Chapter 10
Story
“Sorry, sorry! Have you been waiting long?”
The answer is debatable.
If compared to say standing in line at Sydney Airport customs while desperate to get out of the airport as quickly as possible—one time it took three hours—then no, I haven’t.
But if you agree to meet someone ten minutes before the start of an event and you actually arrive closer to an hour earlier—so early the lights in the hall haven’t been switched on yet—then yes, I have.
However, no one except me needs to know that.
I’ll take it to the grave that I got here almost an hour before I needed to because I didn’t want to arrive after Hendricks.
And knowing Hendricks as I do—or used to—he will be right on time.
If I’m already seated with a group, he may not notice me right away.
Hide in plain sight, perhaps. I dunno, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
“No, not long at all.”
“Oh good,” Celeste says, shaking her mittens off and rubbing her hands together.
She begins to unravel the giant scarf. I thought I didn’t like the cold, but she’s more wool-covered mummy than woman.
“It’s freezing. C’mon, let’s get inside and have a coffee before everyone else gets here.
Why are you so dressed up? Have you had your hair done? ”
I wonder if she’s trying to defrost her jaw with all the questions, but she’s staring at me clearly waiting for an answer. I peer down at my jeans and trainers, the camel-colored knit jumper that somehow makes my eyes seem even lighter brown, and my hair super shiny. I don’t know how, it just does.
“Am I?” I reply, as nonchalantly as possible.
I haven’t had my hair done the way she means, but I did rush home, slap on a hair mask, a face mask, and lie in the bath for an hour while I tried to quash my anxiety.
Because obviously, the idea of being in a room with Hendricks Burlington for however long this meeting is going to be had me close to losing my mind.
If I’m going to spend the evening in his company, I’m determined to look good while doing so.
However, looking like I’ve dressed up totally defeats the point.
I should have worn a different jumper, and I now regret going with the lipstick and the cat’s eye.
One or the other, Story. One or the other.
“You look like you’ve spent the day at the spa. And I know you didn’t because I saw you four hours ago.” She laughs and heads into the village hall. “Oh, we’re the first ones. They must have left the lights on.”
The lights are on because I switched them on. No one else had arrived, and I came back out into the cold to wait for Celeste in the spot we agreed to meet. Maybe I should tone down the makeup.
“I had to check on the cows, so I changed.”
She stops on her march over to . . . I’m not sure exactly, because there’s nothing here. It’s not been set up. There are no chairs, no coffee, nothing.
“Cows? What cows?”
“Um . . .” Shit. This is what happens when you don’t pay attention to the lies piling up.
Not that I’ve lied per se, I just haven’t yet told Celeste that I’m a local.
A Valentiner. Not that she asked where I lived.
She just assumed I was only here because of the job.
And I never corrected her. “My parents’ cows.
On their farm, on the other side of the village. ”
“Your parents live here? In Valentine Nook?”
I nod and offer a sheepish smile. “Yup.”
“How long for?”
“My whole life, and longer. It was my grandad’s farm. But my mum is from Gloucestershire.”
“You never said—”
“Didn’t I?”
“No.” The curtness of her response tells me we both know that I didn’t tell her.
Guilt creeps into my gut, unwanted, as guilt tends to be.
I like Celeste. In the week I’ve known her, I’ve discovered she’s kind and generous, if a little over enthusiastic, and I feel bad that she thinks I’ve deceived her in some way. On the other hand, I’m not opening up my private business to someone I’ve only just met.
Especially one who seems to have a crush on Hendricks.
“Sorry, I thought I had. Yes, I grew up in Valentine Nook. My parents have the dairy farm over the hill on Honeysuckle Lane, but I’ve been in Australia for the past six years, as you know.”
She rolls her mouth together until her lips purse. “So I guess you’ll know everyone here, then.”
“I don’t know who’s coming. I didn’t even know about the meeting until this morning, remember,” I reply, and it’s true. I don’t. Except Hendricks. But that doesn’t seem to satisfy Celeste.
She huffs and walks over to the far wall, where I didn’t notice a pile of chairs stacked up. “I suppose we should set up the hall for the meeting, but perhaps you know that already.”
Her back’s to me, so she doesn’t see my hefty eye roll. “Actually, no, I haven’t. My mum was on the Valentine committee one year, but swore she’d never do it again.”
Celeste doesn’t join in my laughing, and I honestly don’t know what she’s so annoyed about.
