CHAPTER THREE
On Monday morning, when I arrived at work, I found Ellie in a bit of a tizzy.
The coffee machine had stopped working, which – for a café specialising in lots of different flavours – was a bit of a disaster.
‘We might have to close for the day while I sort it out,’ she said, red-cheeked and flustered as another few customers entered the café behind me.
‘That would be a shame. Didn’t I see one of those plug-in machines in the kitchen?’ I asked. ‘I suppose we could offer filter coffee until it’s fixed?’
Ellie considered this idea with a frown. Then she nodded. ‘Good idea, Lizzie. We won’t charge for it, to make up for the disappointment. Katja’s taken over behind the counter so I can go into the office and get the repair people out.’
I nodded. ‘Right. I’ll go and get the filter coffee machine going.’
‘Great.’ She smiled. ‘What is it they say? There’s no ‘I’ in teamwork?’
I grinned as we high-fived. ‘We’ve got this!’
*****
The morning passed in a whirl of activity.
Most people were sympathetic about the lack of choice, and I was kept busy producing endless jugs of filtered coffee and rushing them through to the café.
On one such trip – aware that a short queue had formed, all waiting for me to emerge from the kitchen with another jug – I managed to bump against a wall in my hurry and splash myself with the steaming hot contents.
It hurt. I mean, it really hurt.
And as I paused briefly behind the kitchen door to gather myself, I muttered a heartfelt curse of the ‘f’ variety, three times in quick succession, with heavy emphasis on the last one.
As I pulled the door open, the curse word still hanging in the air, I almost bumped into someone standing there. Dressed in a formal suit and navy coat, he towered over me, filling the space and essentially blocking the doorway.
‘Oops,’ I muttered, a split second before my eyes widened in surprise.
It was him.
Dante.
He who’d witnessed my untimely dip in the duck pond . . . he of the stern expression, superior attitude and total absence of any form of pleasantness . . .
Just what I needed right now. Not!
‘Black coffee?’ he enquired, arching one eyebrow at me.
‘Er, yes. I’m just bringing it out.’
‘I can see that. Is it hot? I hate drinks that are lukewarm.’
‘I’ve just made it. It will be perfect,’ I assured him, through a fake smile and gritted teeth.
‘Good. Well, let’s go. There’s a queue waiting.’ And he strode away without another word.
‘I’m well aware of that,’ I muttered crossly under my breath.
Feeling like an obedient servant, I hurried after him.
Sniffing the air in his wake, I had to admit that he smelled delicious.
But that was literally the only positive thing I could say about him .
. . well, apart from the razor-sharp jawline and powerful shoulders in that navy coat.
I had no doubt he was the kind of pompous, conceited man who was only too aware of his physical attractions!
I fumed silently as I slipped behind the counter with my jug, set it down by the coffee machine and ducked down to the shelves to collect more mugs.
Good-looking men like him didn’t need to cultivate a warm personality. They drew female attention like bees to a honeypot with their oh-so-handsome, regular features and hair that stayed put even in a howling gale . . .
‘I’m due in a meeting, and it’s happening today. Not next Tuesday,’ drawled a deep voice. I had my back to the queue at that point, but there was no mistaking the sender of that sarcastic comment!
A few people in the queue had the temerity to chuckle, and when I turned, I almost flicked my eyes to the ceiling at the predictability of it: the two young women who’d found his barbed remark hilariously funny were blushing and smiling and shooting flirty looks at him.
Basically, drooling over a man who looked angrier than a mosquito in a mannequin factory and who – from what I’d witnessed so far – possessed the personality of a cement mixer.
The girls were first in the queue for my filter coffee and I took my time serving them, being extra-cheery and helpful, making sure they had everything they needed, aware all the time of Mr Angry’s glowering eyebrows as he awaited his turn.
At last, I looked up at him with a frosty smile. ‘Coffee, Sir?’ I held the jug aloft.
‘Thank you.’
‘So sorry about your wait.’ A little coffee dribbled down the side of the mug as I poured. ‘Oh, dear, let me get you a fresh one.’
‘It’s fine,’ he snapped, looking at his watch. ‘Just give me that one.’
‘No, I couldn’t possibly. One moment while I fetch some more mugs.’ I whisked away to the kitchen, aware of Ellie giving me a surprised glance. She knew (and I knew) that there were more clean mugs on the shelf.
