Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Summer had well and truly bloomed. It was one of those gorgeous mornings without a cloud in the sky and even at eight o’clock the sun burned bright and strong.
Bets surveyed the scene, taking in the horse chestnut trees laden with deep pink blooms, their branches splayed like welcoming arms wreathed in vivid green leaves, and inhaled the scent of the freshly cut grass perfuming the village common.
Tiggy, in a playful mood, rolled in the cool damp cuttings several times until her dark coat was flecked with green.
‘Come on, we ought to head for home, so I can get ready for work.’
Halfway across the common she met George carrying his newspaper.
‘Morning, young Bets, how’s it going?’
‘All good, thanks, George.’
‘Looks like they’re making good headway. Must have started early.’ George indicated the team of men busy erecting the big marquee in the centre of the green.
‘Yes,’ said Bets swallowing. The marquee was set up every summer in readiness for the Wilsgrave Flower Show, the comedy festival and, of course, the finale of the summer, the charity ball.
It was a tacit reminder that in less than two weeks she’d be appearing on the stage here in front of everyone.
The lineup was a secret, although she doubted it would stay that way for much longer, given that Audrey would be receiving the programme information and taking it to the printers in the next few days and Doris would be proofing it.
Her act was almost there. Harry was a brilliant teacher but the thought of performing in front of practically everyone she knew was terrifying.
Tiggy gave a squeak next to her, reminding her that she needed to get home.
Someone hadn’t had breakfast yet. Normally she only took Tiggy out for a very quick walk in the morning, before taking her for a much longer one at lunchtime.
She’d brought her out first thing today before it got too warm.
It was the first day for which high temperatures had been forecast. A far cry from that rain-soaked day when she’d …
when she’d slept with Jack. Which she didn’t regret.
Not really. Not much. Not at all. Except she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About the way he’d made her feel, his lithe body next to hers.
And how it had been so completely different from all the other times they’d been together.
She couldn’t stop worrying at the memory as if it were a sore on her tongue, trying to figure out what had been different.
Had it been abstinence or absence making the heart grow fonder?
George waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Sorry, wool-gathering,’ she said. She hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
‘I said, I heard you got yourself a date for the summer ball.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Jean Franklin said you’ve got yourself a new fella. Handsome, too. Bit of a chunk, she said. Good for you.’
‘I think you mean hunk,’ said Bets with a giggle.
News travelled fast around the village. ‘I had Sunday lunch with a very nice man, that’s all.
Jean is getting ahead of herself. I can categorically tell you he hasn’t asked me to the ball.
’ Although, they had fixed up by text last night to meet for lunch in London the following week.
Bets wasn’t sure what to make of not being able to see him for two weeks since their last date.
Was that what people did when they were proper grown-ups?
Admittedly, when she and Jack had got together, they were still at school and saw each other every day.
‘What’s the lad waiting for?’ said George with obvious disgust. ‘I tell you, if he doesn’t come up to snuff, I’ll take you.’
‘That’s very sweet of you. I’ll bear it in mind.’ She smiled at him. He meant well. They all did. They were looking out for her, even if their methods were a little intrusive sometimes.
‘You do that, lovely. I’d best be off, don’t want to miss my morning cappuccino with Ella.’
‘Are you still scrounging coffee every morning?’ teased Bets.
‘Not every morning,’ he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
‘Nice to see you. I need to get to work.’ She bade him goodbye and circuited the edge of the green, avoiding the ropes and canvas in the middle, wondering who else had heard about her date with Jamie.
* * *
She didn’t have to wait long to find out. As soon as Bets unleashed Tiggy, who trotted into the space she’d claimed under the reception desk, beside Dexter’s blanket, Diane called from one of the consulting rooms, right across the open space where Jack, Devon and Margaret were conferring.
‘Word has it you were seen with a tall, dark, handsome stranger last weekend. Something you want to tell us?’
Not right now, thought Bets, annoyed by the malicious gleam in Diane’s eyes. She loved stirring up trouble. Jack gave her a brief glance. What must he think of her? Going out with another man just days after they’d had sex.
