Pink Wellies and Flat Caps (10 page)

What does he mean
I’m looking better
? What a cheek. He seems to have forgotten that I was almost trampled to death by his cows, and makes no mention of the fact that he scooped me up from the mud and shit, as if that sort of thing happens every day down here.

‘Right,’ he says as he opens the newspaper and Molly scratc
hes at his muddy jeans.

‘I got fish, cod to be precise, but I also got a pie and some sausages in batter seeing as I didn’t know what you would like. Can you sort it out? They’ll need war
ming up while I have a shower.’

He stops at the door and turns back.

‘I’m presuming as you’re still here that you’re staying for dinner?’

I nod mutely.

‘Great. I’ll open some wine.’

Before I can reply he is bounding up the stairs. Molly looks wide
-eyed at me and I throw her a chip while popping one in my own mouth. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if this is how Molly gets fed anyway. Aim, throw and catch kind of feeding. He’s more of a slob than I first thought. I can’t remember the last time I had fish and chips. I’ve been with Charlie for three years and I certainly never had it with him. I suggested getting some once when we were late home from a holiday and got such a look that anyone would have thought I had suggested a serving of rat poison. The plates are surprisingly clean, and my stomach rumbles at the smell of the food. I cover half of the table the best I can with a checked tablecloth that I find in one of the dresser drawers. After a few minutes Edward bounds down the stairs and into the room. He smells clean and fresh, and is now wearing a beige cashmere jumper over jeans. Without a word he opens the fridge and removes a bottle of Rosé wine. After pouring it into two glasses he turns to me.

‘I see you found the sheets and blankets.’

Not even waiting for me to sit down he begins to tuck into the food on his plate. Honestly, no wonder this man does not have a wife.

‘Yes,
the lady from …’ I pause and blush, ‘Cock-up Farm came by and she helped me.’

He takes a gulp of wine and I follow suit.

‘Cockspit actually, their farm is far from a cock-up.’

He looks at me over the rim of his glass and grins. I give a sour look in return. I’m tempted to ask if she is his girlfriend but refrain. He’d probably tell me to mind my own business. Molly plonks her paw onto my knee and looks up with sorrowful eyes. Either that or it is my sausage she is eyeing up.

‘Down Molly, now get out,’ he says firmly and opens the door giving her a shove outside but not before I note he gives her a piece of his own sausage. Yes, I was right about the
aim, throw catch
method of feeding.

‘I’m sorry about the sheep,’ I say while reaching across for the salt pot.

He shrugs.

‘They’re all back now, that’s what matters.’

He cuts the last sausage in half and plonks one half onto my plate before popping the other half into his mouth. I have to admit, it’s the best fish and chips I have ever tasted, but then I am starving. I’m trying very hard not to think of the calories. There must be a million in this lot, and that’s not counting the wine.

‘I’m not a country girl,’ I say, trying to make conversation.

‘I have noticed.’

He opens a paper bag and grinning says,

‘Are you partial to a gherkin?’

I widen my eyes.

‘I presume townies eat gherkins?’

I nod and he places one on my plate. He has extraordinarily clean finger nails for a farmer. In fact, overall he is very appealing but without being over the top handsome like Charlie. However, he lacks Charlie’s manners. Had he been a little less fiery I may have considered staying for a while, but as it is I have absolutely no idea what to do. As though reading my mind he says.

‘I phoned my mother, got her out of bed. She was none too happy but if she will meddle and then bog off back to Sydney. Anyway the upshot of it is that you can tear up that contract. She won’t hold you to it.’

Oh, this is good news. What a relief.

‘Oh, thank you so much,’ I say, nodding eagerly at the extra portion of chips he offers. Stop it Alice, think
Gilbert Grape
. You’ll never get into your jeans at this rate.

‘Although
, I really could do with some help around the place. It’s a muddle.’