But I needed some fresh air! And it was such a relief to walk into the cooler kitchen. My cheeks were burning with the effort of being polite to the man who was quickly becoming my least favourite customer.
I gathered mugs on a tray.
It hadn’t been deliberate, slopping coffee down the side of his cup, but if it prolonged his wait, so much the better! It wasn’t like me to be clumsy like that. My hand had been shaking slightly as I poured, probably because I was fuming inside at his arrogant manner.
The mugs clanked a little on the tray as I took them out, and Ellie gave me a look of concern as if to say, Are you all right?
I smiled at her to reassure her I was fine, slid the tray onto the counter and picked up a mug.
‘Sorry about that.’ I beamed up at Dante as I poured. ‘Machines make life so much easier – when they work!’
‘Yes, well, it’s not very good for business. Shouldn’t you have a back-up plan in place for when the coffee machine breaks down?’
‘Someone is coming out later today to hopefully fix it,’ I told him smoothly.
‘Hopefully?’ he repeated. ‘And meanwhile, you irritate your customers, some of whom will decide to go elsewhere the next time they’re meeting a friend for coffee.’
‘Our customers are actually very loyal.’
‘Well, I suppose in a sleepy backwater like Sunnybrook, people haven’t exactly got a lot of choice.
In London, there’s a decent café round every corner and I’ve never been in one that was forced to serve filter coffee.
’ He looked into his mug as if it contained the spawn of the devil and I could have quite cheerfully reached over and grabbed the mug back and told him to go elsewhere if he was that fussy!
Fortunately, I caught Ellie’s raised eyebrows in time. So instead, I simply smiled pleasantly, as if his grouchy comments about our ‘backwater’ café were just water over Daffy the duck’s back.
I sneaked a look as he walked away to see if he was with anyone, and sure enough, he was joining the poisonous Arabella at a table in the window.
I snorted under my breath. They were equally unpleasant and they deserved each other. Just as well I was in charge of the filter coffee in the kitchen so I could stay out of their way until they’d gone . . .
*****
A little later, I was waiting for coffee to finish dripping into the jug, when I suddenly thought I heard the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves. Hurrying to the window, I peered out but the lane was deserted.
I must have been imagining things.
A moment later, Ellie popped her head round the kitchen door. ‘You’ll never believe this. Wyatt’s here. With a horse!’
‘A horse?’ I stared at her. ‘I heard hooves but I thought I must be imagining things.’
‘Well, apparently he wants to take some photos to advertise the Regency Romp Weekend.’ She grinned. ‘He’s in full Regency costume. Breeches and everything. Come and have a look.’
With a slight feeling of dread, I followed her out.
Why on earth had he brought a horse to the café?
Unless . . .
My heart sank as Ellie said, ‘He’s brought your costume as well.’ She handed me the carrier bag. ‘Apparently, he’d like you up on the horse with him and I’ve said I’ll take some snaps.’ She smiled. ‘Can you ride, then?’
‘I . . . well, I used to . . .’
At the door, Wyatt gave me a dazzling smile then he spun the animal around and trotted off along the lane, rising up and down in the saddle, looking really very dashing in his beige breeches, scarlet jacket and black riding hat.
Swallowing, I turned to Ellie. ‘I just hope he’s not expecting me to do that –’
Ellie grimaced. ‘I think he is.’
‘But I’m working! He must realise he can’t just come along when he feels like it and ask me to do something like this. We have customers to serve.’
‘Well, not at the moment.’ Smiling, she indicated the lack of a queue. ‘Wyatt in Regency costume on a horse might well be good for business,’ she added, nodding over at a few people on the village green were looking over, clearly surprised to see a horse outside the café.
I shook my head fondly.
This was typical of Wyatt. He’d be lapping up the attention.
I stifled a sigh. ‘The thing is, I learned to ride in my teens but the last time I was on a horse, he was startled by something and he reared right up and chucked me off, and I haven’t been anywhere near one since.’
‘Oh, no!’ Ellie looked sympathetic.
‘He was called Rambo.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The horse. He was called Rambo.’
She grimaced. ‘It’s still sharp in your memory, then.’
I nodded. ‘I mean, I know the Regency Romp Festival is for a good cause. All proceeds from the weekend to the local homeless charity and everything, which is great. But honestly, I feel quite sick at the very thought of getting in a saddle again.’
‘Could you manage a minute or two while I take some photos? I’ll be really quick.’
‘I suppose that would be okay.’
