Chapter 23
Sasha hurried to the humpback bridge as the clock tower struck midday.
There was a sharp nip in the air and a splatter of drizzly rain.
She should have worn a mac instead of her dog-tooth wool swing coat.
It had a big hood she loved to snuggle under to hide from the cold but she was going to get drenched.
Ben was waiting at the bridge. He wore tortoiseshell-framed sunglasses, and his collar was turned up giving him the look of a minor celebrity.
She’d forgotten how glamorous he could look.
She felt a frump in her corduroy dungaree dress and over-the-knee woolly socks beneath the coat.
He saw her and smiled, walking towards her.
‘Hey, Sasha!’ Those dimples were winking. He had no trace of the nerves she was suffering from. Maybe he made a habit of kissing women in dark gardens at parties.
She waved and held up her rucksack like a shield, showing the Thermos of green tea, tucked into a side pocket. ‘I’ve brought supplies.’ She’d packed two enamel camping mugs as well as a couple of salted-caramel and chocolate flapjacks. She never went anywhere without a stock of snacks.
‘You’re well prepared.’ He leaned forward to kiss her but she ducked back so they barely brushed cheeks.
Even so, she caught a scratch of his stubble and the lingering scent of his soap and sandalwood aftershave.
She trembled and her insides melted with pleasure.
Thank god his lips hadn’t properly touched her skin.
She wouldn’t have been able to control herself.
She darted back, putting as much distance between them as possible without looking rude. She needed to be capable of rational thought for the talk that had to come.
‘Shall we?’ Ben pointed down the steps towards the riverside path.
There were a few families ambling along with young children, one or two dog-walkers.
As they followed the river to the outskirts of the town, a group of runners from the running club passed them, sweating and puffing.
It reminded Sasha of crashing into Ben the day she’d collected catkins. How long ago it seemed now.
A cold breeze parted the clouds, revealing blue sky and lemony sunshine.
The river turned glittering and bright. ‘Shall we have our tea here?’ Sasha pointed to her favourite riverside bench, under an oak tree.
She liked to bring a cup of tea here sometimes and watch the ducks.
It was quiet by the riverbank. Green rushes speared the air, and a moorhen had built a nest in a corner.
There were a few cracked eggshells and tiny, fluffy moor chicks cheeped at their parents.
Ben grinned, watching Sasha pause at the water’s edge. She leaned forwards, cheeping at the chicks. ‘Aww – so adorable!’
They settled on the bench, and Ben tried to take her hand. Much as she craved his touch, she tugged her fingers away, busying herself with the Thermos and camping mugs.
‘Please, Ben, we can’t,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sorry, but what if someone saw us? We had a near miss with Klara in the garden.’
‘But – why does it matter? I want to—’
She interrupted him. ‘But I don’t. Everyone knows you’re a client of Matcha Matchmaking. It would be totally unprofessional. Unethical.’
His relaxed smile dropped, twisting into something uncomfortable. ‘Oh. Right. Sorry. I guess I see what you mean.’
‘Besides, it was – just the moonlight, the music. We’d been drinking.’ She was making it sound worse. Turning it into something it wasn’t. Guilt spiked her chest.
‘Hardly. You’d barely had a sip.’ His voice was flat. All the warmth from earlier had gone.
‘Anyway, look, it was a moment of madness. Can we just be friends? You’re my client, my regular customer. It’s better we stay that way.’
He nodded, his lips pressed in a line. ‘OK. I apologize – I’ve put you in a difficult position. I just thought . . .’ He rubbed his face. ‘Sorry. We seem to have misunderstood each other.’
Sasha felt bad that she had made him feel awful. But she had to persevere. This couldn’t go on. ‘Not surprising, since we hardly know each other. We started on the wrong foot – the muddy water – the manure – can we start again?’
He stayed silent. She was glad his shades covered his eyes so she couldn’t see the expression in them.
‘I hope you still want me to be your matchmaker? I’ll understand if you don’t . . .’ she trailed off.
He finally nodded. ‘Yes – I think I do.’
There were a couple of minutes of silence. Sasha stared at the river, noticing a pair of swans. One swam off while the other still poked around the reeds with a strong beak.
