Chapter Thirty-two
Sylvie returned to the farm that evening absolutely shattered.
The rest of the classes had raced by, all old pupils who were working towards their gradings and knew what they were doing.
She might be exhausted, her whole body aching with fatigue and her mind feeling like it was made of trifle, but she was also on a high.
She had done it! There had been no major accidents or upsets, and she knew that she was going to be able to build on this, expand and turn it into a proper professional specialist school, one that catered for all levels; it was just a matter of time.
What made it even more special was the fact that not only was she bringing home money but she was also building her dream, a future to support her and Sam.
However as well as her high, she couldn’t help her mind repeatedly getting pulled back to the night before, all that Alex had told her, and the very fact that he had opened up to her at all when she knew what a private man he was.
It had altered her opinion of him a little.
Made him more human. She had always accepted that on a superficial level he was drop-dead gorgeous, and even more so on a deeper level – the way he was with the children, the work he was throwing himself into right now, and the way in which he was a constant support to her.
Now she saw his vulnerability as well, the burden he carried through no fault of his own.
The things he had witnessed and the life he had lived before now informed her picture and she wanted more than ever to be the woman who supported him, helped him heal and raise the daughter he had chosen.
The same way he had taken on the role of support to her.
His presence in class today filling her with confidence, letting her know that he had faith in her and so should she.
That was worth more than anything. He really was beyond special.
On a more complex level she also realized that the people who knew him best of all might be speaking truth, in this case, the loathsome Hector who thankfully had sodded off to wherever he came from.
For now Alex was revealed; she understood his need to heal somewhere peaceful and secure.
His jokes about Marion being the scariest thing took on more meaning than she had realized at the time.
She also knew that there was a strong truth that he would be compelled to return to this life at some point, Hector had not been joking.
Alex’s whole adult life had been dedicated to adrenaline-fuelled reporting, and at some point when that siren call began again he would be unable to resist. Whilst she would understand the need to answer it, could accept that he would only be in her life temporarily, she couldn’t impose that upon Sam.
It would be hard enough letting him go as friends but if she made a family with him, there was no way she would stand by and see Sam left behind.
Sam might have developed so much in the last month, his confidence soared to heights she hadn’t believed, but she could not impose on him the pretence of security in a family unit that she knew couldn’t be sustained.
She just couldn’t. As friends she could prepare Sam for their departure, protect him.
If she took things on from mere friendship with Alex, it would be wonderful; she knew they wouldn’t be a wham-bang-ma’am scenario.
It would develop into a relationship that would bring them both joy, and that she imagined they would both flourish within, but it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. Not with Alex being the man he was.
A man with that itch for travel, a man who could never be happy contained in a small Cornish village.
And she would not present Sam with a perfect family, knowing it was on a temporary basis only. Family was for ever. Alex couldn’t be.
Talking of family, was that Tom hovering at the gate, dog by his heels? What was he doing up here near the house?
‘All right, maid?’
‘Yes.’ Sylvie got out of the car and eyed him with suspicion.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you’re a sheep just minding its own business and I’m a wolf that’s broken into the pen.’
‘I didn’t know I was. Are you a wolf?’
‘Fairly sure I’m just another sheep.’
‘Yeah, a sheep that thought I was the most evil wolf in the village up until a few days ago.’ Sylvie shocked herself as the words came out in a petulant whisper.
That was childish. She should have forgiven him by now.
She knew what it was like to feel insecure with your living arrangements, so she shouldn’t have been surprised that Tom had felt the same.
Tom quirked an eyebrow. ‘Fancy a cup of tea? The boy is feeding the chickens.’
‘On his own?’
‘Aye, he told me he wasn’t a baby and could do it hisself. I’ve been saying that for at least a year, so aye. Now, cup of tea or not?’
‘Go on then, I could do with one. Do I get the comfy chair? ’Tis my last night.’
‘Don’t push it!’ Tom’s smile let her know that for tonight his favourite chair was very much hers.
‘Race ya!’
He brought her a mug of tea and placed a large, really large, pasty on a plate in front of her. He had even dug out a paper serviette with holly printed on it from the drawer and laid it next to the pasty for her.
‘Long day.’
‘Yes, certainly was, but worth every minute. I think I’m going to make it work, Tom.’
‘Aye. Eat your pasty.’
‘Oh, I will. I’m ravenous. Cheese and pineapple isn’t as filling as it was when I was six.’
‘Eh?’
‘Never mind.’
‘I wanted to talk to you, maid.’
Sylvie saw a bit of pasty fly out of her mouth and across the room. Had she been transported to some kind of alternate universe?
‘I’m not one for speeches…’ Sylvie managed to rein in the millions of sarcastic replies that flew into her mind, ‘…but I wanted to speak to you before you went.’
‘OK.’ She put her mug down carefully. She didn’t want her tea going the same way as the pasty.
‘I want you to know that this will always be your home. Always. And if you need it again, in an emergency, then you just come on back.’
‘Tom…’
‘I ain’t finished.’
‘Oh, OK.’
‘I’ve been waiting to make an honest woman of Julie for some time now, but women shouldn’t have to share a kitchen.
My poor old ma did and I tell you, your great-grandmother Sylvie, she were not a kind woman.
Steely eye and harder heart they used to say about her and she was forever tutting any time my mum tried to do summat.
So I promised Mum I wouldn’t ever do that to my woman.
And now, now I can move Julie in and she’ll have the kitchen to hersel’. ’
‘I’m glad. Julie is a good woman.’
‘I know. She made that pasty. I’m not finished yet.
I also want to thank you. I thought you’d be bound to sell the farm, move back upcountry, up London, so the fact that you haven’t, that you’re staying here where you was born and meant to be, and keeping the farm in the family – well, that’s some special.
I’m sorry I misjudged you. I thought with your mam gone, you’d have nothing to keep you here and I’m sorry for that.
You’re a country girl at heart after all, a good girl, Sylvie. ’
Sylvie tried to respond but words wouldn’t come. She gulped, looked across at Tom sitting in her chair and gulped again.
Tom gave a gruff smile, stood up out of the chair and then as he made a move to leave, leant forward and ruffled her hair, giving her a nod, then hotfooted it back outside before she could form an adequate response.
Ruffled her hair! That was as strange as if he had put on a tutu and suddenly pirouetted all the way to the milking shed.
Sylvie took a minute or two, gulped down the last of her tea and headed to the chicken house to get her son, pretty chuffed to be labelled a country girl by her uncle (that was his highest praise), and glad in her heart that with Julie and Tom, Lovage Farm once again could have some romance at its core.