Three Amazing Things About You (22 page)

The cross-country event wasn’t due to start until midday. Horsey types were walking the course, striding along purposefully in sludge-coloured country outfits. Inside the showground, the air was rich with cooking smells from various food concessions, sausages and chargrilled steaks vying with Indian and Mexican peppers, spices and garlic. The lake, a glassy pool of silver blue with a complicated set-up of double and triple jumps leading into and out of it, was already surrounded by eventing enthusiasts planning to install themselves there and watch a full day’s action from the water’s edge.

As for the shopping village . . . well, it was a huge, eclectic sprawl of stalls, some standing on their own, others clustered in tents the size of wedding marquees. From hot tubs to angora socks, from fine diamond jewellery to nylon dog leads, there was something for everyone, and you never knew what you were going to come across next. For the next hour, Hallie and Bea marvelled at stalls selling diamanté-encrusted shoes, luxury summer houses, home-made fudge, life-size wire sculptures of horses, and jars of mustard.

‘
Eww,
mustard.’ Shaking her head in revulsion, Hallie’s eye was caught by a bright stall opposite. ‘Let’s have a look at that one over there.’

This was better; oh yes, this was her kind of place. The front of the stall was hung with bunting and multicoloured tissue pompoms. Inside, there were art prints, stained-glass lamps, strings of pearl-encrusted fairy lights, velvet gloves, silk scarves, items of bold statement jewellery and a wide selection of hats. The man running the stall was wearing a dashing black fedora with a red ribbon tied around it and was wrapping a pair of candlesticks in silver paper, placing them in a fuchsia-pink cardboard carrier with emerald rope handles.

‘It breaks my heart to sell these. I can’t believe I’ll never see them again.’ He handed the bag over to the customer. ‘Goodbye, my darlings, you’re going to live with a new family now.’

Once the woman had gone, his assistant, who was wearing a purple trilby, reached under the table and with a triumphant ‘Ta-daaah!’ pulled out two more identical candlesticks.

‘Ahh, it’s a miracle!’ The man applauded her. ‘Like the loaves and fishes. Hello, ladies, have you come to make off with more family heirlooms and break my heart too?’

Hallie said to the girl in the purple trilby, ‘Is he always like this?’

‘Well, it’s my first time working with him, but I’m pretty sure the answer’s yes.’

‘I really like your hat.’

The girl looked amused. ‘Another one of his ideas.’

‘Why?’

The man chimed in. ‘Because we sell hats. If customers see one they like, they don’t want to be the only person wearing one. Feel free to try any of them on, by the way. So long as you don’t have nits.’

But Hallie’s attention had been caught by the silk scarves tied to the branches of a silver tree on the central table inside the tent. ‘Oh, look at these, they’re just gorgeous.’ Wheeling herself over, she lightly touched one of the scarves, feeling the slippery material slide between her fingers. This one had splashes of lime green, fuchsia, deep purple and gold exploding like fireworks over an inky blue background. It reminded her of midnight on New Year’s Eve, when she and Luke had watched the celebration in Carranford together from her bedroom window.

‘That one’s my favourite,’ said the girl.

‘Mine too.’ Hallie found the tiny price tag and turned it over, fingers mentally crossed in the hope that it might by some miracle say £6.50.

Well, you could always dream.

It didn’t say £6.50, of course. The scarf cost eighty-five pounds. Which was a crazy amount, even if it was stunningly beautiful.

‘Those colours would really suit you.’ Joining her, Bea also checked the price tag and pulled a face. ‘Ouch.’

‘I know.’ The girl in the purple trilby was sympathetic. ‘They’re hand-painted by a designer in Cornwall, so no two scarves are the same.’

‘I could let you have it for seventy,’ said the man, ‘if it helps.’

It was still far too much. Regretfully, Hallie let go of the scarf and turned her attention to the jewellery on the table. The man’s phone had begun to ring and he pulled it out of his pocket.

‘Margot! Are you calling to find out if I’ve sacked her yet? No, no, Flo’s doing fine, she’s just wrestling with a shoplifter at the moment. Flo, put the poor man down, you don’t know your own strength!’

‘What about this necklace? D’you like it?’ Lifting up a long multicoloured string of beads, Bea said encouragingly, ‘It’s only eighteen pounds.’

Hallie shrugged, because the necklace was pretty but it didn’t begin to compare with the scarf.

