Chapter 11
Gemma had one hand on the kitchen door when it suddenly opened wide and she nearly fell through the gap, oomphing in surprise as Leo caught her. She struggled to right herself, wincing as her laptop bag swung forward off her shoulder and she inadvertently put all her weight on her bad ankle.
‘God, Gemma, I’m sorry. Are you okay?’
She nodded. ‘My fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘I doubt that. Unless you can see through doors, that is.’
‘No, but…’ She stopped, trying to avoid his eyes, which were alarmingly close. ‘My head was somewhere else.’ She hobbled backward, putting space between them. ‘I thought Rowan said you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.’
‘Well, that was the plan, but things didn’t quite go the way I wanted them to.’
She caught the edge of frustration in his voice. ‘With the customer, you mean?’
He nodded. ‘You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them drink. Isn’t that what they say?’ He was aiming for light and nonchalant, but didn’t quite make it. There was too much anxiety flicking around his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That must be tough.’
He shrugged. ‘It is what it is.’
Yet you don’t believe that, she thought. You’ve always been the same. Never quite saying what you mean. Never quite owning up to how you feel. Hadn’t that always been the problem? She stepped to one side.
‘Sorry, you were on your way out.’
He smiled. ‘Just getting some tools from the storeroom.’
She watched him go, conscious that she had planned to apologise the next time she saw him, but not really knowing how to start the conversation. She would wait. It wasn’t as if there was any rush.
Willow was nowhere to be seen as she entered the kitchen, but just as she had predicted, Rowan was already there, making a start on the preparations for dinner.
‘Can I help?’ she asked, hanging up her coat and bag.
He turned to greet her with a smile. ‘There are vegetables to peel,’ he said. ‘But it’s not compulsory.’
She picked up the chopping board and carried it to the table. ‘Pile me up then,’ she said. ‘What are we having?’
‘Stewp,’ he replied. ‘A local delicacy…’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Never heard of it. Go on, explain.’
‘So it’s pink firs, nantes, some fagioli di spagna, conchiglie…
and naturally a few select herbs and seasonings…
’ He grinned at her. ‘Or, in other words, potatoes, carrots, butter beans, pasta… It’s a kind of minestrone soup but beefier, as in bigger, not with beef in it, obviously… bit like a stew.’
‘Stewp,’ she muttered, shaking her head in amusement. ‘A cross between stew and soup… I can’t believe I fell for that.’
‘It sounds revolting, but it usually turns out all right. Let’s wait and see, shall we? Plus, of course, there’s the most delicious-tasting bread to go with it. Cut into big thick chunks, slathered in butter…’
She waited until Rowan had passed her some of the vegetables to peel before asking the question she most wanted to know the answer to. ‘How many am I doing? For three of us or four?’
‘Four. Leo’s staying tonight. He’s had a bit of a tough day, I think. The last thing he needs is to go home to an empty house with just his thoughts and the four walls. I hope that’s okay.’
‘Course it is,’ replied Gemma, picking up a potato. Her cheeks were just as pink as they were. ‘Not that I even know where he lives. Is it far?’
‘About forty minutes away. But I get the feeling it’s a repository for his belongings and a place to lay his head rather than a home, if that makes sense.’
She nodded, realising she had no images in her head for the kind of place Leo would own. Something similar to the one she was sitting in, perhaps.
‘How did you get on today anyway?’ asked Rowan. ‘Find anything out?’
‘A lot of interesting stuff… but not the right interesting stuff, sadly. I’m not sure I’m ever going to.’
‘It’s no matter if you don’t. It would just be nice, that’s all.’
Gemma paused for a moment, wondering how her suggestion would be received. But there was only one way to find out. ‘I had an idea earlier though, and wondered what you might think.’
‘Oh?’ Rowan was chopping onions at speed.
‘Just that Ashley doesn’t really do anything all day.
She doesn’t need to work, but she doesn’t do much else either, just kicks about the house.
I might be wrong but she doesn’t seem to enjoy that very much, so I wondered how you might feel about her helping us out for a bit?
On a purely voluntary basis of course. She’s been so kind helping me with our research, and we get on really well. ’
‘Sure, if you think she’d like to. Have you asked her?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I wouldn’t. Not until I’d spoken to you. And Willow, of course.’