If only Wyatt had given me some warning, instead of just turning up like this. But I couldn’t really complain about his fondness for spontaneity, when that was one of the things I really loved about him.
He was riding back to me with a big smile on his handsome face, and I told myself it would be fine. Some people thought Wyatt was too self-involved – a bit of a show-off – but I knew that underneath it all, he was a really kind and caring man.
He’d proved that the day we first met.
Wyatt had saved my youngest sister, Blaize, from potential disaster, stopping her from getting behind the wheel when she’d been drinking. The story of his bravery had even made the local newspaper.
I would be forever grateful to him for his actions that day.
He knew all about my fear of horses. Just a few weeks ago, I’d related the whole horrifying story of how I’d broken my leg and spent weeks hobbling about in a cast after falling off a horse called Rambo.
Wyatt would make sure I was safe . . .
*****
I’d changed into my costume, which I rather liked, although movement was restricted. It was just as well motorised transport hadn’t been invented in Jane Austen’s time, because I couldn’t imagine running for a bus in this empire-line dress and bonnet!
The dress had looked a little stretched across the hips but I’d dug in my underwear drawer and found a pair of big, lurid green ‘shapewear’ pants that I’d bought in a sale and never worn. After tugging them into place, I’d slipped on the dress and hey presto! The lumps and bumps had vanished.
I felt lady-like and rather delicate in my outfit – and as if I might be about to have a fashionable attack of ‘the vapours’ at any moment. (The low-cut, ever-so-tight bodice may have had something to do with it.)
When I ventured outside, the horse seemed so much bigger when I was standing next to it. How on earth was I going to mount it in this get-up?
‘I’ll have to be side-saddle, won’t I?’ I said to Wyatt, who was looking at me expectantly, his hands mimicking stirrups to help me up.
‘No, no. Forward-facing.’ He waved away my concerns. ‘I’m going to leap on behind you.’
‘But my dress will split,’ I objected.
‘So hoick it up a bit.’ He grinned. ‘It can be risqué Regency.’
‘Erm, I think they only did risky things behind closed doors in Jane Austen’s day.’
His eyes twinkled wickedly. ‘A flash of your shapely thigh on the poster is sure to boost visitor numbers.’
I swallowed. ‘I’m flattered you think so. But –’
‘No buts! Let’s just do it, Lizzie. It’ll be fun. And Ellie’s waiting with the camera.’
‘Okay. But the horse will be standing still, right? I mean, it won’t take off all of a sudden?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘It’s just I fell off that time, remember?’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes. I told you about it.’ And I can’t believe you’ve forgotten already!
‘Oh. Right. Well, never mind. You were unlucky that time. But this time, you have me here. And I’m going to make sure this horse is going absolutely nowhere.’ He kissed the tip of my nose then patted the horse’s flank. ‘Rooted to the spot he is. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
I looked at him nervously. Then I took a deep breath and somehow managed to clamber on the horse, although it took both Wyatt and Ellie to heave me up there because of the restrictive nature of the dress and the ever-so-tight shapewear.
What on earth I must have looked like from behind, I dreaded to think . . .
Then I turned – and the first person I saw was Arabella with a big smirk on her face.
She and Dante had come out of the café, and I felt a mortified blush whooshing into my cheeks. But I held my head high and smiled for the camera as Wyatt climbed up behind me and Ellie clicked away, taking photos of us from different angles.
‘You both look gorgeous,’ called a woman who’d come out of the café to see what was going on. ‘I wish I’d been around in those days, wearing such fabulous clothes.’
‘Yeah. And the men so sexy in their breeches and riding boots,’ added her friend.
‘Speaking of sexy,’ growled Wyatt in my ear. And before I knew what was happening, he’d pulled my gown up, revealing even more of my thigh.
Shrieking with laughter, I attempted to pull the dress down, but then he grabbed my waist and started tickling me, which made me laugh even more.
There were times he’d tickle me relentlessly until I was laughing so hard, the tears were rolling down my face.
But sitting high up on a horse and in full view of the small crowd that had gathered, I was feeling quite vulnerable.
But the more I protested, the harder he tickled me and the more helpless with laughter I became.
‘Stop!’ I gasped. ‘Please stop!’
And at last, mercifully, he did.
But then next second, he called, ‘Giddy-up!’ And before I could catch my breath, we were off, bumping up and down vigorously, as the horse trotted across the village green.
To my alarm, Wyatt seemed to be steering the animal towards the main road through Sunnybrook . . .