The Country Escape - Jane Lovering Page 0,44

kitchen door and stood, backlit by the ferocious set lights. ‘Is that the van owner turned up? Oh, good, now we can get permission to use it and the horse. I’ll go and talk to her.’

‘I’d give her a minute,’ Gabriel said. ‘She’s only just arrived.’

‘I’d give her about forty years,’ I said, snidely. ‘And even then I wouldn’t expect her to be polite.’

‘Oh dear.’ Keenan stepped back into the kitchen. ‘Well, I’m sure I can work my charm on her, but you’re right, we’ll let her settle in first.’

‘She wants a cup of tea.’ I went and shook the kettle, more of a reflex action than anything else because at least four men were sitting around the table with steaming mugs in front of them. ‘Maybe you could take it to her? Break the ice that way?’

‘Good idea.’ Keenan began making more tea, while everyone around the table stared at Gabriel and I as though we were interrupting something.

‘I’m going to get dressed.’ I adjusted the dressing gown, grateful for my sturdy ‘bloody cold bedroom’ pyjamas. ‘And then I’m going to leave you to it.’

They continued to stare.

‘Gabriel, you can liaise with your lady about the van and horse,’ Keenan said, shaking biscuits onto a plate. ‘Introduce me, give me a hand with the practicalities.’

Gabriel looked as though he was about to object for a moment, threw a quick glance at me, and then looked at his feet. ‘Of course,’ he said, and then his eyes came back up to me again and I saw a look that held a little betrayal in it and I wasn’t sure why. ‘And then I’ll head back to Steepleton, if that’s okay, Kee.’

‘If you want a lift, I’ll be going down that way,’ I found myself saying, although I’d actually been planning a drive to Dorchester, to the supermarket. ‘I need to pick up a few bits in the shop.’

Gabriel gave me a long, steady look. ‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

I’d hurt him, that much was clear. But I wasn’t really quite sure how.

Christmas Steepleton was quiet when I arrived. There were the usual crew lorries and vans around the little harbour, but they’d finished filming on the beach, so the equipment wasn’t in evidence.

I parked at the end of the road, in the little car park that overlooked the sea, and took some deep breaths. To my left, the shops ran along the road that hung above the beach, restrained only by some railings from actually falling onto the beach huts below. To my right, the harbour was full of fishing boats, twisting and clanging at anchor on a high tide, some vicious-looking seagulls bobbing alongside them in the chilly water. The coast stretched away to either side, nibbled to bays and cliffs by the waves, which clonked and hushed benignly in the still air, looking incapable of the resculpting of the geography they clearly carried out in worse weather.

There was nobody about. Unsurprising really, as the day was still full of shifting grey air. Not the thick mist that had enveloped the morning, but a dusting of water that blocked most of the further view beyond the cliff edges and made sure any surfaces were dotted with condensation, although not quite enough to stop my windscreen wipers from squeaking like tortured stoats against the glass.

I got out of the car and was almost instantly soaked. Umbrellas would be useless against this damp, which came at you sideways like sea ghosts, so I hunched my shoulders in my town-adequate jacket, pulled my hood around my ears, and walked up towards the inviting lights of the shops with my hands deep in my pockets.

I hadn’t needed to go to Dorchester. The larder was still full from the online shop I’d had delivered a few days ago – although I wouldn’t have put it past the crew to have had a party and eaten all the crisps, and Keenan to have discovered my eighty-five per cent chocolate, even though I’d hidden it behind the dusters. If anyone ever found the half bottle of vodka that I kept for extreme emergencies, life would become impossible.

I just wanted some fresh fruit, possibly some vegetables, although Poppy seemed to regard anything less fancy than pak choi to be inedible. If I chopped them up small and put them in the slow cooker she could sometimes be persuaded to eat carrots and celery, but only if they were fresh. So here I was in