Wickham Hall, Part 2 Page 9

  At fifteen minutes to one I presented myself, a bit nervously, at the VIP tent, where I had been told that Ben was unveiling his photographic exhibition to Lord and Lady Fortescue.

  Large screens had been erected along the back of the tent. They were covered collage-style in a timeline of large photographs from 1984 onwards. It had taken Ben hours to do and I knew how happy he was with the result and by the expressions on his parents’ faces so were they.

  I kept in the background and waited for an opportune moment to interrupt while Ben talked them through how he’d found all the old pictures.

  ‘Bravo, Benedict!’ Lord Fortescue beamed.

  ‘Darling, it’s wonderful!’ Lady Fortescue exclaimed, resting her fingertips on her lips. ‘You couldn’t have expressed your commitment to the family in a stronger way.’

  ‘It was your commitment that I wanted to celebrate, Mum,’ Ben insisted. ‘You two had a vision for Wickham Hall and made it the success it is.’

  ‘But it took us years, Benedict, thirty years,’ Lord Fortescue pointed out. ‘It didn’t happen overnight and you’ll bring your own personality to the hall, just as every other Fortescue has.’

  ‘No, Dad,’ Ben shook his head vehemently, ‘I couldn’t compete with what you’ve achieved.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Lord Fortescue retorted. ‘The estate is ready for new blood.’

  ‘I think that might be going a bit far, Hugo,’ Lady Fortescue chided gently. ‘I adore being lady of the manor at these things.’

  ‘No, no,’ Lord Fortescue shook his head, ‘we’re ready for a quiet life away from the public eye. All Benedict needs to do is—’

  ‘Dad, let’s not get into this today,’ Ben interrupted, ruffling a hand through his hair.

  I decided that this was probably a good time to intervene and cleared my throat.

  ‘Hello, Holly.’ Lady Fortescue smiled. ‘You look as though you’re enjoying the festival, you’re rather flushed.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Lady Fortescue, very much.’ I pressed a hand to my hot face – actually, my clammy face. ‘I wondered if I might borrow Lord Fortescue? It’s time for the charity auction.’

  Sheila had advised me to collect him personally rather than just let him know what time he needed to be there. ‘It’s not that he deliberately misses things. I don’t think, anyway,’ she’d added. ‘He’s just easily distracted and of course he’s hard of hearing.’

  She had also said that I shouldn’t accept any excuses from him not to come with me, that it was a time-honoured tradition that he introduced the first few lots at the auction and the charity depended on the exuberant bidding that his presence produced.

  ‘Yes, Hugo, you must go,’ Lady Fortescue said, brushing the lapels of her husband’s blazer.

  ‘Good lord!’ stuttered Lord Fortescue, running a hand over his hair. He was staring at the mobile phone in his hand.

  I suppressed a smile; whenever he said that it always seemed to me as if he was patting himself on the back for a good deed.

  ‘What is it, Hugo?’ Lady Fortescue enquired affectionately.

  ‘A hoopoe!’ He gazed around, a look of joy on his face. ‘I don’t believe it! A hoopoe, Beatrice! This is indeed a special day.’

  He grabbed her face and kissed her cheeks.

  He was such a sweetie, I thought.

  ‘A who what?’ Ben laughed and rolled his eyes at me. I grinned back.

  ‘Just had a text from a birding chum. There’s a Madagascan hoopoe heading this way, apparently.’ He whipped his head up from his phone and dropped it in his pocket. ‘Must have been aiming for southern Europe and overshot. Right. I’m off.’

  He began to stride to the exit of the marquee, muttering under his breath about this being such a rare treat. ‘Oh,’ he whirled round and tapped his nose, ‘mum’s the word, though. Don’t mention it to a soul. We don’t want all and sundry turning up with their binoculars.’

  My shoulders sagged and a sudden wave of tiredness flooded me. ‘But the auction . . .’

  ‘Come on.’ Ben grabbed me and steered me towards the edge of the marquee away from the Fortescues’ gathered guests. ‘This isn’t like you. What’s up?’

  ‘Your father is supposed to start the bidding in the auction. It’s a time-honoured tradition, apparently. What am I going to tell the charity?’ I pressed a hand to my hot face. Lady Fortescue was right: I was flushed.