He pours more wine into my glass. Go
od heavens he is trying to get me drunk so I won’t know what I’m saying. I should be careful. I don’t even know this guy and I’m all alone in the house with him. God, have I gone mad? He’ll be spiking my drink with rohypnol next. Although the way he’s yawning he’ll probably be out for the count before I am. No chance of sex tonight then. Not that I was wanting any of course. I can’t even believe I am thinking this way. It’s not like I’m desperate or anything, although I am missing Charlie desperately. Not that Charlie was a great expert in that area if you know what I mean. Charlie’s idea of foreplay was applying a little baby oil over my breasts before kneading them like dough, pulling apart my thighs and asking are you ready? I was never sure if he meant for sex or the oven. He then has this annoying habit when we are halfway through of asking, do you want to come. I mean what sort of question is that? It’s like asking if I want a cup of tea. Of course I want to come, I’m not doing it for the bloody exercise am I? I felt terribly pressured and finally did one of those fake things. How the hell men do not realise you are faking an orgasm is beyond me. All that writhing, moaning and face pulling, God, it became my weekly workout, all that thrashing around. No wonder Charlie thought he was good in bed. Perhaps it’s best that we have split up after all. I would have become a shrivelled up frustrated old woman if I’d stayed with him. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

‘When I am here the last thing I’ve got time for is cleaning up. I don’t expect you to stay six months but maybe a couple of weeks to see how you find it. I’ll pay you weekly and that way you can leave whenever you want
…’

My mind is pulled back from Charlie and our riveting sex life to Edward Fairfax and our fish and chip dinner. I suppose I could stay for a couple of weeks. I could use that time to look for jobs on the Internet, and I can ask Georgie to look for a flat for me. It would be a perfect opportunity to get to know Edward Fairfax a little better too. Although the chances of him being available or even noticing me are about as likely as getting struck by lightning, but you never know. Edward Fairfax noticing me I mean, obviously I don’t want to get struck by lightning. Strangely enough that one isn’t on my bucket list. I’m not even sure I want to get noticed by Edward Fa
irfax as such. I suppose though just getting noticed at all would be nice. That is most certainly on my bucket list.

‘Well, I suppose I could give it a couple of weeks and
…’

‘Great,’ he says while collecting the dishes and putting them
in the sink with all the rest.

‘You can start with the washing up. Anything you need before I go?’

Go? What does he mean go? Go where for heaven’s sake?

‘But it’s almost eight,’ I say stupidly.

He feigns shock.

‘Good heavens, so it is. Well as you can see, a farmer’s day never ends. I’m going to my study to do the accounts, not to Australia to visit my mother. Is there anything you need to ask before I go?’

Yes, how about what charm school did you attend? And why can’t your girlfriend help around the house? She’s too busy gossiping to all and sundry no doubt. The country air is bringing out the worst in me I think.

‘I need my bags from the car,’ I say shortly.

He raises an eyebrow. Oh for goodness sake.

‘One is very heavy. I can carry the others. Oh and yes, there’s a spider and its offspring in the bathroom. If you could remove that please, then I will be fine thank you.’

I can be hoity-toity too. Two weeks of this, it really doesn’t bear thinking about.

‘You’ll come across a lot worse thin
gs than a spider and a few woodlice if you’re going to be in the country …’ he begins.

Right that’s it. I don’t have to keep being spoken to like a schoolgirl.

‘You could try to be polite.’

Edward reels around and glares at me. Now what have I said?

‘You’ve been here less than five hours. In that time you’ve managed to shepherd my sheep all over Stantonford, let people you don’t know into the house and to top it all you spook my cows. I’m only glad Molly kept the cows under control and I was there, otherwise, no doubt, that would have been another gate left open. What’s next on the agenda, a rave in End Field? And you expect me to be polite?’

How was I to know that his cows get easily spooked? They are English cows after all, not some herd from the Wild West.

‘Now just a minute,’ I say, attempting to be at my most forceful, and believe me my most forceful is pretty pitiful at the best of times.

‘Don’t worry your highness, I’ll fetch your bags,’ he barks and slams the door behind him.

