Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
T o Laura’s relief, the school term had ended two days ago. The pageant had gone remarkably well; off-stage dramas concerning missing ballet shoes, unstuck fake beards and panics over suddenly-forgotten song words had been quickly smoothed over and tears mopped up. Nobody refused to take part at the last minute, and there was none of the deliberate treading on the hem of the child in front, as there had been last year. The pictures on the school’s website showed over-excited, happy children, and knackered but smiling teachers. Good result all round, then.
Yesterday, Emily had turned up around midday and she and Laura had worked themselves into a daze fixing up Spindlewood for Christmas, as Emily described it. The outside lights were up, comprising strings of multicoloured bulbs looped above the porch and the downstairs windows, and nets of twinkling silver fairy lights were draped over the bushes at the front of the house. Inside, the mantelpieces and windowsills were filled, fake ivy, embellished with red ribbon bows, wound its way around every picture and mirror, and Holly’s miniature houses stood in a circle on a side table. In the hall, the Christmas tree stood guard, lit with hundreds of white lights and a decoration on every branch. It was such a big tree that the tips of Cynthia’s wings almost touched the high ceiling but it looked spectacular. Clayton had chosen well.
Laura was experimenting with quiche fillings and delicacies to serve at her party. Tonight, when Spencer came, they’d try out the quiches with homemade potato croquettes, already in the freezer, and a salad. Nice and easy. She’d check the wine later but Spencer would bring some anyway; he’d never shown much enthusiasm for her random stocks of special-offer bottles.
The kitchen windows were steamed up, the warm air fragrant with savoury deliciousness. Laura had just rolled out another sheet of pastry ready to line a fluted quiche tin when she remembered she hadn’t paid Clayton for the Christmas tree. She’d hunted amongst the branches for a price tag and found only a thin bit of elastic knotted round the trunk, suggesting the tag had been removed, but she had a rough idea how much it would be. Best do it now, she thought, before she forgot again.
Five minutes later, Laura put on her duffle coat and slipped a wodge of notes into her pocket from the emergency stash in the kitchen drawer. Then, as an afterthought, she filled a small plastic bag with miniature cheese scones, flavoured with herbs and paprika, from the cooling rack, and put that in her other pocket.
As she closed the front door, her feet stalled on the step. Clayton’s van was approaching. She hadn’t seen him to speak to since Monday and she’d felt awkward enough then. The walk down to the tree sales plot would have given her breathing space to compose herself and arrange her thoughts. But now, here he was, stopping the van at the top of the drive and grinning at her through the windscreen.
‘Hey,’ he said, opening the door and jumping down.
‘I was coming down. You must’ve read my mind.’
‘It’s one of my many talents.’
His gaze met hers, and stayed there. No, not today. Please . Tearing her gaze away, Laura slid her hand into her pocket and brought out the money.
‘Now,’ she said, in her most businesslike voice, ‘how much do I owe you?’
‘Owe me? What for?’
‘The tree, of course.’
‘Is it what you wanted?’
‘It’s perfect.’
‘It’s a present. For saving the day.’ Clayton directed a thumb over his shoulder.
‘No, no. You’ve paid me quite enough for the use of the garden.’
She fumbled with the money. A twenty-pound note fluttered to the ground. She stooped to retrieve it but Clayton was already there, scooping it up. As they stood up, the tops of their heads brushed one another. Laura caught the scent of fresh air, pine needles and shampoo.
Clayton held out the note to her.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I want to pay. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. Tell me how much it is altogether.’
Clayton hesitated, then nodded. He named an amount which was obviously far less than the tree was worth but as much as he was prepared to accept. ‘Otherwise,’ he added, ‘we could be here all day, arguing the toss.’
The rest of the money changed hands. Laura remembered the scones, and handed those over too. ‘For you and Saul to share.’
‘Thanks. Did you want something doing, while I’m here? I see the ladder’s up.’
Laura followed his line of sight. ‘Oh, no, that’s there from yesterday. Emily and I put the lights up.’
‘Shall I put the ladder away for you, then? I was going round to the shed.’
‘Yes, please,’ Laura said, happy to accept his help, now that the matter of paying for the tree had been settled. ‘That would be very kind.’
Clayton’s eyebrows lifted, the twitch of his lips betraying amusement at her attempt at formality. Really, he was incorrigible. But knowing that didn’t stop her from following him round the back of the house and across the garden to the sheds. She opened the door of the unlocked shed where the ladder was kept, and Clayton stowed it neatly inside before unlocking the second shed.
‘The landlord of the Goose wants a Noble, a five-footer. I put this one by for him. I’m going to drop it in on my way home,’ Clayton said, dragging the tree out.
‘Shall I help?’
‘No, you’re all right.’ The tree, imprisoned in its mesh shroud, had already made the easy journey to Clayton’s shoulder. ‘Lock up, though, if you like.’
He threw her the key. She fielded it neatly, locked the shed and followed Clayton round to the front of the house.
‘You’ve got pine needles stuck in your sweater,’ she said, when the tree had been stowed in the van.
‘Have I?’ Clayton gave his shoulder a perfunctory brush. ‘You’ve got flour in your hair, and some on your face.’
‘I’ve been baking.’
She was going to add ‘for my party’, before she remembered he wouldn’t be there, and felt sad.
