Chapter 12
twelve
HENRY
By the time I closed up the orangery, the estate had gone quiet. Likely having their evening meal in the elaborate dining room. A blanket of frost descended on the manor, and I groaned. I’d need to resalt the steps and paths before I could go and find Amanda.
She’s plagued my mind since the moment I woke up, and only increased my obsession with her mid-day rose-filled visit.
It was impossible to predict how she’d react to my little game, but her response had filled me with hope.
Hope that she would let me behind her walls.
Hope that I could see more of her smiles.
I just found my eyes drifting toward her window as I crossed the garden, eager for the slightest glimpse of her.
Nothing.
Following the path to the salt box, I started shovelling gritty salt into a wheelbarrow.
A hat bobbed on the other side of the wall.
‘Evening,’ I shouted.
Lisa popped her head up, her blonde hair sticking out from he head in wild strands. Her cheeks were as pink as her nose in the frost-bitten air.
‘You’ve got a face on you tonight.’ She tipped her head.
‘I’m not sure even I can be smiley when shovelling.’
‘At least it’s salt and not Merv’s leftovers today.’
‘True.’
I rubbed a cold hand over my jaw and put down my shovel for a moment. ‘I like the event planner.’
Lisa grinned. ‘Like her, like her?
‘Big time.’
‘And that makes you…sad?’
‘No. I’m just trying to figure out how to get closer to her. She’s a bit guarded.’
Lisa considered my words for a moment. ‘Some people are like that because it’s how they were taught to cope. Doesn’t mean they want to be.’
‘Have you tried inviting her out for something fun? Something that’s not cooped up in the manor? You men always make things harder than they need to be. The quiz is on at the pub tonight, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Take her. Let her see you in a less pressured environment. If you’re stressing, she’ll be stressing.’
‘You make it sound easy.’
‘That’s because it is,’ she said.
Maybe Lisa had a point. The worst Amanda could do was say no. ‘I’ll ask her.’
‘Good. And maybe try a shower and a real shirt. You don’t always need to look like you’re about to dig up the garden.’
It wasn’t as easy as Lisa had said it would be.
Inviting Amanda to the quiz led all the adult clients to decide to come too. So rather than a quiet night away from her clients, I’d managed to gift Amanda a night with them in a roasting local pub rather than an expansive manor house.
By the time we got to the Tipsy Otter, the place was already packed. Half the village had crammed in, coats over the backs of chairs, cheeks red from the cold and the clink of glasses filling the air. The smell of mulled cider filled the air with notes of cinnamon and apple.
The Petersens walked in ahead of us in a gaggle of excitement. You’d think they’d entered Narnia rather than a pub in Scotland. Just about every little detail thrilled them.
Amanda hovered like a sheepdog. Circling them with antsy attention.
‘It’s so cute,’ Rita said, clutching her scarf even though it was roasting indoors.
‘It’s certainly busy,’ Bill, Rita’s son, added..
‘I’m sure you’ll have a fab time,’ Amanda said, her face not nearly as convincing as her tone. She got the nine Australians settled at a far too small table near the bar before hovering nearby.
‘Relax,’ I said, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around her waist. ‘They’ll have fu.’
‘They might hate it.’
‘Who hates a quiz night? Look at them, do they look like they are hating it?’
She didn’t look convinced.
Jean Harris spotted us and waved madly. I smiled. As much as I was fond of the residents of Otterleigh Bay, Jean was my favourite. She reminded me of my grandmother, and regularly welcomed me into her home for a cup of tea and a natter. ‘We have two spare seats, come on over.’
Amanda looked ready to protest when I guided her over. ‘What about the Petersens?’
‘They’ve managed to build a multimillion-pound company, I’m sure they’ll cope with some beer and questions.’
Everyone shifted to make room: Jean and Jim slid down the bench, Claire and Owen moved a whole pile of coats. I slid in beside Amanda, quite pleased at the lack of space. It gave the perfect excuse to have her pressed up against me.
‘You alright?’ I whispered.
‘Yes.’ She took a large swig of her chilled white wine and swallowed hard.
The quiz started with a riotous cheer and the scratch of cheap biros on hard tables.
Kenny shouted something about no cheating when a sullen-looking boy of nineteen or so scrolled through his phone. He rolled his eyes and put it on the table while the other tables heckled him jovially.
The quiz continued, question after question through a mix of laughter, chatter and hearty competition. Amanda was doing her best beside me, but she remained stiff beside me. She smiled at the right moments, nodded politely when the Harrised spoke to her, and even got a round in.
But every few minutes, she gave me a look. A flicker of concern before her eyes flicked to her clients.
‘You’re overthinking,’ I whispered when she stiffened beside me yet again.
‘No I’m not.’
‘Liar.’
