Chapter 9
9
F leur had spent two days at a training conference at a hotel in Essex with Cassy. The pair of them walked out of the door of the hotel, exhausted, and stood by Cassy’s car chatting about what had gone on and what was coming up. Cassy kissed Fleur on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you next week, if not before. You sure you don’t want me to give you a lift into the centre?’
Fleur shook her head. ‘No, I could do with the walk.’ She wiggled her phone around in front of her. ‘My step count is pathetic after being holed up in there for two days. Thank goodness that is over.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘A nice walk will do me the power of good. Get the blood pumping and do all the good hormone things or so they say.’
‘Have you heard from Patrick?’
‘Yes, he’ll be at the pub soon, so that’s all good. It’s all lined up perfectly.’
‘So, what, you’re going out for a late lunch now and then staying this way for a couple of nights?’
Fleur nodded. ‘Yep, he’s been doing that work with the National Trust…’
‘Oh yes, that’s right. Not a bad weekend on the way for you then,’ Cassy said with a smile. ‘While I have to get back home and navigate my way through the Friday afternoon traffic and deal with the boys…’
‘I feel your pain. The traffic will be heaving.’
‘Ahh, well, right, I’ll text you. Have a lovely weekend. Send me some pics of the hotel. Let me know if there’s any further news on the dancing queen on social media and the baby.’
Fleur shook her head. ‘I doubt it. She’s gone quiet now she’s home and not getting any sleep.’
Cassy rolled her eyes. ‘Didn’t we know it?’
‘Indeed.’
‘I’ll message you. Enjoy your stay.’
‘Yes, yes, you too.’
Fleur stood where she was, watched Cassy pull out of the hotel car park, waved as Cassy turned onto the road then checked the map app. She’d examined her route before and had worked out that basically all she had to do was head in a straight line for about twenty minutes, after which she would arrive in the town centre of a lovely old Essex market town where Patrick would be meeting her in a pub. They’d arranged to meet in the pub for a late lunch and would then drive on to a National Trust property where they would be staying the night. To say Fleur had been looking forward to it was an understatement and Patrick had said the same, too.
As she turned out of the car park and walked along the main road, gazing up at some beautiful old houses and strolling past a church that looked more like a cathedral, Fleur was glad to be done with the training session and with the fact that for once she did not have a lot on her mind. Life was bumbling along nicely, and compared to the few months prior, when Lucy had been in trouble, Fleur felt lighter, as if a physical weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Checking her maps and seeing that she could stroll through a park as a bit of a diversion away from the main road, she turned left through a gate in a beautiful old stone wall, spied a bench in front of a small pond, and stopped for a while. As she gazed at a couple of ducks fluttering around, she let her brain remove itself from all the business stuff she’d been doing for the previous few days and thought about the weekend ahead with Patrick. A few days with no stress, they’d earmarked having a conversation about the Hawaii thing, a lot of good food, country walks, and a big comfy bed where it was someone else's job to change the sheets. Bliss.
About fifteen minutes later, after strolling through the park, she was standing outside a beautiful old whitewashed pub with a steeply pitched tiled roof, looking up at a wrought iron sign and wondering if Patrick had arrived yet. Patrick had told her all about the pub and had shown her some pictures online. As she stood and looked up at it, she could see why he’d blabbered on and loved it so much. With black beams, a heavy timber door with brass fittings and creamy white walls, it looked like something that had been plucked straight from the pages of an old-world storybook. A lantern swung by the door, and through little leaded windows, Fleur could see flickers of candlelight and the promise of a nice, cosy lunch beckoning from inside. Beautiful, heavy pendant lights hung from the ceiling, and gorgeous old-fashioned Chesterfield leather sofas were tucked here and there around an inglenook fireplace and not a slot machine in sight. To the right of the door under a little glass frame, a card displayed details all about the pub’s history.
The Oyster Arms, a Grade 2 listed building built in 1540 is one of the oldest pubs situated in the heart of Essex. It boasts a charming Tudor-style facade, featuring black timber beams against whitewashed walls, reminiscent of the town’s rich history. The roof is steeply pitched with local classic clay tiles, adding to its old-world charm and the many fireplaces were built by skilled craftsmen ahead of their time.
At The Oyster Arms, you’ll be served with fresh homemade food and ales made right here on the premises. Try our heated beer garden and marquees to keep you warm and book a table for the festive season. Our guest ales and home brews are the best you’ll find in Essex.
Pushing open the heavy door, Fleur was immediately wrapped in the scent of cosy comforting things; fires, community, ale, hops, life, smiles and all the gorgeous bits and bobs that made up the pub smell. Inside, the building was the gift that kept on giving; shelves piled with old books, the scent of mulled cider and beer, dark wooden floorboards and a gigantic painting sprawled across the far wall. The place was nothing short of glorious. And breathe.