Rowan slid a line of onion from the knife.
‘Have a chat to Willow, too, but I’m sure she’d agree.
I think it’s a great idea for you to meet new people.
Life up here could feel a little isolated otherwise.
’ He pushed his glasses further up his nose.
‘It’s something Willow and I need to get better at, but we’ve always been a pretty self-contained unit, and some of the comments that came our way when we moved in made us think it wasn’t such a bad way to be. ’
‘Was it really that bad?’
‘In the grand scheme of things, probably not. Just a couple of vocal dissenters but it was a bit of a shock and left a bad taste in our mouths.’ He smiled.
‘It gave us a good excuse to do what comes naturally and keep ourselves to ourselves. Perhaps having Ashley here will be the push we need to involve ourselves with people a little more.’
‘Great, I’ll see what Ashley says then,’ said Gemma, smiling back.
The stewp was, in fact, an incredibly accurate name for a dish which was thicker than a soup but not quite the right consistency for a stew.
Regardless, it was full of flavour, comforting, and yet still managed to feel virtuous.
Gemma laid down her spoon and took a bite of bread, pulling off a piece of the crust with her teeth.
She was about to load up her spoon for another mouthful when she stopped and chewed, amazed by the taste of the bread in her mouth, and the texture too – the chewy softness of the middle contrasted with the crispness of the outside.
Her bread. Well, not quite all hers, but…
It wasn’t just the taste which had ambushed her either, but a feeling which was completely unfamiliar to her, at least where food was concerned.
It was accomplishment. Gemma didn’t cook.
She took things out of packets, or scooped them out of jars, and that wasn’t the same thing at all.
‘This bread is heavenly, Gemma,’ said Willow, grinning at her husband. ‘I know you had a good teacher, but… I’m not sure I know whose is best now.’
‘Oh, I’m not there yet,’ replied Gemma. ‘Thank you for the compliment, but Rowan really doesn’t need to worry about the competition. Not just yet, anyway. I’ll make the bread tomorrow though, if you like?’ she suggested, pleased that she might finally be of some use.
‘We’ll take it in turns,’ said Rowan. ‘I enjoy it too much to give it up, but… I’m happy to share the privilege.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Was I right about enjoying it then?’
Gemma dipped her head. ‘I didn’t think I would, but… it sort of crept up on me.’
‘All the best things do,’ he replied.
‘Apart from serial killers,’ put in Leo, much to everyone’s amusement.
The rest of the meal passed in companionable silence, interspersed with light-hearted conversation, but eventually the time came to do the washing-up.
‘Would you mind if we leave you two to clear up?’ asked Willow. ‘Only we’re going to see a man about some bees and he’s almost an hour away. We need to leave around now.’
‘Bees?’ asked Gemma anxiously.
‘Don’t worry,’ replied Willow. ‘We’re not rushing into it. That’s why we’re going to see this chap. He runs a beekeeping society and he recommended we come along to a couple of meetings before we make any decisions. There’s a lot to think about.’
Gemma nodded, although the thought terrified her.
‘I’m not sure how long we’ll be either,’ said Rowan. ‘So don’t worry if we’re not back until quite late.’
Five minutes later they were gone, leaving Gemma and Leo alone in the house, and the thought of having to make conversation for hours didn’t exactly fill her with glee.
The need to apologise was weighing heavy though, so perhaps it was better to get that over with.
Then she could keep her distance more comfortably; polite but detached.
She waited until the sink was full of soapy water and they were standing side by side.
‘I wanted to say sorry,’ she began. ‘For how I spoke to you the other day.’ She looked down at the dishcloth in her hand.
‘I said you made me feel childish, but even if that was the case, I didn’t need to act like it.
That was my choice, and I chose badly. We’re both adults, and I’d like to think that I’ve become a little wiser in the twenty or so years since we were married. ’
‘Me too. But my head doesn’t always cooperate and then my mouth confirms the sad truth. I was insensitive, and defensive. I should have realised that recent events weren’t ones you wanted to talk about.’
‘And I overreacted when you were just trying to be kind.’
He took a dripping plate from her and began to dry it. ‘I am sorry, though. The last few months must have been incredibly tough for you, and whatever the reasons that brought you to the farm, I hope you find what you need here. It’s a good place, and Rowan and Willow are good people.’