The Petersens, meanwhile, were having a whale of a time.
They were laughing harder than I’d seen all day, already making firm friends with a load of the locals.
Morag in particular, along with he dog Scruff, seemed taken with Rita.
Scruff sat in her lap, oblivious to the dog hair that covered her expensive sweater.
Not that Rita seemed to care. She patted him rhythmically, like a furry little drum.
But Amanda watched them as if they were toddlers who’d just discovered walking.
At one point, Bill got up to buy another drink, and she jolted as though to follow him.
I touched her wrist before she fully stood.
‘Amanda, they’re fine, I promise.’
Her eyes narrowed, those spikes rising. Then she slowly sat back down. Her pulse beat fast as I held her, the little thump quickening beneath my fingertips.
The quiz eventually ended in a tie-break between the Petersens and a local family.
In the end, the locals won. Not that the Petersens seemed to mind one iota.
They’d already drained Kenny’s small selection of not-very-nice champagne and moved onto the top shelf whiskies.
Not only for them, but they also purchased by the bottle and quite liberally topped everyone up around them.
Claire smiled softly at Owen, before turning to Amanda.
‘I heard that you made Bayview look outstanding. Word is that you’re like a Christmas magician.’
I choked on my drink.
Amanda flushed. ‘Well, I’m not sure about that. In the end, the kids decorated it with Henry here, in just about every shade under the sun.’
‘I saw some pictures that Eilidh saw from Emmy, who saw them from one of the waitresses. I love your style. The glass, the gold touches, the soft lighting and real evergreens. Perfection.’
A smile lit up Amanda’s face, and she finally really relaxed, leaning her side against mine.
And then someone ordered shots.
A lot of shots.
And the Petersens looked guilty of the crime. I passed, but to my surprise, Amanda took one of the little red glasses and clinked it with Claire’s before downing it and coughing.
‘Christ,’ she said, taking a sip of wine and wincing again. ‘What is that?’
‘Only Kenny knows. I think he calls it a Christmas Warmer. Probably all the leftover bottles mixed.’
‘It tastes like paint stripper.’ Amanda scrunched her nose.
‘You’ll get used to it eventually,’ Claire laughed.
‘Oh, I’m only here until the twenty-eight, so it’ll thankfully be a one-time occurrence.’
The sting that bit me when she said that took great care to hide. It was a reminder that whatever was going on between us was just a fling. If that. When I already wanted so much more.
Rita, at her ripe age of eighty-three, downed hers like it was cordial.
Claire’s sister-in-law, Isla, shouted, ‘That’s the spirit!’
Amanda groaned. ‘I’m going to have to find at least six sick buckets when we get back.’
‘At least they’re enjoying it,’ I said, letting my hand drape behind her.
‘That’s true.’ She blinked up at me, those dark eyes glittering with the reflected fairy lights above us.
And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Isla head for the bar, grabbing her friend Eilidh on the way. Then, grabbing Rita.
‘Rita!’ she shrieked. ‘Come dance.’
Before either of us could intervene, Rita, Eilidh and Isla clambered onto the bar.
All of them giggled as they looked down at us. Someone wolf-whistled, and the pub erupted as the jukebox kicked in. The three women started dancing tipsily, as multiple others stood below them, looking ready to catch them from the inevitable fall.
And then they started dancing.
Full Coyote Ugly style.
Tinsel yanked from the ceiling as boas. A bowl of crisps kicked into a lap.
Amanda jolted upright.
‘Oh my God. Rita, get down! Rita!’
I caught her forearm as she rose, and eased her back into her seat.
‘Breathe,’ I said quietly.
‘Henry—’
‘They’re fine.’
‘They’re on the bar.’
‘And?’
‘And?!’
‘They are adults. They can bar dance until Kenny kicks them out.’
She glanced at the bar where Rita was absolutely living her best life, Isla laughing so hard she was clutching her stomach, Eilidh flicking fairy lights like a lasso. Then she looked at the Petersens, who looked delighted by the carnage.
‘My insurance absolutely doesn’t cover bar dancing,’ she said at last.
‘They’re having a proper Scottish party.’ I nudged her shoulde. ‘And you didn’t ruin it by policing their fun.’
She exhaled slowly and let her hand rest on my thigh, which sent my brain melting out of my ears.
‘Maybe I am a bit tightly wound,’ Amanda admitted.
‘A bit,’ I said. ‘But it’s alright. I can think of half a dozen ways to help you unwind.’
Her eyes snapped to mine, and for a moment, the noise around us ceased to matter.
Just us.
Then Rita dropped a shot glass into someone’s pint, and the spell shattered.
Amanda groaned, but stayed seated, her fingers drawing tiny circles on my thigh. She leaned back against my arm, letting the chaos continue around her.