Читать книгу Meet Me at Willow Hall: A perfectly charming romance for 2019! - Carla Burgess - Страница 7

One year later

‘Make Willow Hall the stage for your love story!’ I made my voice dramatic as we bounced along the narrow country lane towards the hall in Elena’s little car. Turning slightly in my seat to face her, I cleared my throat and adjusted the glossy brochure in my hands. ‘Set in the green, rolling hills of the Shropshire countryside, and with a past steeped in history and romance, Willow Hall is the perfect venue for your wedding … Oh, please!’ I broke off. ‘Steeped in romance! Honestly, what a load of rubbish! You can tell Anthony’s had nothing to do with this!’ I laughed and looked again at the photograph of the Georgian manor house on the front cover. I couldn’t deny it was a beautiful house and would make an ideal wedding venue, but the fact that it belonged to my ex-boyfriend’s family made me ultra-critical. It was unbelievable that Anthony’s family home was going to be hosting weddings when he was so against any sort of commitment himself. ‘I bet he’s horrified by it all. He hates weddings.’

Elena gave me a sidelong glance, pushing her long dark hair behind her ear. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? What if Anthony’s there? What will you do?’

‘He’s not going to be there,’ I stuffed the brochure into the glove compartment and slammed it shut, feeling jittery all of a sudden. ‘He hates Willow Hall. He never once visited his mum there when we were together. She always came to us. He didn’t even want to tell me about it.’

‘I know, but things might have changed since the accident.’

I stared silently out of the window for a moment, watching a buzzard hover over a field. ‘He won’t be there,’ I repeated, with more assurance than I felt. This morning I’d been positive this would be the case, but as we drew closer to Willow Hall, doubt curdled my stomach and I was suddenly nervous. I wiped my clammy palms down my bright-red, halter-neck sundress, suddenly wishing I’d worn something a little less conspicuous. Usually I was happy to stand out in a crowd, but I’d rather keep a low profile today.

What if he was there? What would I say?

A surge of nerves set my heart racing and I swallowed hard. Lifting my sunglasses, I examined my winged eyeliner in the tiny sun-visor mirror, relieved to see it hadn’t smudged in the heat. A few tendrils of my red hair had escaped from my bun, but it still looked okay. Sitting back, I reopened the glove box and pulled out the brochure for Willow Hall once more. It was a wedding fair, for goodness’ sake! Everyone was welcome. We had every right to be there, and with Elena getting married in a few months’ time we had the perfect excuse. Nobody needed to know Elena had almost everything organised already and that we were just going to be nosy.

I couldn’t believe it when I’d seen the advertisement for Willow Hall in one of Elena’s wedding magazines. I thought there must be a mistake, or perhaps another country house of the same name. But after a bit of sleuthing on the Internet, I found it was the same house and still seemingly owned by the Bascombe family. It seemed ironic it was now being used as a wedding venue when Anthony had been so against marriage and commitment of any kind.

Still, like Elena said, maybe things had changed. A year had passed since I’d last seen him. He could have had a whole attitude change since then. He could have met someone who’d changed his mind about commitment. He might even be married himself by now.

I drew in a sharp breath as pain sliced through me. My mind shied away from the thought of him being with someone else. I couldn’t deal with it. A year might have passed, but my feelings for Anthony Bascombe were still very much in existence. His letter telling me it was over had come as a massive shock, as had visiting him at the hospital and being turned away by the nurses. His lovely mother, Cath, had kept me updated on his progress for a few weeks afterwards, but then contact had dried up and I’d seen and heard nothing of him since. I’d sent him one letter, wishing him well, but had received nothing in return.

So, I’d let him go. And I’d been hurting ever since.

The lane widened out and we entered a chocolate-box-pretty village, with stone cottages lining each side of the street. Daffodils waved cheerfully from the grass verges and pink and white blossom decorated the trees. The village seemed quiet. A dog tied up outside the post office, and an old man sitting on a bench outside the quaint-looking pub, were the only signs of life. A large church stood at the end of the high street, its spire reaching up towards the clear blue sky and its neatly tended churchyard filled with daisies and cowslips.

‘Wow, this is pretty!’ Elena leaned forward over her steering wheel to peer through the windscreen.

‘Mmm, it is,’ I agreed. ‘Quiet, though! I hope we’ve got the right day. I thought there would be more people around than this. Willow Hall should be on the left, just before the church, according to the brochure.’

Elena shrugged. ‘We’ve definitely got the right date. Maybe everyone’s up at the hall.’ She flicked her indicator as we passed the last of the stone cottages and a gated entrance appeared signposted Willow Hall. A rhododendron framed the green sign, its bright-red flowers bobbing in the breeze. Willow Hall was printed in large gold lettering, with ‘Civil Ceremonies, Wedding Receptions and Events’ in smaller white print underneath.