‘Look, you can use it as a lasso.’ Twirling it around in the air, Bea said, ‘If you spot Prince Harry, you can use it to bring him down. He won’t stand a chance.’

Hallie grinned. ‘Then I could tie him up with my oxygen tubing.’

‘Is he here today?’ Flo was interested. ‘How exciting!’

‘Not sure, but we’re going to keep a lookout. It’d be so brilliant to see him, even if it’s just from a distance.’ Hallie wheeled herself backwards, away from the table. ‘Right, let me have a think about the necklace. We might be back later.’

They both knew this was polite customer-speak for
I have no intention of coming back, but this is my way of escaping.

‘No problem,’ said Flo, who had wild auburn ringlets and a friendly face. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day. And good luck with tracking Harry down. If I hear on the news that he’s been lassoed and kidnapped, we’ll know who it was.’

‘But don’t tell anyone, OK?’ Hallie waved as she and Bea left the stall. ‘Bye!’

By two o’clock, Flo had sold four of the hand-painted silk scarves. It was silly; she knew the girl in the wheelchair wouldn’t be back, but she was still hoping no one else would come along and buy her scarf.

The stalls were busier now, thousands of shoppers coming and going, and the tills had been ringing non-stop. Patrick was great at his job, making people smile, winning customers over and relaxing them into opening their wallets. He was entertaining company, charming in a laid-back, unthreatening way and endearingly self-deprecating too. During their van journey this morning, Flo had learned all about his life; divorced three years ago, he and his ex-wife, Dawn, had managed to remain on such good terms that he was invited over to dinner every week or so, regularly played golf with her new husband and had even given her away at the wedding.

‘Ah, she’s a lovely woman. Just because our marriage didn’t work out doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.’

‘That’s really nice.’ Flo was moved by his words. And it must surely be an easier way to live, infinitely preferable to Lena’s constant sniping, jealousy and challenging behaviour.

She’d continued to think about this as the day progressed. A text arrived from Zander telling her that Lena had evidently had a furious row with the window cleaner, flatly refusing to pay him because he’d woken her up at midday squeegeeing the outside of her bedroom wind
ow.

Basically this was a situation that was never going to change. Lena was Lena, and being the way she was meant Flo’s own relationship with Zander was guaranteed never to be easy.

Imagine how much simpler and less fraught life would be if she were romantically involved with someone like Patrick instead. Watching him now, interacting easily with a horsey mother and daughter debating which limited-edition print to buy, Flo pictured her and Patrick together, having jolly dinner parties with his ex-wife, having Margot come to stay with them at weekends so they could enjoy each other’s company. No stress, no anxiety, no wondering when the next argument might be about to erupt.

Patrick was so nice, the kind of man who was always in a cheery mood. OK, so he wasn’t as handsome as Zander, he probably didn’t have a six-pack and he had one of those snub-nosed, friendly faces rather than scimitar cheekbones and thickly fringed Hollywood-blue eyes. But he was a genuinely lovely person . . .

Sometimes wheelchairs had their advantages. One of the kindly event organisers, spotting Hallie and Bea searching without success for a decent position from which to view the jumps at the lake, unfastened a rope and ushered them through to an adjacent cordoned-off area.

‘
Result
,’ Hallie murmured, eyeing the untrampled grass and elegant white chairs and tables.

‘Oh wow.’ Bending down behind her, Bea whispered, ‘We’re in the VIP enclosure. With the
posh people
. This could be our big chance . . .’

There was a white marquee, comfortable seating, men wearing linen jackets and red trousers. There were also leggy blonde girls, waiters serving champagne, and an assortment of dogs noisily slurping water from silver bowls lined up at the side of the marquee.

‘If Harry gets a bit thirsty and fancies a drink,’ said Hallie, ‘this is the place he’ll come to.’

‘Except hopefully they won’t make him drink out of one of those bowls . . . oh my
God
,’ Bea squealed in her ear, pointing to a group of glamorous girls and noisy but well-spoken young men. ‘The one with his back to us . . . white shirt, orange hair . . . is that
him
?’

‘No.’ Hopes raised and dashed in the space of a second, Hallie shook her head. But she took out her phone and switched on the camera in readiness, just in case Harry did put in an appearance. It might be naff to take a photo, but compared with these well-to-do types, she was already irredeemably naff.

