It took another hour to carry her possessions from Nick’s car up the stairs into the loft. Suitcases, duffle bags, rucksacks, cardboard boxes, carrier bags, anything and everything she had been able to lay her hands on after her landlord had told her she had only a few hours to pack up and vacate her flat because he had another tenant ready to move in that day.
‘Where do you want me to put these spirits?’ asked Nick, staggering under the weight of a box filled with bottles of vodka, gin and the various liquors she’d bought for Jade’s aborted cocktail-making party.
‘I don’t…’
Chloe was suddenly engulfed by a feeling of complete desolation as she realised that, once again, this move was a temporary solution to her accommodation problems. Tears smarted at her eyes, but she brushed them away, chastising herself for forgetting how fortunate she was to be given the opportunity to stay in such a luxurious place, even if it was for a short time. She could still be sleeping in her car!
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’
‘What about if we store these in the cidery for the time being?’
‘Good idea.’
‘I’ll just go grab the key. Oh, and I’ll put my aunt’s lasagne in the oven, too, unless you’d prefer one of the numerous pies, pasties and casseroles she left for me. I don’t know about you, but I’m ravenous.’
‘Lasagne sounds great, thanks.’
‘No problem. Come on, Mitzy.’
Chloe smiled as she watched Nick stride across the courtyard, his muscular stature outlined against the descending dusk. The sky was a true pandemonium of colours; orange, pink, indigo, violet, as the sun prepared to retire for the day and send out a crescent moon and a scattering of stars in its place. Once again she was enveloped in a feeling of calm, and she was able to consign the earlier wobble at her housing predicament to the back of her mind. There were many, many worse things she could be facing right now and indulging in a bout of self-pity benefitted no one.
She grabbed her coat from the Range Rover’s passenger seat, collected the sturdy plastic box that contained her cocktail-making kit, and was about to head upstairs into the loft to start settling in, when she had an idea. As Nick had done so much for her over the last twenty-four hours for no other reason than he had been in the right place at the right time, she wanted to do something for him to show her appreciation.
When he returned with the key to the cidery, she noticed he’d switched his uncle’s red-checked lumberjack-esque shirt for a smarter pale blue one, cracked open at the neck to reveal just the hint of golden chest hair that caused her senses to sparkle with interest. She had to look away when he crouched down to collect the box of spirits before unlocking the door and stepping inside the cidery.
‘Where’s Mitzy?’
‘In the kitchen eating her supper. Why?’
‘I’ve had an idea.’
She saw Nick’s lips twitch in amusement. ‘Don’t tell me, you think we should start running apple-themed cookery classes at the farmhouse? Or a Christmas version of the Great Cornish Bake Off? Or maybe we should set up a website where people can sponsor a tree and get regular updates on its progress throughout the year, and then, in the autumn, they receive a delivery of their very own apples? Or a crate of fine cider made with those apples? Or a…’
Chloe laughed. ‘No, but those are all excellent ideas to run past your aunt, especially the cookery classes. It’s a great way to bring paying customers to the orchard and there are so many different themes to explore – apple pies, apple cobblers, apple crumbles, apple turnovers, apple jams, apple chutneys, tarte Tatin …’
‘Okay, okay. What did you have in mind for tonight?’
‘I thought I could mix you a pre-dinner cocktail, just to say thank you for… for everything. I genuinely don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been driving along that road last night and decided to rescue a motorist in distress. You didn’t have to call Joe, you didn’t have to give me a lift to the village, and you certainly didn’t have to let me stay here, not to mention allow me to store my stuff here.’
‘It’s what my aunt would have done if she’d been in the driver’s seat,’ said Nick, his cheeks taking on a pink hue at her words of sincere gratitude. ‘But I’d love to taste-test one of your cocktails. Hey, why don’t you make me one of the cocktails you’re planning to offer at the pantomime’s promotional party?’
‘A Christmas cocktail? Are you sure?’ said Chloe in mock horror.
‘I’m prepared to put my personal feelings to one side for the benefit of the village.’
‘Great. Let’s get started!’
Nick collected the box of spirits and together they headed into the farmhouse kitchen where Chloe almost swooned at the delicious aroma of home-made lasagne baking in the oven, along with a distinct scent of cinnamon and cloves emanating from the collection of red and green candles that flickered on the dresser. A soft swirl of jazz music added to the cosy ambience, and she couldn’t help but smile when she saw that Nick had also taken the time to set the table, open the bottle of red wine his aunt had left for him, and cobble together a huge green salad.
She was about to express her gratitude when she realised the tableau laid out in front of her was more akin to a romantic dinner à deux than an ad hoc supper with a new friend, and she was ambushed by a sudden flurry of confusion. Surprisingly flustered, she quickly turned her back on Nick and set about unpacking her cocktail-making equipment, before removing a bottle of shop-bought gin from the cardboard box Nick had carried into the kitchen and selecting two wide-rimmed cocktail glasses.