‘You’ll be the first to know, Diane,’ she said with a cheery wink and deliberately kept walking to hang up her jacket in the little office that served as a cloakroom and general dumping ground for anything anyone wasn’t sure what to do with.
It currently housed a broken office chair, the lost property box and a carton of substandard dog toys that several clients had returned as too fragile.
Unfortunately, Diane hurried after her.
‘So come on. Who is he? Where did you meet him?’
Bets sighed. ‘He’s just a friend.’
‘A friend. I heard he was a looker.’
She shrugged. ‘I guess.’
‘Oh, Bets, you’re useless. Even if you don’t fancy him, it would be good to put Jack’s nose out of joint. Show him how quickly you’ve moved on.’
‘I don’t want to do that. I don’t need to play games.
Besides I’m not even sure if I’m that interested in Jamie.
’ It was true; although they’d had a perfectly nice time on Sunday, there hadn’t been that …
she wasn’t sure what to call it … ‘Spark’ was too fanciful.
That only happened in books and films. But from the first time she’d gone to the pictures with Jack, she’d simmered with excitement.
Maybe that had just been teenage hormones, and it was too much to expect that she would ever feel like that again.
‘Jamie. That his name, is it? So where did you meet him?
Although she was loath to share details, she did want to get rid of Diane, so she answered. ‘He was at the art gallery on the opening night of the exhibition. We got chatting. He’s a nice guy.’
‘Do you like him?’
‘Yes, he’s … he’s nice,’ said Bets cautiously.
It was easy to like Jamie but she didn’t really know him.
She liked what she’d seen so far. Give him another chance, she told herself.
They got on well enough and she’d enjoyed his company but she wasn’t sure they had enough in common …
or rather she wondered if their differences were too great.
But then again, didn’t she want something different?
Didn’t she want to break out of her mould?
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ interrupted Jack from behind Bets, ‘would one of you like to assist? Mrs James has brought Ginger in to have his claws clipped. I’d appreciate a hand.’
Ginger was a notoriously bad-tempered moggy, a feline Mike Tyson. Unfortunately he had a genetic problem with a couple of his claws which made them curl inwards and grow into his footpads.
Diane rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not due to start for another ten minutes.’
If it weren’t for her encyclopaedic knowledge of the history of every pet they’d ever treated, Bets wasn’t sure that Diane would have held on to her job. She took passive-aggressive obstruction to a whole new level.
‘I’ll get the gauntlets out,’ said Bets, referring to the heavy-duty leather gloves reserved for such occasions, and strode past Diane, who shot Jack a snarky grin. Honestly, Bets thought she could have strangled her.
When she returned with the gloves, crossing reception, Ginger’s yowls could be heard from Consulting Room 2, and when she opened the door, she paused for a moment. The cat and Jack were facing off through the bars of the cat’s travelling case.
‘I’m not going to hurt you, you know. I dislike doing this as much as you. We’re on the same side, mate, and it would all go a lot easier if you just chilled.’
Bets grinned, grateful that he seemed to be putting on as good an act as her that they hadn’t been to bed last week and had mad, passionate sex. ‘Not sure that he’s listening.’
‘I’m damned sure he isn’t, but I’m trying to be calm and communicate that calm to him.’
‘Ginger is demon spawn. It’s a lost cause. But I love that you keep trying.’ The words spilled out but as soon as she said them, she realised it was true. Jack never gave up on any animal, steadfastly believing that they were all innately good, just frightened.
‘Shh, you’ll upset him,’ said Jack with a wink. ‘Give us the gloves, I’m going in.’
She watched as he opened the cage, crooning gently to Ginger.
‘Come on, fella, it’s okay.’ Ginger lashed out and meowed at Jack, who in one quick movement lunged in, grabbed the cat and quickly lifted it out of the carrier.
With a firm but gentle grip, he held the cat tight, gently stroking it with one finger across the head.
The cat struggled and cried but Jack held on, talking to Ginger with calm insistence.
‘I know. I know. Scary stuff. But we’ll be as quick as we can and you can go back to terrorising the neighbourhood.’
After a little while the cat calmed but Jack continued to stroke him until Bets heard the animal purr. ‘There, you see,’ he murmured to the cat.