A Perfect Home (4 page)

William stiffened. ‘I would have been on time if the traffic hadn't been so awful – you don't expect it on a Wednesday afternoon.'

‘Good job I got here then,' Elizabeth's tone was frosty. ‘Luckily the roads were nearly empty coming from my direction.'

‘At least William is here now,' Claire wondered why she always felt she had to act as peacemaker between her mother and her husband.

‘Come on, gang,' William put his arm around Oliver and Emily's shoulders. ‘Who wants to go to the café by the river? Crisps and lemonade all round.'

‘No, William,' Claire protested. ‘I need to get the children to bed early tonight. I've got so much to do before the photo shoot.'

‘Don't be a spoil-sport, darling,' William beamed a smile down at the children's eager faces. ‘It's a big treat for being so good at the fête. Come on – race you to the car – three, two, one GO.'

‘Wait for Ben,' Claire called as the toddler ran across the playground to catch up with his siblings and his father who were already far ahead.

‘Isn't he great with the kids,' said Sally through a mouthful of raspberry bun.

‘When he wants to be,' Elizabeth said, her Yorkshire accent was always more pronounced when she felt annoyed. ‘He soon leaves it all to you, Claire, when he thinks of some bit of titivating to do on the house.'

‘I wish my husband would do a bit of titivating,' said Sally with a wink.

‘The trouble with William is he just can't stop.' Elizabeth started folding up the cloth that Claire had used to cover her stall. ‘There's got to be more to life than paint charts and fancy radiators but to hear him talk you'd think that the
Screw Fix
catalogue is the holy bloody Bible itself.'

Claire and Sally burst out laughing.

‘Come on, girls,' said Sally. ‘I've got something much more exciting than crisps and lemonade.' She produced a bottle of Prosecco from under the cake stall. ‘Look what I won on the tombola stall. Let's go back to mine and have a toast to the future of Emily Love.'

Chapter Three

‘The pale blue Aga is the hub of Claire's domestic routine.'

The day before the shoot, Claire stood barefoot at the table on the patio, making mince pies. The Aga made the kitchen too warm to work in on such a hot day. Ben sat under the table playing with his own piece of pastry, every now and then sneaking a little lump of it into his mouth. Macavity laid stretched out beside them in the shade of a large pot of calla lilies.

Claire felt strange to be swatting away wasps as the familiar smell of Christmas competed with the mingled summer smells of the garden.

She had stopped answering the phone. All morning she had had a constant stream of phone calls from Celia Howard asking for ‘
just one more minuscule request,
' – find holly, put out candles, make a wreath for the door. She was waiting for Celia to ask if she could lay on snow and a special appearance from Father Christmas himself. For the hundredth time she felt like cancelling the whole thing, but the thought of free advertising for Emily Love kept her complying with all her requests. Her triumph at the school fête the day before made her determined to make her business a success. She remembered what Sally had said at the school gates earlier that morning: ‘Just go for it, Claire. After all, what have you got to lose?'

The flagstones were hot on the soles of her feet. She meant to go and get her shoes but she was in a hurry to finish cooking so she could have lunch and hoover the house before picking up Oliver and Emily. Cooking always made her hungry and she had to try very hard not to pick at the raw shortcrust pastry.

As she filled the pastry cases with mincemeat, topping each one with a fluted pastry lid, she could feel her white cotton blouse sticking to her back in the heat of the midday sun. She should have moved the table into the shade but it was too late now. She'd nearly finished.

Wiping a strand of hair away from her face with her flour-covered hand she straightened up to admire her tray of finished pies. She smiled down at Ben and began singing ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas'.

‘Merry Christmas to you, too,' a voice said.

Claire jumped and turned to see a tall man standing just a little way away from her on the garden path.

‘I'm so sorry,' he said. ‘I didn't mean to frighten you. I've been knocking at the front, but there was no reply, so I came round the side. I'm sorry, you were so absorbed in what you were doing. I tried coughing but …' He stopped and shrugged.

He smiled in a half-polite, half-amused way that revealed laughter lines at the corners of his dark eyes.