‘The sign looks very new,’ Elena said as she drove in through the tall, wrought-iron gates. A stone lion stood on each gatepost and trees rose up on either side of the driveway, forming a green, leafy archway through which the hot, midday sun glinted, bathing the inside of the car with dappled green light. ‘I wonder if they’ve done any weddings yet.’

‘I don’t think so. Their website didn’t have any wedding photographs on it, so I think they must be just starting out.’

The drive snaked through the trees until the woodland gave way to gently sloping sheep-grazed meadowland. Ahead of us, the wide Georgian façade of Willow Hall appeared, its soft red brick glowing warm pink in the hot midday sun.

‘Wow!’ Elena said in surprise.

It took me a moment to speak. I gazed open-mouthed at the huge house with its neatly manicured gardens and parkland. ‘I didn’t expect it to be quite so big!’ I said, stupidly.

‘Well, you knew it was a mansion.’

‘Yes, I know but… it’s a huge stately home.’ I blinked in disbelief. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting really. Certainly nothing as beautiful and grand as this. Built over two storeys, it had eleven bays on each floor and an arched entrance with wide stone steps leading up to it. The photographs were pretty impressive, but Anthony’s hatred of the place had made me think it couldn’t be quite as grand as they’d made it look. He’d seemed embarrassed by it, in fact, like it was some kind of guilty secret. I’d only found out about it by accident, through something his mum had said when she came up to visit, and that had been towards the end of our relationship. When I’d asked to see it, he’d refused to bring me, saying he hated the place and never went there willingly. He’d led me to believe it was some kind of rundown relic, but this was beautiful.

‘I can’t believe we know – knew – someone who grew up in a big mansion like this. It’s unbelievable!’ Elena followed the driveway round to the side of the house. Her tyres crunched on the gravel and dust clouded up behind us as we entered a large square car park, already half-full of cars shimmering in the heat.

‘I know. I mean, I’ve seen pictures, obviously, but they didn’t prepare me for this.’ Gathering up my handbag, I climbed out of Elena’s car and gazed up at Willow Hall. The air was full of birdsong and butterflies. It was hard to imagine why Anthony hated this house so much when it was so lovely.

‘Imagine getting married somewhere like this,’ Elena said wistfully as she locked the car. ‘It would be a perfect venue. Just imagine sweeping up the drive towards this big house. Daniel and I could never have afforded anything like this, though.’

We took the path leading around the front of the house, following the signs directing us to the wedding fair at the back. I was very aware of the crunch of my footsteps on the gravel path and the volume of Elena’s voice as we passed by the ground-floor windows of the house. I had a sudden urge to tiptoe and, as we walked past the front entrance, I realised I was holding my breath.

What if Anthony was here? What if he was just behind that door or window, and just happened to look out as we passed by? My heart thumped at the thought and I gave myself a mental shake. There was no way he would be here. And even if he was, so what? I didn’t have to speak to him. From the number of cars in the car park, it looked like there were loads of people here. Avoiding him would be easy.

Elena tucked her arm through mine as we rounded the side of the house, taking a path bordered by pink, flowering rhododendrons. Music and laughter floated on the spring breeze, and we found a large white marquee standing in the middle of a green-striped lawn. People were standing around, sipping champagne and laughing, while besuited waiters circulated with trays of champagne and orange juice.

‘Ooh, this is lovely!’ Elena said enthusiastically as we walked towards the entrance of the marquee. I gave a tight smile, my heart bungee jumping to my toes and back up again as I spotted Anthony’s brother, Julian, talking to a group of people to the side of the marquee. Why was he here? Surely he still lived in Scotland? Readjusting my sunglasses, I turned my face away and hoped he wouldn’t notice me.

‘Are you okay?’ Elena asked as we accepted a glass of orange juice from a passing waiter.

‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled brightly and did my best to blend in with the groups of people sipping champagne around us. Everyone seemed to be dressed in pastel shades. Even Elena was wearing a pale-blue maxi dress instead of her habitual black jeans. What was I thinking, wearing red? I stood out like a sore thumb!

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and attempted to pull myself together. It wouldn’t be so bad if Julian saw me. He’d always been lovely and I had every right to be here. I wasn’t snooping. Not really. No, not at all.

There were lots of dewy young brides-to-be, eyes bright with love and excitement, holding hands with their fiancés or else with their mothers or friends. But there was also a contingent of tweedy local types who’d obviously just come for some free booze and a nosy.

‘They’ll never make a go of this,’ I heard a severe-looking lady say to her friend. Her iron-grey hair was tightly curled and she had a bristling border terrier on the end of a long leash that kept yapping loudly at passersby. Pausing next to her, I pretended to check the heel of my shoe so I could listen to what she was saying.

‘Oh, I don’t know. It all looks very professional,’ her friend replied, obviously impressed by the large marquee and decent number of visitors.