Now there was no need for that was there? A few moments later he is back with all my bags, and without even a glance he effortlessly carries them upstairs. I sheepishly follow, although I don’t know what I’ve got to be sheepish about. He deposits the bags in the bedroom and disappears into the bathroom. I wait quietly outside, wishing I had brought the wine up with me. Knowing him, he will probably take it out of my salary at the end of the week if I do. Oh sod it. I run downstairs, pour another glass and survey the washing up. He walks past me and pours the rest of the wine for himself.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he says gruffly and leaves me standing alone staring at a sink full of dirty dishes.

Forty minutes later and with the dishes done and the sink sparkling
, and I assure you that sparkling sinks are not my forte, I brave the stairs, and the bathroom, carrying a tin of fly spray. With my heart thumping I open the door and, turning my face away and spray manically at the bath until I’m choking so much that I can barely breathe. I peek through my hands to see if the spray has stunned the spider only to find there is nothing there. No sign of a spider or woodlice. Edward Fairfax had already removed them. Unbloodybelievable. I fortify myself with some wine and begin cleaning my room. Twenty minutes later I step back from the wardrobe and flop onto my cluttered bed. The old chest of drawers stinks of mothballs and there is no way my knickers are going in there. I’ll end up smelling like old Lady Haversham from
Great Expectations
. This is awful. The wardrobe is full of dust. I drink the last of my wine and look at my pile of clothes. Okay, the wardrobe can be dusted and the drawers washed, but today the clothes are going back into the case. Of course it will need a lot more to make it look feminine but hopefully I won’t be here that long. I run downstairs feeling a little bit more buoyant and make myself a cup of tea and steal a Penguin bar from the cupboard. I stand at the doorway to my room and survey it critically. All that work and the only sign that the room is mine are my Rochas Femme perfume bottle, Body Shop tubs and my Toni and Guy hair products which now sit neatly on the dresser. I just need some candleholders, cushions, and maybe a nice bedspread. That should help. Who am I kidding? The room is as grim as grim can be. Unlike Rebecca who dreamt boringly of Mandalay, I don’t think I shall be saying
Last night I dreamt of Trenowyth
unless of course it was a nightmare. A freshly made bed makes all the difference, although I could have done without the loo plunger sitting in the corner. I decide that tomorrow I will move the furniture around and make it cosier. I check the door for a lock and am relieved to see there is one. There is still zilch signal on my Blackberry. I wave it around the room but there is nothing. Honestly, how ridiculous is this? I hang out of the window trying to get some signal until part of the crumbling window frame comes away in my hand and I find myself grabbing at thin air while fighting back a scream. With shaking legs I flop onto the bed before finally climbing into it with a Jackie Collins novel. The bed is a bit springy, but not too bad, and at least the springs aren’t poking through the mattress and sticking into my back. I am just starting to relax when I hear a dull thud above me, and then what sounds like manic scratching. Oh my God what is that? With my body rigid I listen intently for the noise to come again but all is quiet. There is nothing above this room as far as I noticed, except of course a loft. I exhale and slowly relax my muscles. I make a huge effort to concentrate on my book when I hear the noise again. I jump out of the bed and trip over my trainers and stupidly shush myself. I can’t even phone for help and even if I could by the time I get my laptop up and running and Skype on the screen
THEY
will already have murdered me. I knew I shouldn’t have come. I tiptoe to the door and unlock it as quietly as I can. I open it tentatively with the intention of screaming for Edward but I see all the lights are off. Shit. I quickly pull the door closed before anyone can force themselves in and with trembling hands lock it again. Where is he? Oh my God, what if he is the murderer? This is like something out of
10 Rillington Place
. What is that in the loft? Then a terrible thought occurs to me. What if Edward Fairfax keeps his victims in the attic? Was that why he was so angry when his girlfriend came when he was out? Was he afraid she may have heard something? Oh my God, he isn’t going to let me leave alive is he? This really is the house that time forgot. How many bodies are up there? Then a terrible thought occurs to me. What if Lady Muck is an accomplice? Oh, Georgie and Cas, you need to rescue me. Never mind sodding End Field. By the look of it, everything ends here. I run to the bed, grabbing the loo plunger as I go. Clutching it close, I dive under the covers and try to stop my trembling. I must have fallen asleep as in the morning I wake up still clutching it, and for a split second I think it is Charlie. I guess that says a lot about him.