Chapter 49
‘One half of the world cannot understand the pleasure of the other.’
Alice called it a ‘casual kitchen supper,’ which meant a minimum of three courses and crystal glasses.
‘I’ve found you a date,’ she said, lighting the last of what must have been twenty tea lights arranged along the windowsill. ‘Divorced dad from the nursery. Edward. Very polite. Proper job in the City.’
‘That’s not a date.’ I sighed, leaning against the worktop. ‘That’s a risk-averse pension plan.’
She gave me a look. ‘Flo,’ she said, drawing out my name like a warning. ‘You can’t keep hiding behind paint samples and stone plinths. The pub is not a boyfriend.’
‘I’m happy with the pub. It’s all I need.’
‘You’re still carrying the baggage of Chase Fuller.’
I straightened, stung. ‘I am not carrying that man. That chapter closed the moment I got on the plane.’
She handed me a glass of wine, softening. ‘All I’m saying is… maybe give Edward a chance. He’s nice, and Ollie loves his daughter.’
‘We’ll see,’ I said, clinking glasses with her. ‘But don’t get your hopes up.’
Edward arrived with Amanda and Mark. Tall-ish. Sandy, combed flat hair, wearing a check shirt.
‘Florence,’ he said, shaking my hand as if we were about to finalise a business deal. ‘So pleased to meet you. Alice has said lovely things.’
We were interrupted by Minna running in out of the rain that had suddenly turned into a deluge outside. Everyone broke into the usual chat about the weather.
It wasn’t until we sat down to eat that the conversation could continue.
‘So Alice tells me you’re doing up The Black Horse?’ Edward said, across the table.
‘That’s right.’
‘Brave.’
There it was. The way he intoned the word I took as code for ‘a bit mad’.
‘Well, it’s less “doing up” and more “preventing from falling over completely”. But yes. I am renovating The Black Horse, managing the build.’
He nodded. ‘Interesting choice. Hospitality’s always tricky. Lot of overhead. Have you run the numbers?’
‘I have,’ I said, stabbing at my starter. ‘Many, many numbers.’
He laughed, missing the edge in my voice. ‘I just mean, well, given the volatility in the property market, you’d get a better return investing in an already well-established food and beverage brand.’
I took a large sip of wine. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But then I wouldn’t have the joy of creating something new and exciting.’
‘Flo’s project is going brilliantly,’ said Alice, chiming in. ‘You should see the transformation. It’s starting to look… well, less like something out of a Dickens novel.’
‘Good foundations,’ said Dylan. ‘The old pubs always have them – something solid you can actually build a business on.’
‘You’re right. The Black Horse goes back over three hundred years,’ I said.
Edward chuckled as though I’d told a joke. ‘Still, seems risky. A friend of mine bought into a gastropub chain with all the branding, chef-led menu, and he’s turning a profit after just six months. Sometimes it pays to piggyback on a proven model.’
I set my fork down, slowly, deliberately. ‘Well, good for your friend. I’m more interested in creating something with a bit of soul.’
Alice reached for the wine bottle, refilling my glass as if it might act as a sedative. ‘Edward,’ she said, tone light but firm, ‘Flo’s not exactly doing this to make a quick profit. It’s about restoring something that matters to the community. You know – history, people, connection?’
Amanda, who had been unusually quiet, leaned forward with a grin. ‘Speaking of good projects, you’ve got Lachlan Shaw on it.’
I blinked. ‘Yes, unfortunately,’ I muttered.
‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ she said. ‘We know him from our London days. He dated my friend Eleanor for years. They were engaged, actually.’
‘Really?’ I tried to sound disinterested, but my fork hovered in mid-air.
Amanda nodded, her tone softening. ‘The wedding never happened. Eleanor… well, she made a terrible mistake. Slept with Lachlan’s best friend, the best man, of all people, the night before the wedding.’
Alice’s eyes widened. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I wish I was. He was devastated. Completely blindsided. After that, he withdrew into his work. We always thought he’d eventually meet someone else, but he never really did. Not properly.’
Mark chimed in, shaking his head. ‘The guy’s solid. Straightforward. Honest. But he’s… closed off these days.’
Something shifted in my chest. I pictured Lachlan on-site, leaning over blueprints, precise, deliberate, as if the work was the only thing anchoring him. Suddenly, his coolness didn’t seem like arrogance. It looked a lot more like armour.
Amanda sipped her wine. ‘Eleanor always said he was the best man she’d ever known. She regrets it, but… well, too late now.’
I said nothing. I didn’t trust my voice.
Alice, however, gave me a look over the rim of her glass. It was one of those loaded glances that said, Well? What do you think of him now?
‘So you’re in safe hands,’ said Amanda, smiling at me. ‘Brilliant at what he does. No ego, not like some of the London architects we’ve used in the past. He just… cares. About the details, getting it right. I’d trust him with any building, any day.’
Suddenly, I was mentally back at The Black Horse, watching him run his hand along the old brickwork with that thoughtful, measured look of his. Like he could see past the dust and into the building’s heart.
Alice kicked me under the table. ‘Flo?’
‘Hmm?’ I said, blinking.
‘You’ve gone quiet.’
‘I’m just thinking,’ I muttered, reaching for my glass.
‘Dangerous,’ Dylan teased, clearing the empty plates.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of chatter.
Amanda and Mark trading renovation horror stories, Edward returning once again to his comfort zone of global markets, and Alice valiantly steering the conversation back to lighter topics.
I nodded where required, laughed at the right beats, but my mind kept snagging on Amanda’s words.
Lachlan. Engaged. Broken. Closed.
Not proud, haughty, or unreachable.
Just… wounded.
And yet, somehow, still building things. Still finding a way to create.
By the time dessert was cleared, coats were put back on, and the goodbyes were done, I was drained. Alice and I began washing the crystal by hand in the sink.
‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’ she said.
‘He’s a spreadsheet in human form,’ I replied.
‘Oh, come on. He’s just a bit structured.’
‘He asked me if I’d forecast the pub’s EBITDA.’
She snorted, passing me a rinsed glass to dry. ‘Okay, fair enough. But I wasn’t talking about Edward.’
I glanced at her. ‘Then who?’
‘Lachlan,’ she said simply. ‘Amanda’s right. He is a good man. He might be blunt, but it’s not ego. When he talks about the pub, he wants it to matter.’
I stared at the bubbles in the sink, the clinking sound of glass against porcelain filling the silence. She wasn’t wrong. I hated that she wasn’t wrong.
‘You’re imagining him differently now, aren’t you?’ Alice added, giving me a nudge with her elbow.
‘No,’ I said too quickly. ‘I’m just… recalibrating.’
‘Mmm,’ she hummed, unconvinced.
We finished the washing up, gossiping about the gossip around the table, but my mind kept wandering to thoughts I didn’t want to examine too closely: the kind of man who quietly keeps creating beautiful spaces.