Читать книгу Summer At Willow Tree Farm - Heidi Rice - Страница 11

Consciousness beckoned through the magical twinkle of stars and the comforting scent of lavender. Ellie’s eyelids fluttered open and she found herself cocooned on an iron-framed double bed, the cluster of fairy lights draped over the mantelpiece opposite dotting a hand-sewn coverlet with sparkles of light.

A dark figure appeared from a door to her right, holding a towel, and looking muscular and intimidating in oil-stained overalls. The magical twinkles surrounded him like dancing fairies until he stepped into the light.

Art.

The dull ache in her ribs throbbed as the events before she’d blacked out came back. Her stomach cramped. And she scooted across the bed, ready to heave over the side. ‘I need a bucket.’

And after that please leave me alone to die in peace.

The polished wooden boards creaked. And the mattress dipped as Art sat on the bed.

‘Here.’ He slapped a cold wet cloth on her nape, then lifted her wrist to position her hand over it and hold it in place. ‘You don’t need a bucket. You’re not going to puke.’

She rolled over and propped herself up to glare at him – somewhat miffed the nausea had passed. ‘How would you know?’

‘Because you haven’t eaten anything for twenty-four hours.’

She tried to hold on to her indignation, but she didn’t have the strength. Had he carried her all the way up here? And where was here?

The room looked vaguely familiar, but her brain was still too fuzzy to figure out why. ‘Where am I?’

‘Your old bedroom. Dee redecorated it when she got the email saying you were coming over.’

The room was exquisite. No wonder she hadn’t recognised it.

The space was fresh and clean, decorated with bold colours and inspired prints. A couple of huge overstuffed armchairs in one corner sat next to a sturdy wooden dresser, its vibrant yellow paint making a statement against the white walls even in the dappled glow of the fairy lights. New curtains in retro gingham were draped stylishly over long sash windows that looked out into the reddening sky as dusk fell over the woods. The Victorian grandeur of the room looked inviting now instead of forbidding. Under the scent of lavender, Ellie detected the turpentine aroma of new paint.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured.

‘She put a lot of hours in fixing it up.’

The pang of guilt hit under her left ventricle, not dull this time, but sharp as a blade. What was she supposed to do with the knowledge that Dee had decided to welcome her back with home-made curtains and newly painted walls and fairy lights, like a treasured, long-lost child?

‘I wish she hadn’t gone to this much trouble,’ she said, knowing the effort her mother had put into redecorating the room would force her to reconsider her plans to leave tomorrow.

Art shrugged. ‘She wanted to do it.’ Standing up, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his overalls. ‘How are the ribs?’

‘I’ll survive.’ She placed a hand on her side. Her embarrassment at the way she’d swung at him and missed more painful right now than the bruises.

She noticed the sunburned column of his throat. Her gaze darted away, the glimpse of chest revealed by the open neck of his overalls making her aware of how much more body hair he had now than he’d had at fifteen. Not something she needed to be noticing.

‘Did you carry me all the way up here?’ she asked, the thought of those muscular arms holding her aloft not good for her equilibrium.

He nodded.

‘Thanks,’ she said, grudgingly. ‘But you didn’t have to do that.’

‘You’re not heavy. And Dee would have had my hide if I’d left you out there all night.’

The lack of sentiment was strangely comforting. At least she knew exactly where she was with Art.

But, as he put his hand on the doorknob, she felt compelled to add, ‘Thanks for getting Josh down from the treehouse. I’ll apologise to your daughter next time I see her. I shouldn’t have shouted at her.’

She’d been exhausted, and the child had definitely taken them well out of their way to get to the Clubhouse, but still she regretted the outburst – remembering the reputation she’d had at the commune once before.

Princess Drama.

How she’d loathed that nickname and all it implied – that she was a high-maintenance drama queen who was far too prissy and privileged to be included in Art’s gang.

‘Toto took you that way because I asked her to,’ he said at last.

‘What?’ she said, her shock doing nothing to cauterise the stab of hurt. ‘Why would you ask her to do that?’

‘What did Toto tell you when she came to get you?’ he asked, instead of answering her question.