But I have other shit to worry about than trying to placate her, so we place the chairs in silence.
By the time Mrs. Winston walks in, followed by Eddie carrying six bottles of wine and two dozen plastic cups, we’re almost done.
“Oh girls, well done. Thank you. This is so helpful of you,” she coos, only to promptly rearrange everything.
“Bloody hell, Story MacIntosh as I live and breathe.”
Jesus. I’m never going to be Sophie in Valentine Nook.
Celeste, who’s still ignoring me, turns around looking even more annoyed. “Story? What story?”
“It’s an old nickname I never use.” My eyes roll again, while I relieve Eddie of the wine and cups. “I saw you last month. I delivered the Christmas tree to the pub.”
He taps a stubby finger to his forehead. “So you did. So you did. But what are you doing here? Thought you’d gone back to the land of giant spiders and kangaroos.”
“Not yet.” My eyes slice to Celeste, who’s hovering a couple of meters away, desperate to be included. “Eddie, can I introduce you to Celeste, my colleague . . . friend . . . we work together at Valentine Prep. We’re representing the school for the committee.”
Celeste beams at him, a smile I see her use on parents every morning.
“Hello,” he grunts before the weight of his focus is back on me. “You’re working at the school? You’re staying? When were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Glad I’m not the only one discovering things this evening,” Celeste adds, though I note the tone is less hostile than it was five minutes ago. Maybe I’m forgiven.
“Keeping secrets from you too, is she?” grumbles Eddie, at which Celeste giggles. “Is this ’cause of your dad? How is he?”
“Yes. And he’s fine. He’ll be back on his feet soon—”
“So you’re not staying?”
“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”
“I just want to know if I need to stock up on whiskey. Does everyone know you’re back for good?”
Oh okay, I see where this is going. His raised brows and beady eyes peering at me over his bifocals don’t need interpreting.
Eddie was the only one I ever spoke to about Hendricks.
Not that I said much of anything at all, but on the occasional and brief visits I made home over the years, Eddie was the only one I ever dared to ask how Hendricks was doing.
He’d reply with his usual gruff, “Fine,” which could have been interpreted in a dozen different ways, but I took it as Hendricks having a great life, loving being a father, a husband, a successful vet . . . whatever.
In hindsight, my translation skills aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Though I was correct about his love of being a father. Just from a week of casual observation at morning drop-off, the way Hendricks is with Max is enough to warm even the coldest hearts.
“Yup.” I nod, turning to the table to lay out the wine and glasses, and pick up one of the bottles to open. Alcohol will be needed to get through the next hour or three if no one can interrupt Mrs. Winston. Although caffeine isn’t out of the question. “Is anyone bringing coffee?”
“Me.”
The deep baritone zips down my spine. Goosebumps spread across my skin like tentacles, wrapping themselves around me until I can’t breathe. I put down the bottle of wine I’m trying to open, while Eddie swiftly snatches the corkscrew from my other hand.
I brace myself. For what, I’m not entirely sure. This isn’t the same as drop-off surrounded by two dozen other people. And when I turn around, I have my answer. It’s the dark slash of brow under his baseball cap as he frowns, disappointed that I’m here too.
“What are you doing here?”
Summoning the deepest breath possible, I flare my nostrils only to get a noseful of Hendricks and that leathery rich, mossy scent that follows him around. The one that sets off a tranche of memories and an erratic heartbeat. “Let’s just get through this without arguing, please.”
“I don’t plan to argue, and that didn’t answer my question. Are you on the Valentine committee?”
“Why else would I be here?”
His eyes narrow, and his head tilts a fraction of a degree. I don’t know whether he’s going to answer my question or if he thinks it was rhetorical. I’m not so sure myself, but as I stare back, his smile grows until it’s stretching from ear to ear.
“I see your mood hasn’t improved since the weekend.”
The proximity to Hendricks becomes too much for Celeste as she thrusts an outstretched hand between us, and drowns out the sarcastic retort I have on the tip of my tongue.
“Lord Burlington, hel-lo. We’ve not formally met. Celeste Scott. I teach the other reception class at Valentine Prep. Max is an exceptional child and a real asset to the school.”
I know Hendricks is used to people blowing smoke up his arse. They’ve done it his whole life, yet it still doesn’t seem to tire him because he just smiles and says, “Thank you, I’m rather partial to him myself.”