They had a fantastic view of the jumps, though. Hallie settled down to enjoy it, taking photos of the competing horses instead. Every few minutes a shrill whistle would sound, and the next contestant would come thundering past them, the horse’s hooves kicking up turf as it raced along the side of the lake. The rider then steered it around to face a huge fence constructed of wood and barrels before gathering the horse’s energy and launching it into the air. Once successfully over, it was down a steep slope and over a second, smaller fence before splashing into the water, cantering across the shallow end of the lake, then leaping back out and over the third fence on the other side while water sprayed into the air and the audience applauded . . . or let out a collective groan of sympathy if it didn’t go well.

They’d been watching for twenty minutes when Hallie heard snuffling, and realised that a dog was investigating the right-hand wheel of her chair. Leaning over, she saw a bright-eyed brown and white terrier gazing up at her, the fluffiness of his ears an indication that he was still a puppy.

‘Hello!’ She reached down to greet him, tickling the little dog under his chin and laughing as he promptly attempted to scramble up the side of her chair. His extendable lead was stretched out behind him, attached to the wrist of his owner. Twisting round, Hallie’s mouth dropped open.

Alerted by the sudden movement, Bea turned too. For a couple of seconds they were both stunned into silence.

Then, her eyes widening in disbelief, Bea said, ‘No way!’

‘Hallie! And Bea – oh my goodness, fancy bumping into you two here! Hallie, how
are
you?’

Nobody ever wanted the truth when they asked that question; it wasn’t an invitation to launch into a list of oxygen saturation percentages.

‘I’m good, thanks. You’re looking great. Who does this puppy belong to?’ Having patted her knees, Hallie had persuaded the little dog to leap up on to her lap. ‘He’s gorgeous.’

‘I know,’ Christina said proudly. ‘Isn’t he perfect? And don’t faint, but he’s mine!’

Christina, Luke’s ex-girlfriend. She’d always been blonde and elegant without needing to try too hard. Today she was looking particularly glamorous in a pale pink dress and matching coat, with flat pink ballerina-style pumps accentuating her slender tanned legs. Her hair was loose and shiny, her make-up light. But it was the look in her eyes as she gazed down at the dog that really made the difference; she was clearly a woman in love.

‘Hang on, though,’ said Bea. ‘I thought you didn’t like dogs.’

‘I know, I thought so too!’ A couple of the Carranford locals had habitually brought their large dogs into the White Hart, and Christina had always shuddered and given them a wide berth. Now, she gave a cheery shrug. ‘Turned out I just didn’t like other people’s big scary dogs. My mum gave me this one for my birthday in January and I couldn’t believe it; I told her I didn’t want a dog! But she said I should give it a week to see how things went, and if I still didn’t want him after that, then she’d keep him for herself.’ Christina gazed adoringly into the eyes of her unexpected birthday present. ‘Well, that was it. By the end of that first evening, I was completely besotted. His name’s Daley, and now I couldn’t imagine being without him . . . he’s my little darling, aren’t you? Oh yes you are!’ Blowing ecstatic kisses at Daley, she added cheerily, ‘Honestly, I’m a changed person. My mother couldn’t be more thrilled!’

A waiter approached, a round of drinks was ordered and Christina pulled up a chair to join them. She’d been invited along today by a couple of horse-mad neighbours who’d had a ticket to spare and who were currently walking the course.

‘So do you still have the snakes?’ said Hallie.

‘No.’ Briefly shamefaced, Christina shook her head. ‘It’s a bit of a crazy story. Audrey died just before Christmas – she was my Burmese python – and I wanted to replace her right away, but my mum got really upset. She told me I was obsessed with snakes and it was no way to live. Then in January she gave me Daley. She did it on purpose, of course, but that’s mums for you.’ Christina reached over to fondle the dog’s ears. ‘Plus, she was right: it turns out dogs are a million times more fun than snakes. And it wasn’t easy to keep both at the same time – Daley used to bark like mad outside their room, which must have been stressful for them – so the upshot was, I ended up giving them away to a family I knew would give them a good home.’ She paused and shrugged. ‘And that was it, no more crazy snake-keeping lady. Now I have Daley instead.’

‘And your mum’s happier,’ said Bea cheerily.

‘Oh God,
tons
happier. She was starting to panic that no man would ever want me.’ Amused, Christina said, ‘Which was fair enough, to be honest, seeing as I hadn’t been out with anyone since me and Luke broke up.’