‘That Josh was up a tree and he was about to fall off and break his neck,’ she replied.

He swore softly.

‘I can’t believe you would tell her to take me miles out of our way when you knew my son was in danger and that I would be worried about his safety,’ she said, finally finding her voice. ‘I know we’re not friends.’ She was ranting, but at least it disguised the tremor in her voice. ‘But I–’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ he interrupted her. ‘I only asked her to take her time so I could have Josh down before you got there. I underestimated Toto’s flare for the dramatic though, and I’m sorry about that.’

‘But…’ The simple apology cut her rant off at the knees.

‘If it’s any consolation, your son was never in danger,’ he said. ‘He’s a brave kid, who handled himself just fine.’

‘A brave fat kid you mean,’ she said, unable to let go of her resentment completely. And unsettled at the realisation that Art’s compliment meant something. Why should she care what he thought of her son?

‘I never said he was fat. I said he thinks he’s fat.’ His head dipped to one side, the patient perusal sending heat into her face. ‘There’s a difference.’

The husky tone wrong-footed her, because it made the frank assessment sound like a compliment, too. Almost.

‘No need to apologise to Toto,’ he added. ‘Your freak out might teach her to dial down on the drama.’

His gaze skimmed back over her, and her misguided belly dissolved into a warm fuzzy puddle of need. Annoyingly.

Clearly being starved of male attention – because she’d had little enough from Dan in recent years – had the potential to make her delusional.

Then her belly added insult to insanity by rumbling loudly enough to be heard in Dorset.

Art’s lips kicked up on one side. The tiny suggestion of a smile on his hard, taciturn face made her lungs seize – which only served to remind her she had several bruised ribs.

She hauled in a painful breath as he left the room and captured a lungful of his scent – soap, sweat and motor oil. The warm fuzzy delusion in the pit of her empty stomach returned.

She dragged herself out of the bed and headed to the door Art had come out of, to find a newly painted en suite bathroom, complete with light blue enamelled tiling and a pile of brand-new extra-fluffy towels.

Staring at her smudged face in the mirror above the sink, she splashed cold water on her cheeks.

Step away from the edge, Princess Drama. One almost compliment and an overdue apology does not make Art Dalton less of a dick.

Hearing the click of the bedroom door, she switched off the tap and returned to the bedroom with a towel in her hands.

‘Ellie, should you be out of bed?’ Her mother placed a dinner tray laden with food, a pitcher of lemonade and a small vase with a bunch of wild flowers on the dresser.

Ellie’s stomach growled again, the sight of the wild flowers making her want to weep.

What are you doing, Mum? We missed the chance for our big mother–daughter moment nineteen years ago?

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

Dee simply smiled. ‘OK, but you should eat.’ She took the plate of food off the tray. The delicious aroma of roasted garlic had Ellie’s stomach protesting even more. ‘And then get some rest.’

Ellie dumped the towel on the bed. ‘That looks delicious, but I need to go check on Josh first.’ And make sure Art’s daughter wasn’t busy encouraging her son into any other near-death experiences.

‘Josh is fine.’ Dee placed cutlery beside Ellie’s plate and a folded napkin. ‘He’s downstairs having supper — fielding lots of questions from Toto about his favourite TV shows. I can make sure he gets showered and into bed, if you want? I’ve done up the room next to mine for him,’ she continued, pouring a glass of the lemonade.

The tentative request made Ellie feel like a toad. ‘OK. I’m sure he’s loving all the attention.’ Even if she wasn’t.

‘That’s all settled then.’ Her mother smiled at the modest concession as if Ellie had just announced Rod Stewart was coming by to serenade her. ‘Now sit down and eat. Have a shower if you want.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Ellie took a gulp of lemonade to ease the new blockage in her throat.

‘Josh said he’s finished school for the summer, does that mean you can stay?’

Ellie still wasn’t convinced that was a great idea, but thinking of all the effort Dee had put into redecorating their bedrooms, she couldn’t quite bring herself to say no, outright.

‘I haven’t booked the return flights yet, so why don’t we see how it goes.’ She was in no hurry to return to New York, but having an exit strategy made sense.