‘I'm Stefan Kendrick,' he stepped towards her and put out his hand. ‘I'm going to photograph your house for the magazine article.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You are expecting us for a Christmas photo shoot aren't you?' He laughed and nodded towards the baking tray on the table. ‘Or do you always make mince pies in July?'

‘I thought you were coming tomorrow?' Please, please don't let it be today.

‘I am. I will be,' Stefan said. ‘I was doing a small job for another magazine this morning. It was only a few miles away and I finished early. I thought I'd just come and take a look at your place, so I'd know what to expect. I did try to ring, but no one answered. I like your house.' He looked around him. ‘I can see why Celia's keen to feature it.'

He smiled at her and she noticed how thickly lashed his eyes were.

You've got flour on your face,' he said touching his own cheek to indicate where it was on hers. Claire rubbed it with her hand.

‘You've smudged it now.'

‘It doesn't matter, does it?' Claire knew she sounded annoyed but she didn't like strange men scrutinising her face, even if they were attractive.

Stefan ran a hand through his dishevelled dark hair. ‘I'm sorry. I feel like I've got off to a bad start. I shouldn't have just turned up like this.'

‘It's OK,' she said. ‘I just wasn't expecting anyone. I'm a bit hot, and busy and, to tell you the truth, embarrassed. I don't usually sing in front of people over the age of five.'

‘I enjoyed it.' He said. ‘You should expand your audience age range – I'm well over five and I enjoyed it.'

Claire smiled, she couldn't help it.

‘Look, Mummy,' said a voice from under the table. ‘Look at my heart.'

Claire had completely forgotten about Ben in the last few minutes. He was still happily squatted on the flagstones, carefully rolling out his own chunk of pastry and cutting out shapes with a metal cutter, before squishing everything together to start again.

‘Wow, that looks delicious,' he said, as Ben rolled out his lump again. It was grey with bits of grit and moss flecked through it from the flagstones. Ben pressed his cutter down onto the pastry and lifting out a rather wonky heart shape, handed it to Stefan.

‘Biscuit for you.'

‘Thank you. I'll ask Mum to cook it in the oven for me, shall I?'

‘No.' Ben looked indignant at the suggestion. ‘Eat it. Now!'

‘Come on Ben, don't get cross,' said Claire squatting down beside Stefan. ‘I'll take it and put it in the oven with the mince pies.'

Ben's bottom lip began to wobble. Stefan looked at Claire, shrugged his shoulders and quickly put the raw pastry into his mouth. He cautiously began chewing.

‘Mmmm, very tasty,' he said, in between mouthfuls. ‘You're a great cook.'

Ben smiled proudly back at him.

‘You're very kind to humour him like that,' she said. ‘But you know there were squashed ants in that pastry?'

‘It was rather crunchy.' Stefan grimaced and ran his hand through his hair again. Claire noticed thin strands of grey at his temples, the only thing that could suggest his age.

‘If you can wait for them to cook you can have a mince pie as well.' Claire picked up the baking tray and turned towards the kitchen door. Stefan picked up the nearly empty jar of mincemeat from the table.

‘This looks suspiciously like a whole jar of squashed ants,' he said, peering through the glass at the dark, slimy contents. ‘I think I might give the mince pies a miss – maybe wait till December like I usually do.'

‘Coward,' Claire laughed. ‘You obviously don't appreciate our local delicacy.'

‘I'm afraid I'm more of a caramelised locust kind of man.'

‘How unadventurous you are.' Claire disappeared into the kitchen and Stefan followed her in, carrying the rest of the things from the garden table.

‘Actually, I have been known to be very adventurous.'

Macavity jumped up on the table between them. Stefan stroked the cat's orange back and Macavity purred, pushing himself against Stefan's hand.

‘He doesn't usually like strangers. Do you have a cat?'

‘No. Though I did as a child.' He made a soft clicking noise at Macavity who gazed up at him with round green eyes.

‘You are beautiful,' Stefan said, softly, as he scratched Macavity under the chin. He looked up to meet Claire's eyes watching him. Feeling awkward, she quickly turned away.