As Fleur took in a perfect jumble of battered old timber tables and mismatched chairs, each one polished by years of use, she felt her whole body exhale as she walked across the uneven floor in the direction of the bar. Closer to the worn comfy-looking Chesterfields, she took in a tall bookshelf crammed with board games, puzzles, and books as the low black beams overhead, twisted with age, felt as if they were getting closer and closer to her head. Absolute English-pub-get-your-comfy-on, bliss.
As she got to the bar she felt as if she was tucked away from the outside world as the smell of old walls, roast dinner, ale and garlic drifted on the air. If she’d had to put money on it, she would have sworn that somewhere, somebody was baking an apple pie. Smiling when she saw Patrick sitting around the corner at the bar, she walked up, kissed him on the cheek and waved her hand around the room. 'This pub is so beautiful.’ She gushed as she put her jacket on a little brass hook under the bar and plonked herself down on a stool.
'Yup, I know. We did the electrics for it. The owner in those days was friends with my dad. That’s how we got the job.'
'Oh wow, how interesting.’
‘They have new owners now.' Patrick nodded towards the bar. ‘They’ve done a great job with it by the looks of it. Yeah, it’s nice in here, which is why when you said you were doing that training course nearby, I was like we have to come here.’
A few minutes later, Patrick had a pint of handcrafted ale in his hand and Fleur had a glass of bubbles. They were scanning the menu, trying to decide what to have to eat, chatting about their weeks and Fleur was enjoying every last second of it. After they’d ordered steak and kidney pie topped with a pastry crust laced with famous Essex salt, Fleur watched her ring catch the sparkle in the lights and sipped on her glass of champagne. For our Champo, life really was rather good.
Patrick smiled. 'So, I have some news.'
Fleur raised her eyebrows. ‘Right. I hope it’s good news. I’m done with stress news or any other sort of news, really.’
'It is. I’ve been asked to speak at an electricity conference.'
That did not sound like fun to Fleur. She tried to sound interested as she thought that a conference about electricity was probably the most boring thing she could ever think of. She wasn’t really into electricity, it had to be said. ‘Right, umm, is that good news? What, err, is good about it precisely?’
Patrick chuckled. 'Ha, don’t sound too enthused! I love a good conference. You always learn something.'
Fleur thought about all the business hotels, meeting centres, and conference rooms she’d been to up and down the country, in various hotels here, there, and everywhere. If there was ever anyone who’d seen a lot of conferences and suchlike in her life, it was Fleur—with Cassy up there as a contender too. Fleur would be quite happy not to ever have to attend another one again. 'So which delightful part of the country is it in? I bet you I’ve been there. Or is it a bit further afield? Scotland? Up north somewhere? Wales? Or in a big venue in London?'
Patrick shook his head. 'Not even close.'
Fleur frowned. 'Further away?’
‘Much, much further away.’
‘Like where? Ireland?'
Patrick smiled. 'Nope, even further. You have one more guess.'
Fleur shrugged. She couldn’t have cared less. She did know she wouldn’t be in attendance. 'I’ve no idea. New York or something like that? No. I know, Sydney, Australia. You can pop in and see my sister while you’re there.'
Patrick laughed. 'Nope, wrong country. Los Angeles.'
'Oh wow, that’s a long way to go for a conference.’
There was a twinkle in Patrick’s eyes. ‘And where do you think Los Angeles is near?'
Fleur frowned. 'No idea what we’re talking about. I don’t know... San Francisco?'
'It’s not too far from Hawaii. You can fly there from LA.'
Fleur widened her eyes. 'The same Hawaii that’s on my travel bucket list and in my notebook? The one we are discussing this weekend?'
'Yep, the very one. So, what do you think?'
'What do you mean, what do I think?' Fleur frowned. ‘I’m not following.’
'Why don’t we tack it onto the end of my trip? We could go to Hawaii. We talked about it and did nothing about it. This gives us a reason.'
Fleur felt as if going to Hawaii was something other people did. 'I’m not sure I can.’ She screwed her face up.
'Why not? Of course, you can.'
'How long is the conference for?'
'The conference is a week. That’s the only sticking point; in that I would be busy working, meaning you’d be on your own, unless you flew out to meet me after it was done, which could be an option. What do you think?'
Fleur raised her eyebrows, took a sip of her drink, and thought about what Patrick had suggested. Now that it was being offered to her, on a plate, she wasn’t sure. She’d never really been very far at all, and the thought of a huge flight sounded massive to her, especially on her own. ‘I’d have to think about it.’
‘Or we can just book it.’
As Fleur went to answer, their pies arrived. They tucked in and smiled. ‘On the Hawaii thing. Now push is coming to shove, I’m not sure.’
Patrick slit the top of his pie. ‘By the time this weekend is over, we will have our flights booked. We’re going. End of story.’
Fleur swallowed and felt a little flutter of butterflies whizz around her stomach. Oh, how her life had changed. One minute the joys of being a single mum and navigating the labyrinth of motorways zig-zagging across the country, the next minute sitting in a pub chatting to a very handsome man about leaving on a jet plane. She most certainly knew which one she preferred.