‘That sounds like a plan,’ Dee said, seeming happy with the concession. ‘Leave the tray outside when you’re finished and I’ll pick it up later. I have to run our stall at the Artisan Market in Salisbury tomorrow, so if I’m not here when you wake up just help yourself to breakfast. Maddy and Jacob will be about if you need anything. And Art, obviously.’

Obviously.

‘But what about everyone else, don’t they live on the commune too?’ Ellie said.

‘They live in their own homes, which are dotted around the seventy acres we have here. Strictly speaking, we stopped being a commune a long time ago. We became a co-housing project about five years back.’

‘What’s the difference?’ Ellie asked. Was this the first rebranding project she’d ever encountered that actually meant something had changed for the better?

‘Each family or individual leases a plot of land from us to build their home on. But instead of paying for the leases they help out on the farm – and we all share the surplus. Rob runs the dairy herd, Mike manages the produce side of things and Art contributes his skills, too.’

What skills would those be? How to look hot in overalls?

‘Who’s “we”?’ Forget about Art and his overalls.

‘Pam left the farm to me in her will,’ Dee said. ‘But I gave a half-share to Art, when he agreed to manage things. I’m not good with paperwork.’

And Art was? Hadn’t Laura always boasted her son was too cool for school?

And now Art owned half the farm. This probably wasn’t good. Especially if… ‘Does Art have his own place too?’ she asked, hopefully.

‘No, his room is two doors down.’

Fantastic! The one person she least wanted to be bumping into in the dead of night lived down the hall.

‘He works full time on the farm,’ Dee continued. ‘And so do Mike and Rob, but everyone else has a day job, mostly in Gratesbury, or further afield. Annie and Tess, Rob and Mike’s wives, were both in Gratesbury today, which is why you didn’t meet them earlier.’

So there was no one staying in the farmhouse to run interference between her and Art except Dee and the children and the canoodling couple she’d met earlier. Super fantastic.

‘But isn’t the whole purpose of the exercise to escape the real world?’ Ellie said.

‘Not any more.’ Dee looked pensive. ‘Nowadays we run it like a proper business. The original plan was to have everyone who lived here working here, but it was never viable, so we had to compromise.’ Her mother headed to the door. ‘By the way, Josh asked if he could come to Salisbury with me and Toto tomorrow to help on the stall if he wakes up in time. Would that be OK?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, then had a thought. ‘Could I come and help out on the stall too?’ It would be a way of paying her mother back for all her hard work in getting the rooms ready.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ Dee said. ‘You’re a guest here.’

‘I know, but I’d like to.’ Having her mother pamper her to within an inch of her life already felt awkward. And keeping busy was also a great way of avoiding the stuff she didn’t want to think about, like Dan and the divorce and her failed business… Not to mention Art Dalton and his unsettling effect on her.

‘Then, I’d love to have you there,’ her mother said. ‘If you’re sure?’

Ellie nodded. ‘Absolutely sure.’

After her mother had left the room, Ellie sat at the dresser to tuck into the plate of roasted vegetables and feta and aubergine lasagne. The salty cheese melted on her tongue.

Despite her face-plant in the woods, and the awkwardness with her mother, and Art, the nightmare she’d been fretting about on the journey here hadn’t completely materialised. Because Willow Tree Organic Farm and Co-Operative Housing Project was the polar opposite of the Rainbow Commune – give or take the odd death-trap treehouse.

She tore off a chunk of the home-made seedy bread roll beside her plate, and slathered on a layer of what looked like home-churned butter. She took a large bite and chewed, savouring the creamy taste, while trying not to savour the memory of Art’s tattooed biceps rounding out the sleeve of his oil-stained overalls and that enticing shadow of chest hair.

So what if Art had unsettled her. And she’d made a bit of a tit of herself by collapsing in the woods.

It was just an inevitable by-product of all the stress she’d been bingeing on for weeks.

Once she’d had a couple of days to get her bearings, and establish a comfortable distance with her mother, she’d be totally immune to Art again, and his half-arsed compliments and his sexy scent.

Whatever happened, Princess Drama would not be popping out to take another bow.