‘I – I still feel like I don’t know the real you,’ she said, tentative. ‘I – er – I wonder if you’re ready for a match, to be quite honest.’
‘What? No, I am. I thought – maybe – it could be that I need to go at a slower pace. It’s all quite new to me.’
His hand moved towards hers as if he wanted to take it, but he thought better of it and put his hands in his pockets.
She was glad. Maybe she was projecting her own desire.
She so longed for his touch. His warm fingers intertwined with hers had felt so good the other night.
Instead, she clenched one hand in her lap and the other gripped her mug.
It took all her focus not to turn to him, sink into his arms. She was intensely aware of the energy he emanated.
She could smell his soap. A hint of sweat and his sandalwood aftershave.
Aware he was speaking, she tuned back into his words.
‘You’re right – I shouldn’t close myself off from the world.’ He looked at her, silent, as if waiting for her comment.
‘Huh? Sorry. No. Of course not. Do you want to tell me more about why you came to Bramleigh Green?’
He stared ahead at the river for a few seconds, then spoke in a low voice. ‘I was burned out from my job in the City. I worked for a financial investment firm. It was hacked. We lost so many of our clients’ investments. It was awful.’
‘But that’s not your fault,’ Sasha was quick to reassure him. ‘You can’t help being hacked, right?’ She peered at him over her mug. She couldn’t imagine that someone like him would be in the wrong.
He sighed. ‘I wish I could say none of it was my fault. But we should have invested more in our cyber security. There was a loophole in the code, apparently, and the hacker got in through a back door. The loophole made us vulnerable. I was to blame.’
He paused, his jaw clenching. She was tempted to put her hand on his to comfort him. Again, she stopped herself.
‘One of the software engineers had pointed out a weakness in our firewall,’ he carried on. ‘But it would have delayed a new product launch. We’d planned to go back and fix it once the launch week was over. But we were hacked before we got a chance. It was my poor decision that was to blame.
‘The software engineer had told me it was low risk, but it was a risk nonetheless. I should have delayed the launch, rather than leave my clients exposed. They lost a lot of money. And our firm nearly went bankrupt because of the amount of compensation.’
‘But you managed to compensate your customers, right? I mean – that was ethical, you did the right thing.’ She didn’t know why, but she felt an overwhelming need to reassure him. To make him feel OK about himself.
‘Luckily, we were insured. Everyone got their money back. I even received compensation for my own personal investments. But one of our clients was Marissa’s – my fiancée – father.
Even though he was compensated fairly, he wasn’t happy.
She split up with me after that. I lost my job.
Then her. I had to move out of our flat. I lost everything.’
‘Oh, no! How awful. That’s such a life blow. When – when did it happen?’ Something squirmed in Sasha’s chest. He’d been engaged. His ex-fiancée was called Marissa.
‘It’s been nearly two years. I left London, travelled a while in South-East Asia. I backpacked through Vietnam, Korea and Japan. In Osaka, I learned the art of kintsugi.’
‘Amazing! I travelled round Asia too – that’s where I learned about matcha – the health benefits of tea. The delicious drinks and desserts.’
‘No way! I wonder if we were there at the same time? Where did you go?’
‘Vietnam, Thailand and then Malaysia to see my family. My Por Por and I travelled to Japan to see the cherry blossom. It was the year before she died.’ She paused. ‘So that’s how you knew about kintsugi?’
‘Something about the craft – or art, really – spoke to me. When I came back I started learning about pottery. I’ve been learning a few different ceramic techniques. That drew me to your café. You have some stunning vintage pieces. I enjoyed seeing which teacup you’d serve me with.’
‘I like collecting different styles. Mostly for customers to use. But some for display. I’d love to see some of your work.’
‘Oh – I’m just a keen amateur. I can take you to my workshop if you like. I have a shed in my garden. But here’s me talking about myself for hours. What about you? Have you had a long-term relationship? What made you set up the café?’
‘Er – do you really want to hear about me?’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘All right,’ said Sasha. And for the first time in ages, she spoke about what had happened to blow up her life.