CHAPTER 25
Harriet
Dorset
‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ Harriet asked her sister on the way home.
She was a bit distracted, still trying to take in the sight that had met her when she entered the Boat and Barnacle earlier this morning.
She hadn’t been able to miss him. He was very tall. And very, well, different.
Joanna smiled. ‘I’ve made a start,’ she said. She gave Harriet a little nudge. ‘Did you?’
The first thing she’d noticed was his cowboy hat. Harriet wasn’t sure that he looked like the kind of man who could sweep her off her feet and take her away from All This. But then again . . .
He’d also sported a whiskery beard. Bridport was the sort of town where people could be as individual as they wanted to be; its unspoken dress code was casual, unconventional and ‘anything goes’. But even here, Jolyon was drawing more than his share of attention.
‘Harriet?’ he had said.
‘Er, Jolyon?’
‘Sure thing.’ And he’d pulled on the laces of his Stetson. ‘Can I call you Hattie?’ he’d asked.
Harriet took in the fringed suede jacket – with rhinestones – the red necktie, the buckled belt.
She let her gaze run swiftly down past the gun holster – gun holster?
– to the Cuban-heeled, chiselled-toed cowboy boots.
Oh, Lordy . . . Did he always dress this way?
Or was he heading for a lunchtime fancy dress party?
She feared not. ‘No,’ she’d said. ‘I’m afraid you can’t. ’
‘What?’ Harriet glanced sharply at Joanna who was still smiling as if at some private joke.
‘Oh, nothing,’ her sister said.
Once again, the pick-up was practically bouncing along the rutted lane as they approached Warren Down.
‘There’s Owen.’ Harriet braked sharply. He was on the Down, mending one of his fences.
He was wearing his usual green boiler suit and a khaki fleece, and looked very ordinary, which came as something of a relief after Jolyon.
Joanna winced and clutched at the dashboard – something she seemed to be doing a lot lately.
‘Mind if I stop for a minute and talk to him?’
‘’Course not.’
Harriet left the pick-up on the side of the lane, by the stream that led down to Warren Cove, swapped her shoes for a pair of green wellies from the back, and made her way across the rather muddy field.
The gentle hills of the Down were green from last night’s rain and there were glorious views from here along to the Beacon and Golden Cap and right down to the sea.
The sheep bleated and scuttled off as Harriet passed by.
Owen seemed preoccupied, however, and didn’t look up until she was only yards away. He jumped, but recovered quickly. ‘Harriet! I didn’t . . . Well, good morning to you.’
Morning? Could it still only be morning? Harriet looked up at the pale autumnal sky. She checked her watch. It was precisely midday and she could already do with a strong gin and tonic.
‘Hello, Owen.’ She looked down at his hands as he held the wood steady. Big and square, like the rest of him. ‘Sorry to disturb you. But I was wondering . . .’
‘Yep?’ He rested against the fence, watching her.
What was he thinking? She could never really tell.
He seemed a simple man, but still waters could be murky.
Look at Jolyon . . . He was probably straightforward and normal under that strange attire.
She let out a small shudder. But did she want to find out?
‘It’s about Mother,’ Harriet said to Owen.
How could she word this exactly? She didn’t want to confide in their neighbour – pride, she supposed, and a need to protect her mother from gossip and other people’s scrutiny.
But neither did she want to sound like a control freak intent on monitoring her mother’s every move.
It wasn’t easy. Especially when she was intent on monitoring her mother’s every move.
Owen looked over towards the pick-up truck. His expression changed when he saw Joanna in the passenger seat. He grinned and waved.
Joanna waved back. Harriet sighed.
‘So, is there a problem?’ Owen asked her.
‘No,’ she snapped. What was he suggesting? It was simply that she got fed up with every man in the vicinity ogling her sister.
Owen looked confused. ‘A problem with your mother?’ he clarified.
‘Ah, yes. Well . . .’ It was tempting, though, to confide in Owen. He wasn’t a gossip and she was pretty sure she could trust him.
But . . . Harriet was too accustomed to keeping her problems to herself. ‘Well, no,’ she said. ‘Only . . . Well, yes.’
Owen didn’t seem fazed by her indecision. ‘How can I help then, Harriet?’
Best get to the point, Harriet decided. He was making her feel slightly uncomfortable, and they should be getting back for Mother. ‘I was wondering, did you post a letter for my mother?’ she asked him. It sounded so domestic, so trivial.
‘Well, now . . .’ Owen scratched his chin.
‘To Terry’s Tarmac?’ Harriet spoke through gritted teeth. She could barely bring herself to utter the words.
‘Terry’s Tarmac.’ He frowned. ‘Yes, I do believe I did.’
‘OK.’ So, what now? Harriet sighed. ‘I know this might sound a bit mad to you.’
‘Try me.’
She took a deep breath. It had to be done. ‘But please could you not post any letters for her in the future?’ He was looking at her oddly and she supposed it was a bit of a strange request. ‘Or at least run it past me first?’
‘Why’s that?’ he asked.
It was a fair question. ‘Mother’s not . . .’ – she hesitated – ‘quite herself at the minute.’ Would he trust her on this? Or would he tell Mother what Harriet had asked of him? The two of them were, after all, quite pally.
There was a pause. Then, ‘Ah. Right you are.’ He touched his nose. ‘Mum’s the word.’
‘Exactly.’ She chuckled. The sound quite surprised her.
It obviously surprised Owen too from the look he gave her. And then he grinned as he got the joke.
‘Thanks, Owen. I appreciate that.’ It wasn’t easy to do any of this, that’s what no one seemed to understand. But there was something in Owen’s manner, almost as if he did understand.
Harriet nodded goodbye and returned to the pick-up. Joanna was looking at her rather strangely too. ‘What?’ snapped Harriet.
‘Nothing.’ Joanna held up both hands. And smiled that mysterious smile again.
Harriet shook her head in despair. Sometimes it felt as if the whole world was against her.
Jolyon had asked if he could see her again.
Harriet wasn’t sure. ‘I don’t want to rush into anything,’ she’d told him – just so he was clear.
He didn’t seem to mind. ‘We could meet for an occasional drink,’ he suggested. ‘A meal out every once in a while. Just as friends?’
Friendship sounded a lot safer to Harriet. And wouldn’t it be pleasant to go out for the evening from time to time with no strings attached?
‘Perhaps we could, yes.’ Harriet was still cautious.
‘Shall we give it a go then, ma’am?’ he enquired.
Oh, my giddy aunt . . . Harriet tried not to be blinded by his rhinestones. Nobody was perfect. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘You’re on.’