  Ben grinned at me and shrugged. ‘I’ll do it instead. How hard can it be?’

  I could have kissed him. ‘Thank you,’ I breathed. ‘Gosh, I’m so hot, can we get out of this tent?’

  ‘Sure,’ he frowned, leading me outside.

  ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ I said weakly, as we made our way to the indoor arena.

  He nudged me with his elbow. ‘I knew it. I knew I would crack that steely exterior one day.’

  ‘Me?’ I said, feeling peculiar all of a sudden. The people around me were zooming in and out of focus and they sounded like they were underwater. ‘I’m as soft as . . . as . . .’

  And then everything went black.

  Chapter 10

  I don’t know. One minute she was talking and the next . . . blurrgh. Sunstroke . . . On her feet all day . . . St John Ambulance . . . Can someone fetch some water . . .?

  Muffled voices floated above me from miles away, across the sea maybe or down the telephone. Someone shook me gently and I groaned, not wanting to wake up, and then one voice pierced through the general noise.

  ‘Holly? Holly, can you hear me?’

  When I opened my eyes I was lying on the ground. A crowd had formed around me but there was Ben, hovering over me, his nose almost touching mine. The sun was directly behind him, glinting through his curls. The brightness hurt my eyes and I had to squint to look up at him.

  ‘Hello again.’ He was grinning and I made an attempt to smile back. ‘You had me going for a second there.’

  He was kneeling beside me, holding one of my hands.

  ‘What happened?’ I croaked.

  ‘You took one look at my chiselled jaw and fainted.’

  I made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and tried to remember what knickers I was wearing in case my dress had ridden up.

  Ben addressed the sea of faces that was still looming above me. ‘I think she’s OK, folks. Let’s just give her some air.’

  The crowd melted away and he searched around on the ground for my dropped radio and turned away while he spoke to someone. I took the opportunity to check out the dress situation; it was fine. I may have lost my dignity by collapsing in public, but at least my choice of lingerie was still a private concern. I patted my dress pocket; my phone was still there.

  ‘Holly, do you think you need medical attention?’ Ben asked.

  I shook my head, which really hurt. ‘Ouch. I don’t think so. Just take me somewhere cool. And quiet,’ I whispered, clutching my forehead. More than anything I wanted to be out of the heat and out of public view. I’d chosen a particularly busy place to faint – in the aisle between the indoor arena and the children’s face-painting stand – and people were rubbernecking as they passed by.

  He grinned. ‘There’s a pub I know off the Portobello Road . . .’

  I pushed myself up to sitting and chuckled, making myself feel woozy again. ‘Oh, head rush.’

  Ben winced. ‘Sorry. Just hold on, I’ll get you out of here.’

  He radioed for one of the refuse collectors to come to our location, which was slightly worrying, and then helped me to my feet, keeping one of his arms around my waist. He led me to the edge of the aisle, out of the path of onlookers.

  I remembered the charity auction with a jolt.

  ‘You need to go. Auction starting,’ I mumbled, my dry mouth fumbling to form a sentence.

  A lady arrived with a bottle of water and I took it gratefully. The cold liquid ran straight down my throat and into my empty stomach and made me shiver.

  ‘Do you think I’d leave you on your own when you
’ve got a green face?’ he chided softly and nodded towards the face-painting stand. ‘You look like you’ve asked for a “Kermit”.’

  ‘Green?’

  He nodded. ‘I’d ask for a refund if I were you, it appears to be fading already.’

  ‘Good.’ I took another sip of water and exhaled. ‘That’s better. I’ve got my power of speech back.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Ben winced. ‘Anyway, I can’t go anywhere; you’re gripping me too tight.’

  ‘Am I?’ I looked down to where my fingers were leaving white marks on his wrist and eased off slightly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘And forget the auction; the chap from the charity is sorting it out. Oh look, your chariot awaits.’

  A quad bike pulled up beside us and one of the refuse collectors jumped down and handed Ben the keys.

  ‘Cheers, mate. I’ll leave it up at the hall.’