‘So, what delicious apéritif are we having this evening?’
‘I thought I’d make us one of my seasonal favourites; a Mince Pie Martini.’
Nick laughed. ‘Okay, let’s get shaking!’
Chloe experienced a sudden uptick of pleasure as she surveyed the familiar tools of her trade, comfortable in the knowledge that she possessed the skills required to produce something mouth-wateringly delicious. Nevertheless, she wasn’t so blasé that she wasn’t grateful for the opportunity to practice her repertoire of festive cocktails before hosting what would probably be her biggest cocktail-tasting event to date, not to mention an event upon which so much rested for potentially making it a regular feature at the orchard if Nick could persuade his aunt to diversify into other things.
‘So, for our Mince Pie Martini we use one hundred millilitres of gin, one hundred millilitres of red vermouth, thirty millilitres of dark rum, and a couple of tablespoons of this mincemeat syrup I made myself before… well, when I had access to a kitchen. Do you have any ice in the freezer?’
‘Sure.’
‘And what about a bag of sugar and a jar of mixed spice?’
‘Why don’t you have a look in my aunt’s pantry.’ Nick pointed to a door in the corner of the room that Chloe had assumed was the access to the rear garden and the orchard beyond. ‘I think you’ll find everything you need and more in there.’
When Chloe pulled open the door, her jaw dropped in astonishment. It was a veritable Aladdin’s cave for the home-baker; bags of flour, sugar, rice, pasta and noodles, tins of fruit, vegetables, soup, corned beef and tuna, and shelf upon shelf of herbs and spices in small, medium and large glasses jars, most of which had hand-written labels glued to them, and many containing ingredients she’d never heard of.
‘Wow, I could spend hours in there!’ said Chloe when she returned to the table clutching a packet of soft brown sugar and a jar of mixed spice. ‘It’s a cook’s paradise! There’re lots of herbs and spices I don’t even recognise. I mean, I’m familiar with Nigella seeds, fenugreek, and bergamot, but what’s amchur powder, and sweet flag, and fairywand, and sunny smile? I love the sound of those last two, though. I’d love to try them in my cocktails.’
Nick’s eyes sparkled at her enthusiasm, and there was something else there, too, something that caused an unexpected frisson of desire to invade her lower abdomen, but she pushed that unfathomable reaction from her mind so she could concentrate on the job at hand.
She measured out the gin, red vermouth and dark rum into the cocktail shaker, added a generous scoop of ice, and handed it to Nick to shake while she coated the rims of the cocktail glasses with the mincemeat syrup and dipped them in the sugar, all the time talking through the process until she was ready to pour their drinks. She finished off with a sprinkle of all-spice and handed one of the glasses to Nick.
‘Cheers!’
Chloe took a sip, savouring the perfect balance of the sweetness of the sugar with the sharpness of the gin and the spiciness of the syrup, which together created an amazingly festive cocktail. She watched Nick carefully as he sampled his own Mince Pie Martini, a little nervous about hearing his opinion.
‘Wow, that’s… Christmas in a glass. You are a genius mixologist.’
Chloe grinned at the compliment. ‘Thanks, Nick.’
‘Okay, time for dinner. I don’t know about you, but my stomach is screaming its objection to my lack of attention to its needs today!’
Using a pair of pink chintzy oven gloves, Nick removed a huge dish of bubbling lasagne from the oven and placed it on a mat in the middle of the kitchen table. He then served them each an extra-large portion before handing Chloe the salad bowl and pouring them a glass of red wine each. Without exchanging another word, they dug in, murmuring their approval until both plates were empty and they sat back in their chairs, replete.
Chloe expelled a long, satisfied sigh.
Maybe it was the food, or the rich, dark red wine, or the soft swirl of jazz music, or the fragrance of freshly ground coffee that Nick was brewing to round off their meal, but, once again, she experienced the sensation of complete contentment, that she was in a place where she was safe from the capricious whims of the outside world.
Mitzy was asleep in her basket, the grandfather clock languidly ticked away the seconds, and as she took a sip of her coffee, Chloe wondered if Nick was experiencing the same feeling of calm serenity. She realised with a jolt that apart from the fact that he was on a sabbatical from work, she knew very little about him, and she was just about to rectify that when he got there first.
‘So, did you always want to own a gin distillery?’
Chloe spluttered with laughter. ‘It wasn’t something I dreamed of doing when I was growing up, if that’s what you mean. My parents wouldn’t have encouraged that! But I do love it, and I can’t wait for the insurance money to come through so I can build on what I created at the beach hut, not just to secure bigger premises and invest in more up-to-date equipment, but to experiment with new, more unusual flavours that I’ve discovered while offering my cocktail-making classes. However, the thing I’m most looking forward to is redesigning my labels, which are a little… well, bland.’
