for coming.’ He didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want the perfect evening to end. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock.
‘You know, you’re not the person people think you are.’
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘What do they think I am?’
‘Someone involved with the darker side of life.’ Esme shrugged. ‘Dealing drugs. The scary type of stuff. All sorts of iffy goings-on, like the gangsters we see in those crime shows on TV.’
‘Honestly?’ Jed considered this. ‘Back when I was starting out in business, the way I looked and the way I presented myself made people think I was that type. And it kind of came in handy, so I let them carry on thinking it. If the dodgy dealers thought I was dodgier than them, they were less likely to mess me around. It got me some respect. And after that, the habit stuck. I didn’t tell them I’d never taken a drug in my life and my favourite movie was The Sound of Music .’
‘Those hills, they’re just so . . . alive .’ She broke into a smile. ‘When I told my girls I was coming over here tonight, they tried to put me off. Showed me some of the online gossip about you.’
Jed nodded. ‘I know what people say. And the reason I’ve never been charged is because none of it’s true. But right now, I can’t prove that. Up to you whether you believe me.’
Esme gestured dismissively with her left hand. ‘I believe you.’
‘Thank you. And I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell anyone about what we sang and danced to.’
Another broad smile. ‘It’ll be our secret. Can I ask another question?’
‘As many as you like.’
‘What kind of shoes are those?’
‘Versace. Black velvet Medusas.’
‘How much did they cost?’
‘A lot. Almost a grand.’
‘Wow. Why do you spend so much on designer clothes?’ She nodded at the ostentatious logo on his shirt.
Jed paused. ‘I honestly don’t know. To show off, I suppose. Wanting to prove to everyone that I’ve made a success of my life. Why?’
‘Just curious. I’ve always wondered about people who do that. Maybe if I was rich, I’d do it too. Oh, I did once!’ Belatedly she remembered. ‘I was going to a wedding and needed a pink handbag, and there was a Chanel one in the charity shop so I snapped it up.’
‘And did it make you feel good?’
‘It made me feel bad! It was a really poor fake with a cardboard lining that went all soggy in the rain.’ Esme laughed at the memory. ‘Biggest waste of three pounds fifty ever.’
Jed saw her glance at her watch and blurted out in a panic, ‘You don’t have to go yet, it’s not late. Ready for another dance? I have a ton of ABBA on Spotify . . .’
But Esme was already shaking her head. ‘I’ve been up since five this morning. Time I was heading home. Speaking of heading home, how much longer are you down here?’
‘Until Monday morning.’ He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing her again. ‘Look, what are you doing tomorrow? Because if you like, we could go to—’
‘We’re off to visit my aunt in Exeter,’ Esme cut in. ‘She lives on her own and hasn’t been too well lately, so she looks forward to seeing us.’
‘Oh. Well, never mind.’ Was that an excuse, a brush-off? Or was it true?
Despite her protests, he insisted on walking her home under the starlit sky, while ‘A Million Love Songs’ played on a loop in his brain. Eventually they reached her semi-detached home on the high street.
‘Egg Cottage?’ In the dim light from the porch he was able to make out the carved wooden sign above the door.
‘Named after my body shape,’ said Esme.
‘That’s crazy, you aren’t—’ Jed realised she was joking a split second before telling her she had a perfect figure.
‘Got you.’ Esme gave him a playful nudge. ‘Not long after World War Two ended, a woman called Eunice Honeywell moved into this place. She kept chickens and sold their eggs, so everyone used to call her the egg woman. Eunice was the one who changed the name of the cottage and put up the sign. Have you seen her grave in the churchyard?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’ There hadn’t been time to visit the churchyard.
‘You should. It’s a beauty. She was a hundred and five years old when she died, and she left thousands of pounds to pay for a huge hand-carved marble monument. It has chickens and eggs hidden around it, but you have to look closely before you spot them. She was a character.’
Clutching at straws, Jed heard himself say, ‘I’d love to see it. We could go there now?’
‘Oh . . .’ Esme’s eyebrows shot up, but before she could reply, they were interrupted by a light snapping on and the rattle of a bedroom window being pushed wide open above them.
‘That’ll be a no,’ a voice rang out overhead, and when they stepped back from the porch there was a young brunette woman gazing pointedly down at the two of them.
‘Rhoda, what are you still doing up?’
‘Waiting to make sure you get home safely, Mum.’
‘That’s very kind of you, love, but I’m here now. All in one piece.’
‘Until he persuades you to go with him into the churchyard.’ Leaning further out of the window, Rhoda made exaggerated quote marks with her index fingers. ‘To look at graves in the middle of the night.’
‘I wasn’t planning to attack her in there,’ said Jed. ‘She was telling me all about Eunice Honeywell.’
‘I know she was. I was listening.’
Esme said, ‘We’ve had the best evening.’
‘I’m sure you have. But I’m still not letting him cart you off to the churchyard. How do you know he doesn’t have a hacksaw in his pocket?’
Jed raised his hands in the air. ‘You can search me if you like.’
‘No, thanks. Mum, come on inside now.’
Shaking her head, Esme said drily, ‘Kids. What can you do with them?’
‘Ignore them?’ Jed said it in hope but little conviction that this might happen. In theory he admired Rhoda’s concerns on her mother’s behalf, but in practice he wished she could have fallen asleep an hour ago.
‘She worries about me. OK, I have to go. Thank you again for the meal.’ If he’d hoped for a kiss, he was out of luck. Esme gave him a quick hug, then unlocked her front door. ‘I enjoyed every minute.’
She turned and gave a little wave, then disappeared into the cottage and closed the door, leaving him standing there bereft.
Up above, Rhoda’s voice rang out triumphantly in the night air. ‘Bye!’