The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,37

crossing the field and heading towards me. I stood with the cows and waited as we watched him approach, our heads cocked collectively to the right. His beard was fluffy and sparklingly white. He stopped a few feet away to pat one of the more inquisitive cows before kissing another one on the head, which I thought was possibly edging towards over-friendly. He turned to me while continuing to fuss the cows as if they were a pack of Labradors. To be fair, they loved it.

‘Hello,’ he said. His smile was warm – genuine – the sort of smile you save for an old friend that’s been out of your life for a while. He was the spitting image of someone I recognised … someone famous …

‘You must be Katherine,’ he said, slightly out of breath and smiling. ‘Fenella phoned and said to look out for you on my walk. She knows I like a good stretch of the legs at this time of day. I’m Noel.’ He shook my hand with a firm yank. ‘Terrible news about George.’

I nodded in agreement and we made pleasant chatter about the weather until a cow from the back of the pack moved forward and nudged his arm.

‘Hello, you,’ he said, rubbing her head with both hands. ‘Did I leave you out? I’m very sorry.’

‘Are you heading back to the village?’ I asked. ‘Because if you are, would you mind walking across the field with me? These cows are lovely, but a bit … over-friendly.’

‘I’d love to,’ he said, offering me his arm. ‘And how do you fancy a spot of late lunch at mine, it’s only cold meats and a bit of Christmas chutney, but there’s something quite particular I’d like to talk to you about … something Gerald said you might help me with …’

I paused and thought of Gerald’s warning – beware Noel and Percy!

‘And would that particular something having anything to do with a rogue apostrophe, by any chance?’

Surprisingly, he shook his head.

‘No, no. Not that – although it is very important to me, obviously. No, this something else, completely different issue – quite, delicate, if you know what I mean …’ He stopped walking. The cows and I stopped too and waited for him to carry on, which he did, after about thirty seconds, which is a long time to stand waiting for a man to take his turn in conversation in an exposed Cornish field with the wind on your face. ‘It’s … well, I’ve got a favour to ask … something a little bit … sensitive.’ His eyes brightened. ‘And Gerald did say you’d be happy to help. Didn’t he mention it?’

I shook my head.

‘No, I’m afraid he rushed off rather suddenly.’

His countenance fell. ‘Of course, of course. Dear George.’

I took his arm again.

‘But that doesn’t matter. How about we head back to the village and you can tell me all about this favour over a nice cup of tea.’

He pulled a sleeve back to check the time on his watch.

‘Or … as it’s over the yard arm. How about a tot of something more festive?’ He winked and leant in. ‘Gerald said you like a tipple, and I saved some of Fenella’s gin from last year …’

Gerald was in for a bit of a chiding on his return. Was nothing sacred in Angels Cove?

‘… and I’ve got some of that new-fangled, trendy tonic water to go with it, just for you!’

Sold.

‘So, tell me Noel,’ I began, feeling like Dorothy when she’d picked up the scarecrow at the beginning of her own holiday in a strange land, before linking arms and heading down the yellow brick road (albeit with a few more cows in tow). ‘Has anyone ever told you, you look exactly like Father Christmas …?’

***

‘A Tinder profile? That’s what you want help with?’

Noel nodded and handed me a tumbler of gin.

‘I’m struggling to upload a photo. Could you take one on your phone, perhaps of me laying on the sofa …’

‘But, Tinder? Are you sure, because Classic FM have a dating site that’s, well, perhaps more suited …’

He cut me short.

‘I’m younger than I look …’

I doubted it.

‘Ok, well …’ I grabbed my phone. He combed his beard and draped himself across the sofa. ‘Say cheese!’

Noel and I had a lovely couple of hours drinking gin while completing his online dating profile. When I asked what his accepted age bracket for his prospective partner was, he said, ‘Eighteen to forty-five’ which I thought a