‘Do you enjoy being creative?’
She hesitated. She’d forgotten about Nick’s talent for delving beneath the superficial. In his company, her natural instinct to bat away any kind of personal question with an “I’m fine, thanks” deserted her, replaced with an unassailable urge to be honest. It was unnerving, but refreshing, too.
‘When I was growing up I actually wanted to be an artist.’
‘What kind of artist?’
‘A painter. I wanted to create gigantic canvases, the bigger the better, with lots of drama and bold colours and texture; statement pieces that wouldn’t get lost in a crowd. Art was my favourite subject at school. I adored the teacher – Mrs Dobson – especially when she told me I had exceptional talent and hoped that I would continue my exploration of the various mediums in the sixth form, and then afterwards at one of the London art schools.’
‘And did you?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
This was another question she usually fudged the answer to, but the way Nick was looking at her with his soft brown eyes filled with genuine curiosity made her even more determined to be as open as she could about her hopes and dreams, without straying too far into difficult terrain.
‘When I was choosing which subjects to study for my A levels, my dad… well, he “guided” me – and my sister, Martha – towards the more academic side of the curriculum.’ Chloe paused to take a sip of her coffee to give herself time to pick her words carefully. As a former university lecturer, she knew her father only wanted his children to have the best opportunities in life, and to him that meant getting into a good university. ‘I read law at UCL before sitting my solicitor’s exams at the College of Law in Guildford, which made my dad happy because that was where he’d worked as a senior lecturer teaching chemistry.’
‘Is he still at UCL?’
‘No, he was offered a job at an international pharmaceutical company, earning twice as much as he did at the university. He’s since relocated to California, but he didn’t mind; career success is very important to him, and the new job was a huge step up the ladder. I just wish he didn’t work so hard.’
‘I bet he was proud when you qualified as a solicitor.’
‘Oh, yes, he was thrilled, absolutely thrilled.’
‘So what did he say when you left to start your own gin distillery business in Devon?’
Chloe experienced the familiar sinking feeling that invaded her body whenever she thought of her decision to abandon the legal profession, despite the offer of a junior partnership – or maybe because of it – to do something more creative, more fulfilling, and which took her away from the capital. She had craved a more carefree life, a life in which she was in charge of her own destiny and one in which she wasn’t always fielding questions from her father about the advisability of the decisions she made.
She glanced at Nick who was waiting for her reply.
What would he say if she told him the truth? That she hadn’t told her father about her change in career direction, that she had let him believe that for the last year she’d still been working at Baxter it was like my best friend.’
‘What happened?’
Nick shrugged. ‘Real life happened, I suppose; first there were exams, then climbing the corporate career ladder overtook the rocky pursuit of stardom, and teenage dreams fell by the wayside in favour of new, more achievable – and financially secure – dreams. I haven’t played for years.’
‘Why not?’
‘Too busy, I suppose.’
‘Do you still have your guitar?’
‘No, no I don’t.’
‘Maybe you can borrow one while you’re down here in Cornwall.’
Chloe didn’t know what reaction she expected to her suggestion, but it wasn’t the zip of terror that flashed across Nick’s face. Clearly it was more than simply a busy lifestyle that had prevented Nick from pursuing something he’d loved, and clearly still did.
‘More coffee?’ asked Nick, jumping from his seat, his barriers well and truly up.
‘No thanks. Shall we make a start on the washing up?’
‘Leave it with me. You looked exhausted.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
Chloe had the feeling that their conversation had skated too close for comfort as far as Nick was concerned, and she wondered if the placid ambience she experienced when she entered the farmhouse kitchen had extended its reach to Nick, too. She was torn; she wanted to offer him a listening ear, but she didn’t want to pry.
However, she also didn’t want to open herself up to any further exploration of her own secrets, secrets she hadn’t shared with her friends, never mind someone she had just met. So, she thanked Nick for his hospitality, gave Mitzy a goodnight pat on the head, then strolled back across the courtyard to the loft where she slid beneath the covers with a sigh of appreciation.
Everyone had issues they found it difficult to talk about, and everyone dealt with that reticence in a different way, a way that worked for them. Sometimes it took weeks to utter the first agonising word or sentence, sometimes it took months, and for some people it took years. Some people preferred not to talk about their trauma at all, and that was fine, too.
She had no idea what category Nick fell into, but she knew he’d endured heartache. She just didn’t know what had caused it, and she hoped that by spending time away from the treadmill of his hectic life in Guildford, he’d find the strength to share his pain and start to heal.
And maybe she would, too.