  The driver scooped up the bin liners full of rubbish from the back of the quad bike and Ben helped me up to the rear part of the seat, climbing on in front of me. We set off slowly through the crowd towards the exit, Ben tooting the horn at people in our path, me clasping my arms loosely around him. I inhaled his familiar citrusy scent and allowed myself to relax against him for a moment before remembering something . . .

  I tapped his back. ‘Ben! The itinerary, my clipboard!’

  I must have left it on the path where I fell.

  He shook his head. ‘Forget the clipboard. For once, OK? Just—’

  ‘If you dare say “live for the moment”, I might have to thump you,’ I grumbled.

  ‘And normal service is resumed.’ Ben laughed and I felt the vibrations through his ribs and into my arms.

  We drove on, taking the long route as Ben tried to avoid the bumps across the parkland and away from the noise of the festival and the bustling crowds and on towards the hall. The plume of the fountain sparkled ahead of us and I sat quietly, enjoying the ride, as my body gradually returned to normal. This was better, I thought, leaning my cheek against his back, definitely much better.

  Ben would probably have to drop me at the hall and then go straight back to his duties at the festival and I realized that I didn’t want him to leave me. Not just yet.

  ‘Do you mind if we don’t go back to the hall?’ I said over his shoulder. ‘Can we go to the sunken garden instead?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Ben changed direction and we headed left past the maze and the wild flower meadow and he stopped the quad bike at the edge of the sunken garden. This was my favourite part of the grounds; it was the furthest away from the hall and very restful. Even today when there were thousands of extra visitors at Wickham Hall, it was very quiet: just one or two groups of people strolled amongst the paths and under flower-covered arches.

  ‘You look much better, I’m glad to report,’ Ben said, helping me down from the leather seat. ‘Your freckles are back. They disappeared for a few minutes under the green.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Benedict.’ I grinned.

  ‘You had me really worried.’ He frowned.

  What a sweetie. He looked genuinely concerned and I leaned forward to give him a hug when I remembered: Ben was my boss, he felt duty-bound to look after me. That was all. My heart drooped a little.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, giving him a bright smile. ‘I’m fine now. I’d been rushing around in the heat and I hadn’t had anything to drink; all my own silly fault.’

  I turned and walked down the wide stone steps that led to the cool shade of the sunken garden and onto the gravel path and Ben followed behind. My legs still felt a bit wobbly and when we reached an oak bench I sank down immediately.

  Ben sat beside me, sighing contentedly. ‘Well, this is nice,’ he said, stretching out his legs.

  I looked sideways at him and grinned. ‘I give you thirty seconds before you start jiggling your leg or pulling leaves off that ivy.’

  ‘No, no,’ he said, sliding up the bench towards me. He took hold of my wrist and pretended to take my pulse. ‘I’m quite happy to do my doctor bit for a while longer. Let’s just sit here quietly. I want to be completely sure you’ve recovered before either of us goes anywhere. If that’s all right with you?’

  His habitual grin had been replaced with a solemn gaze and I nodded slowly at him. It was just as well he wasn’t a real doctor: my pulse was galloping and my legs were even more wobbly now that his firm thigh was pressed up against mine.

  I hadn’t been this close to a man for ages. My last boyfriend had been Simon the fitness instructor from Eden Spa and that had finished over a year ago. There was my dentist, of course. He was a man. And he made my pulse race, but only in a scary, what-are-you-doing-with-that-drill sort of way. This was a more delicious type of racing. It was nice. Better than nice. My insides felt quivery in a good way and I had fizzing sensations in my stomach that I hadn’t felt for a long, long time.

  ‘Well, that all seems to be in order,’ Ben said, releasing my wrist. ‘My mouth’s gone a bit dry, do you mind . . .?’

  He gestured towards my water bottle and I handed it over. He began to unscrew the lid and I stared at it, wondering if he would wipe it before putting it to his lips.

  He didn’t.

  My lips had touched that bottle. Oh my God, what was I thinking? I felt my face flush.

  ‘So that’s two of your wishes I’ve made come true: watching the sunrise and riding a quad bike.’ He raised a smug eyebrow and took another sip of water.

  ‘Quite the genie, aren’t you? If I rub your lamp will you grant me my third wish?’

  Was it just me or did that sound rude?

