‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll have some more after dinner,’ she assured him, gathering her bags and heading for the stairs. ‘Why don’t you open the wine while I go and hang this over a door. We can sit outside and drink it and watch the stars come out.’
‘And light Amy’s candles?’
Candles glimmering in the twilight were the stuff of romance, Willow thought, when what they needed was light, a hundred and fifty watts of it, bright enough to illuminate every corner of their relationship. She paused, her hand on the door latch.
‘You don’t really believe there’s going to be a power cut, do you?’ she asked, evading the question. She yearned for the candles.
‘No chance. It’s summer, light half the night and warm enough to sleep outside. Power cuts come in the middle of the winter when there’s snow on the ground, it’s pitch dark for fifteen hours out of twenty-four and all you want is non-stop soup and hot-water bottles.’
‘Of course. She must have made a mistake.’
Mike heard the catch of disappointment in Willow’s voice as she turned away, and listened to what it was telling him.
And he thought about what Amy had actually said when she’d given them the candles—‘you’ll need them’—that was all. They’d instantly assumed she’d meant a power cut, when what she’d meant was they would need them.
A mistake? ‘Not necessarily, sweetheart,’ he murmured, as Willow headed upstairs. ‘Not necessarily.’
Willow shook out the suit she’d bought for her meeting with Toby Townsend. The skirt was short, the jacket long, the whole effect was city-slicker smart. He couldn’t fail to be impressed.
Which was great.
This was the opportunity of a lifetime. Not a moment for second thoughts. She’d already done the second thoughts bit. Her career was where she wanted it to be. It was the rest of her life that was in turmoil.
She took a shower and was towelling her hair dry at the window, hoping that the gold edged wisps of cloud might inspire her. But life wasn’t like that. If you let life just happen, depended on dreams, you might end up with nightmares.
Planning was what made dreams come true.
Well, she had a plan. It wasn’t perfect, but maybe Mike would be prepared to give it a chance. She combed through her hair and headed downstairs.
The kitchen was empty. The wine had gone. ‘Mike?’
Nothing.
She opened the fridge. The food had gone, too. Even the chocolate. A very grown up game of hide and seek? Grinning, she took out her phone and tapped in, ‘Where are you, Mike?’
She didn’t have to wait long for an answer. ‘You can have me if you can find me.’
Promises, promises. ‘No clues?’
‘Follow your nose.’
Nose? Scent? The candles. She looked around but Amy’s gorgeous little black and gold carrier had gone too. She went to the door and stepped out into the gathering twilight. A few yards away she saw a candle sitting on the path. She picked it up, held it to her nose. Rose otto. To soothe negative emotions.
Actually, there was nothing negative about her feelings for Mike. She was very positive that she wanted him. Right now. She looked around and spotted another candle, at the end of the yard, and a third on the path to the old, walled orchard.
She hadn’t been in there, but Emily had pointed it out to her from the window of the cottages. She’d gone on at great length about how they planned to convert it into a safe-play environment for the children, as if afraid that her volunteer, if left in silence for more than a minute, would dissolve into hysterics.
She opened the old door set into the wall and on the slightest breeze she caught the scent of newly crushed grass, and something more, that was like an old and pleasing memory.
‘Am I getting warm?’ she sent.
‘You tell me.’
Oh, yes. She was warm and getting warmer by the second. She picked up another candle. Palmarosa, this time. To alleviate emotional disharmony. She sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, letting the scent develop in her hand. There had been disharmony. A lot of it. Now everything seemed quite clear. The phone beeped again.
‘Well?’
She smiled. He was getting impatient. She liked that. She liked that a lot.
‘Getting hotter by the yard,’ she told him.
The trail of candles led through the orchard to a small pond. Mike was sitting with his back propped up against an old weeping willow, its trailing leaves stirring in the dark water. His eyes were closed, his cellphone held loosely in his fingers. He tossed it onto the soft grass.
‘What kept you?’ he said.
‘Getting there is half the fun, Mike. The anticipation, the waiting.’
His lids lifted to reveal a gleam of silver-grey beneath his lashes. ‘That sounds promising.’
She sank down beside him, letting the candles fall in a heap between them. ‘Do you have any matches?’
He produced a box from his pocket, opened it and struck one. ‘You see? I’m prepared for every eventuality.’
Red-hot. Burning.
He picked up one of the candles, lit it, then rolled over, stretched out on his stomach, leaning over the edge of the pool to set it adrift.
She lay beside him, holding another for him to light. The wick caught and she held it in the water for a moment, sheltering the flame until it grew tall and steady, making her fingers baby-pink and transparent. The water was cold, the scent sweet, the air utterly still as Mike lit the remainder of the candles and sent them out into the centre of the pool.
‘Magic,’ she said.
‘Did you make a wish?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She glanced at him. ‘Did you?’
‘I prefer to think that I’m in control of my own destiny. Ready for that drink?’
He reached for the bottle and a couple of glasses. ‘Glasses?’ she queried.
‘I brought them from home. I’m tired of the taste of plastic.’
Willow had no answer to that, instead she sipped the lush, buttery chardonnay Mike had bought and watched the flickering flames grow brighter as the night gathered about them.
‘Wouldn’t life be simple if we could stay here for ever?’ Willow said finally, rolling over onto her back.
‘Life is simple. It’s people who are complicated.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’ve been thinking—’
‘Dangerous on an empty stomach.’ Willow didn’t want to get involved in complications right now. She just wanted a beautiful, simple evening, that would go with her beautiful, simple idea. ‘I was promised smoked salmon.’
For a moment he looked as if he was ready to push it. Then he shrugged and sat up. ‘Smoked salmon,’ he said, reaching into a carrier. ‘Bread,’ he said, tearing a small flat loaf in two. ‘And cream cheese.’ He handed her a knife.
‘Avocado?’
‘Help yourself,’ he said, waving at the bag.
‘Cherries?’
‘The peaches were hard.’
‘This is perfect.’
They had eaten the bread and Willow had settled against the crook of Mike’s body, his warmth at her back, his arm looped around her waist as he fed her sweet, dark cherries.
‘You’re