‘It's much too hot in here with the Aga on,' she said. ‘We'll have a cup of tea in the garden and then I'll show you around.'

Ben came in and stood beside Stefan, holding up his favourite toy car.

Stefan took it from him, examining it closely, ‘Wow, that's fantastic. I bet it goes really fast.' He bent down and made it skid across the quarry tiles.

Ben squealed with delight. ‘Again, again.'

‘You've got a friend for life, there,' Claire said. ‘Do you have children?'

‘No,' Stefan replied, picking up the car and making it zoom across the floor again.

‘I bet you'd make a great father,' she said, immediately wanting to swallow her words. What a ridiculous thing to say – as if he might just go out and buy a ready-made family from his local Sainsbury's.

‘I've just got to find the right woman,' he crouched down to retrieve the car from under the table.

‘Don't look too closely at the floor,' Claire said. ‘I haven't had time to clean properly.'

‘Don't worry, it looks spotless to me. It's a beautiful house, really unique.'

‘Thank you. Though all the credit should really go to my husband. He renovated it, and frankly never stops working on it.' She laughed rather too brightly.

‘I think you're underestimating yourself.' Stefan looked around the sun-filled kitchen. ‘I bet you chose these colours. They're so fresh and light.'

How did he know?
She had chosen the colours, a long time ago, before the twins were born, before Claire had lost all enthusiasm for paint colours and cupboard doors. The kitchen was the one room in the house that she really felt at home in.

‘Celia showed me pictures of the things you make, I love them, although they're a bit too pretty for my bachelor flat; not quite the macho look I'm after!' He laughed. ‘Not that I haven't got a feminine side to get in touch with as well.'

Claire smiled and hesitated over which mugs to use: floral ones, ones with hearts? No, the spotty ones would do. She dragged the kettle from the Aga as a splash of water hissed on the surface, almost scalding her.

‘Your things are great; they have such a sense of fun about them,' Stefan went on. ‘Fantastic mixture of vintage and contemporary – I've really been looking forward to seeing your house.'

‘I hope it all lives up to your expectations,' said Claire, ineptly opening a milk carton, the praise making her feel self-conscious.

‘It's all lovely so far,' he replied, with a smile. ‘It will make a fantastic feature for the magazine. A shame it's going to be a Christmas issue, and we can't use the garden – it's beautiful. Who's responsible for that?'

‘I'm responsible for trying to keep the flowers alive and my husband is responsible for the very short grass.'

A mobile rang, the sound breaking the few seconds' silence that had settled between them. Stefan took a phone from his pocket and answered it. After a brief conversation, he snapped it shut.

‘Unfortunately, I've got to go. I'd arranged to meet up with a friend for lunch nearby. I'm late and she's wondering where I am. I'd completely forgotten the time since I've been here.' He handed back the car to Ben. Ben beamed back up at him.

‘Sorry about the cup of tea,' he said to Claire. ‘I'd better rush or I'll be in trouble. See you in the morning.'

He gave Macavity one last stroke and stepped out of the door into the sunshine. Claire could hear him whistling ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas' as he disappeared down the path to the front of the house. A minute later she heard the crunch of wheels on gravel as a car pulled away from the drive.

‘I'm hungry,' said Ben pulling at Claire's skirt.

Absentmindedly, she made him a Nutella sandwich and tried not to wonder who Stefan was having lunch with. She made herself a Nutella sandwich too, but as she sat down beside Ben at the table she found she wasn't very hungry after all.

Chapter Four

‘Claire fell in love with the picturesque property the first time she saw it. Although in need of some repair she was quick to realise its potential.'

‘The photographer came today,' Claire said, mixing salad dressing in a small blue jug as William went through the post. He'd loosened his tie and undone the top buttons of his shirt.

‘It's still so bloody hot, even at this time of night,' he said. ‘Have we got any cold beer?'

‘Yes. Can you get it yourself? I've still got loads to do after supper if I'm going to be ready for tomorrow.' As William bent down to peer into the fridge, she noticed dark patches of sweat stained his back and armpits. Claire looked away and began chopping a cucumber.