‘Hmph! They’ll sell it before the year’s out,’ she said, darkly. ‘Those no-good sons of Cath’s will be off before she knows it. They never could stick around.’

Sons? As in plural? Did that mean Anthony was here too? Good God, no! I glanced at Elena to see if she’d heard, but she’d walked on ahead and was disappearing inside the marquee. Not wanting to be left alone, I darted after her to catch her up.

Inside, the ceiling of the marquee was swathed in twinkling fairy lights and the round tables were laid out with beautiful wedding products and services. Pretty wedding cakes of all different designs towered on the table next to the entrance, while a photographer displayed artistic black-and-white wedding shots on the stall next door. Everywhere I looked there was wedding stationery, bridal flowers, balloon arches, chocolate fountains, rose-petal confetti and photos of wedding cars and horse-drawn carriages. I wanted to tell Elena what I’d overheard, but she was deep in conversation with one of the stallholders. As I gazed around at the beautiful stalls, I realised this would be Anthony’s idea of hell and there was no way he’d be making an appearance here. If he was at Willow Hall, he’d be skulking inside the house, keeping well away from all this wedding nonsense.

Taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, I forced myself to relax and enjoy the happy atmosphere. Everyone was so friendly and Elena and I wandered from stall to stall, discussing ideas.

‘Ooh! Let’s check out that dress stall,’ Elena took my arm and towed me towards the back of the marquee. ‘They might have a bridesmaid dress for you.’

‘I doubt it. It all looks rather bridal,’ I said, allowing Elena to lead me towards the racks of dresses.

‘Hi!’ Elena greeted the sales assistant cheerfully. ‘Do you have any vintage-style bridesmaid dresses? Preferably tea-length. It’s for Rachel here. She’s my bridesmaid and, as you can see, likes a vintage look.’ She indicated my fifties-style sundress with a sweep of her hand. The sales assistant smiled at me but shook her head.

‘We have a tea-length bridal gown but no bridesmaid dresses here with us today. Would you like to try the bridal gown on to see if you like the style?’

Elena’s face lit up. ‘Oh, could we? That would be wonderful. Thank you.’

I started to protest, but Elena just grinned and shooed me on to follow the assistant, who was at another rack searching through the plastic-covered dresses. ‘It’s here,’ she said, pulling out an ivory silk dress. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at the lace bodice and full tulle skirt. ‘Come this way.’

She led me towards a makeshift dressing room behind the racks of dresses. I felt a bit of a fraud as I stepped into the ivory silk gown and allowed the woman to do me up at the back. It felt wrong to be trying on a wedding dress when I didn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a fiancé. But as the zip went up and the lace bodice moulded to my body, I realised I loved it.

‘Ooh, that looks beautiful!’ the assistant murmured, standing back to look at me. ‘Fits you like it was made for you. Hold on, stay there.’ She ducked out of the little room for a moment, reappearing a moment later with a tiny silver tiara. ‘Here, pop this on,’ she said, placing it on my red hair. ‘Your hair looks lovely up like that. Here, let’s pull a few tendrils down around your face and you’re good to go. In fact, you could get married like that right now and everyone would be blown away. You look amazing!’ She put her hands to her face, visibly moved, while I blinked at her in disbelief. If this was a sales pitch, it was wasted on me. I loved the dress but there was no point in buying it when I didn’t have a man. ‘Now, go and show your friend. Come on!’

‘Oh! Can’t she come to me?’ I said, quailing at the thought of parading the dress in front of everybody in the marquee.

‘No, you don’t! You don’t get away that easily!’ She laughed. ‘You’re the perfect model for this dress and there’s a roomful of brides-to-be out there, so come on. You can be my model.’

Whipping back the curtain, she beckoned me out. Elena was waiting patiently at the front of the stall as I padded barefoot towards her. I was aware of people stopping to look, but I kept my eyes on Elena. Her face lit up when she saw me and she covered her face with her hands before placing them over her heart. ‘Oh, isn’t it gorgeous? You just have to wear something like that. It’s so you.’

‘I do love it,’ I said, turning slightly so the skirt swished from side to side. The silk whispered around my bare legs and I flexed my toes self-consciously as people gathered around to watch.

‘And here we have a tea-length bridal gown in ivory silk,’ the sales assistant said to the crowd of onlookers. ‘This is from our vintage collection and is also available in white or oyster. If you’d just like to turn around, Rachel, and let everyone see the detailing on the back.’

Obediently I turned while the sales assistant pointed out the pearl detailing on the buttons at the back of the dress. ‘I should get you to model some more really, shouldn’t I?’ she said to me cheerfully. ‘Well done! You can take a bow now.’

Turning back round to face Elena, my smile froze on my face as I found myself looking into the bright-blue eyes of the man standing directly behind her.

Running a hand through his dark-blond hair, Anthony Bascombe looked on in startled disbelief.

‘Rachel?’