  Ben choked on his water. Maybe not just me.

  I took the bottle from him and swigged at it to cover my embarrassment and managed to slosh water on my chin. He leaned across and wiped the drips away with his thumb. One of his curls, like an uncoiled spring, fell over his eye and without thinking, I brushed it away.

  We were inches apart. Touching each other’s faces.

  ‘You want a third wish?’ he murmured. ‘And what would that be?’

  We both lowered our hands and stared at each other and my breath caught in my throat.

  I had only known Ben for a month. One month since he burst into my life, trouserless, outside his sister’s wedding. Not long at all. And yet so much had changed. I didn’t mean all the stuff I now knew about Mum and my father. I meant me. I felt a brighter, more alive version of myself when he was around. It was almost impossible to remember what I used to smile about before he arrived.

  And suddenly I knew what my third wish would be: I wished I had the courage to lean forward and kiss him. Or even better for him to kiss me. Or both, in which case that would be wishes three and four . . .

  But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? He was just being kind because I’d fainted. I might have to resort to fainting more often. Maybe that should be my wish . . . a daily faint into Ben’s arms.

  ‘Earth to Holly?’ Ben grinned.

  I stood up and pulled him to his feet, breaking the moment before my thoughts strayed into more dangerous territory. ‘We should be getting back to the festival.’

  ‘Come on, what’s your third wish? I want to know your deepest desires,’ he persisted, taking my arm and linking it through his. ‘And no, we shouldn’t. Doctor Benedict’s orders.’

  I looked down at our joined arms.

  ‘In case you still feel weak.’ One side of his mouth lifted in a sheepish smile and a little bubble of joy burst inside me.

  ‘Um, my deepest desires?’ I mused aloud. Your lips on mine. Right now. Better not tell him that. Might make Monday morning in the office a tad awkward, I’d have to think of something else. ‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.’

  ‘Deal.’ He shot me a cheeky grin. ‘You first.’

  We headed towards a trellised walkway laced with thousands of delicate wisteria fronds, a froth of lilac on every side. It was breathtakingly beautiful but it was a bit lost on me because Ben’s arm was t
ouching mine and my stomach was all fluttery and—

  I pulled myself back sharply from my reverie. What was I doing, getting all tingly about Ben? This was Benedict Fortescue, the next lord of Wickham Hall, and I was Holly Swift from Weaver’s Cottage; he was so far out of my league it was laughable. Only I didn’t feel like laughing . . . I let out a tiny moan.

  ‘Holly?’ Ben’s voice was soft with concern. ‘You’re not feeling faint again, are you?’

  ‘Sleeping in a four-poster bed,’ I blurted. ‘Waking up at Wickham Hall in a four-poster bed. That was always my dream when I was a little girl. There. That’s my third wish.’

  We had reached the end of the wisteria walkway and Ben stopped and turned to me.

  ‘You ask a lot of your genie.’ His deep brown eyes twinkled at me. ‘But it can be arranged.’

  Something in his tone made the heat rise to my face and it dawned on me that I’d effectively just asked for a sleepover at his house.

  He must think I’m a lunatic.

  ‘Thank you for looking after me, for rescuing me, but I really must get back to the festival,’ I stuttered, untangling myself from his arm.

  He caught hold of my hand and raised an eyebrow. ‘Not so fast, Miss Swift. You haven’t heard my wish yet.’

  I exhaled, trying to calm my breathing, and smiled. ‘Of course. How rude.’

  He stepped closer and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. ‘I wish you’d have dinner with me. On Saturday night.’

  ‘Dinner?’ I swallowed. Dinner to celebrate the end of the festival or dinner as in a date? ‘Why?’

  He chuckled and scuffed his toe on the ground and then gave me the sweetest, shyest smile I’d ever seen. My insides melted and I was very tempted to cover his lips with wishes three, four, five and possibly six.

  ‘I like you. Very much. And everything I know about you so far has only made me more intrigued and I want to get to know you better. Plus,’ he paused and held my gaze, ‘you’re so single-minded and determined about everything and I find that very . . . appealing.’

  You know when you roast a marshmallow over an open fire and your face goes pink from the heat and then you bite into the middle and it’s all gooey? Well, all of that.