‘I’d better get back, then,’ Clayton said, making no attempt to move.
Laura didn’t want him to go. Even though he was only going as far as the end of her garden, she really didn’t want him to go. Spencer , she made herself think. Spencer . She repeated the name inside her head, like a mantra.
Clayton gave a little nod and walked towards the van. Suddenly, he stopped and turned round.
‘Could I take you to dinner at the Goose? One night soon?’
Laura’s mouth dried. The words took some effort to form. ‘You really don’t need to do that. We’re all square, really…’
‘It’s nothing to do with me using your garden. I’d really like to, that’s all.’ He smiled. ‘What d’you say?’ It sounded like a challenge.
‘Clayton, I can’t. I’m sorry.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Well, I could say we had coffee at the Ginger Cat, so why not dinner at the Goose, but that wouldn’t be a fair comparison. I could also say I wasn’t asking you out on a date, but we both know I’d be lying.’
‘And we both know I’m seeing someone,’ Laura said quietly.
‘Laura, can I ask you something?’ Clayton didn’t wait for a reply. ‘How well do you really know Spencer Jennings?’
She shrugged. ‘How well do we really know anybody?’
Laura looked across the dining table at Spencer, who was studiously eating tiny pieces of quiche from the selection she’d put on his plate. She’d almost forgotten why she’d made all this food now, let alone asked Spencer to try it. Her mind was in turmoil. Her chest ached with the effort of holding it all in and carrying on as if everything was fine.
Why had Clayton thought it was all right to ask her out when he knew full well she was in a relationship? And what had he meant by that odd question about Spencer?
‘Definitely this one,’ Spencer was saying. ‘It has a really refined taste.’
‘What? Oh yes, the one with the red peppers,’ Laura said, hauling her mind back to the present. ‘Came out well, I thought.’
‘Actually,’ Spencer said, ‘I like them all.’ He indicated the plate. ‘These two seem the same, though. Are they?’
‘Different cheese.’
‘Ah. Well, whichever you serve on Christmas Eve, they’ll go down a storm, and so will the baby scones, the chicken curry puffs and the herby rice balls. They’re all delicious. You are clever, Laura.’
Smiling, Spencer set aside his plate, drank some of his wine and put down the glass in a determined way. Until then, Laura had forgotten he’d said he wanted to talk to her; her preoccupation with other matters had seen to that. She picked up her glass. It contained only dregs. She seemed to be drinking more than usual tonight. Spencer reached for the bottle and topped up her glass.
‘Here’s to us,’ he said, clinking his glass against hers.
‘Cheers.’
‘I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about us.’
‘Have you?’ Laura drank more wine, too fast. It gave her a head rush; she realised she’d hardly eaten a thing.
‘We make a good team, don’t you think?’ Spencer’s smile lasered across the table.
What sort of a question was that ?
‘I suppose we do.’
Spencer seemed unfazed by her vagueness, unless he hadn’t noticed it. ‘If you’d like me to, I could stay over after the party and be with you on Christmas Day, instead of flogging all the way to Gloucestershire. I have to leave at the crack of dawn to get there in time for lunch and the roads are bound to be icy.’
Laura frowned. ‘Spence, you know you’d be welcome to stay over Christmas, but wouldn’t your parents be upset? They must be looking forward to seeing you.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they’d understand.’
Laura wasn’t so sure about that, but never mind. ‘Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?’
‘Yes. And no, not really.’
‘What then?’
Spencer took a moment, seemingly making up his mind about something. ‘Well, yes, that’s it for now. Perhaps you’ll give it some thought. About me being here with you through Christmas, I mean.’
‘Yes, of course. But it’s not just up to me, is it?’
There was something more on Spencer’s mind than deciding where he was to spend Christmas, she could tell. His pensive silence underlined that. She waited.
He reached across, touched her hand briefly, then withdrew it. ‘Perhaps this year we could make the Christmas Eve party something special. One to remember?’
‘My parties are always memorable,’ Laura said, deliberately misunderstanding.
The nerves in her stomach were starting to jangle. She drank some more wine, then swiftly put her glass down and pushed it out of reach as the head rush came back with more force. She picked up a triangle of quiche and took a bite.
Spencer smiled but his eyes were serious. ‘You do love me, don’t you?’
She returned the smile. ‘You know I do.’
Yes . Now she’d said it out loud, the doubts floated away, like a balloon set free. She loved Spencer, had done for a long time. He was a lovely man and she was lucky to have been given this second chance. And now, if she was reading him correctly, he wanted them to make more of a commitment, which could mean he was going to suggest moving in together, or even… was he planning a Christmas Eve proposal? How romantic! Her stomach skittered again, but this time it was from excitement, not nerves.
But was that what she wanted? Living together, providing it was here at Spindlewood, might be fun, and good for them both. But marriage? Unlikely though it seemed, she hadn’t even thought about marrying Spencer. How would she answer, should he propose on Christmas Eve? She really had no idea.
‘I am happy with us, with the way we are,’ she said, hearing a slight note of panic in her voice. ‘Aren’t you?’
Spencer tapped the side of his nose. ‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we?’
Wait and see, repeated Laura’s wine-misted brain. In ten days from now, it would be Christmas Eve and Clayton Masters would be gone from her property, taking her confused thoughts and distractions with him, and all would become clear.