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‘Oh, goodness!’ Her laughter peeled out. ‘Oh, dear, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me.’
Rhys heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that! I’m sorry, Lydia, it’s not that you’re not an attractive woman, I mean of course you are…’
‘And you’re a very handsome man, which of course helps tremendously when it comes to these kinds of arrangements. Poor Grizzy’s husband is such a dull little weed, and those teeth? Ugh!’ She shuddered. ‘I don’t know how she lets him anywhere near her, but at least we wouldn’t have any problem in that department.’
Was he going mad? ‘Look, Lydia, I really don’t understand what you’re driving at here.’ He rather feared that he did, but it didn’t seem possible. ‘Are you talking about the two of us?’
‘Getting married. Yes, exactly.’
‘But we don’t even know each other.’
‘We’ve known each other since we were children.’ She folded her arms and cast a critical eye up and down him. ‘I’m not angling for a love-match if that’s what you’re worried about. All I ask is that you’re civil to me and kind when the time comes and we need to start a family. Other than that, I won’t mind much what you get up to as long as you’re discreet about it.’
He really had stumbled into the twilight zone. Not only was she suggesting they get married, but she was all but giving him carte blanche to be unfaithful. What the hell kind of upbringing had she had if this was her idea of an acceptable relationship? ‘I’m sure you’d have your choice of partners.’ He hadn’t just been polite when he’d told her she was attractive, but acknowledging that as a fact and feeling a personal attraction to someone were two very different things. If this was an example of the way she thought, then Rhys was absolutely sure they would not make a successful match. ‘I don’t understand why you’ve approached me.’
She shrugged. ‘Daddy’s been making noises about my age and Hugo’s getting married next year. I’ve been the mistress at our estate since Mummy passed and I’m not looking forward to ceding my place to someone else.’
‘So you thought you’d come here and be mistress instead?’
‘Why not? And look at it this way, if we did get married then you wouldn’t have to keep messing around with these open days and what-not.’ She made a disparaging gesture towards a poster stuck in the café window advertising their Easter activities. ‘I’m sure Daddy would make a most handsome settlement to whomever I marry, and I hold a considerable income in my own right left to me by my mother.’
She was looking at him as though she’d just dealt him a winning hand, but all he could feel was incredibly sorry for her. Imagine thinking the only way you could find a husband was to basically try and sell yourself to them. ‘I’m sorry, Lydia, but I’m not the right man for you. I wish you well and I hope one day you’ll find a man who will appreciate you for your many personal attributes and not for the value of your inheritance.’
Instead of looking upset, she merely shook her head. ‘I thought you had more sense than the rest of your family, but I see you are as hopelessly romantic as the rest of them.’
If that was supposed to be an insult, she really didn’t know him at all. ‘Take care, Lydia.’
She pulled a pen out of her coat pocket and, before Rhys realised what she was planning, she closed the gap between them, grasped his wrist and scribbled a row of numbers on the back of his hand. ‘My mobile,’ she said as she stepped back. ‘It’s the best way to get hold of me if you should change your mind.’
Rhys barely resisted the urge to scrub his hand on the back of his jeans. His skin felt dirty, and he wanted nothing more than to wash it off. ‘I have to go.’
Lydia gave him one more up-and-down look that made him feel like a prize bull at market. ‘Think about it. In time you’ll come to see it makes sense for both of us.’ Before he could reply she turned on her heel and strode across the courtyard towards the visitors’ car park, her long dark hair swinging in a perfect curtain down her back.
‘There you are! What took you so long? Is that Lydia? What was she doing here?’
Rhys turned to where his father was standing, hands on hips, in the distillery doorway. His hair was all over the place and there was a dark stain on the front of his faded denim shirt, which wasn’t like him at all. Rhys glanced back to watch Lydia exit the car park in her shiny little sports car. ‘She came to see Jason about getting a saddle repaired, that’s all.’ He didn’t need to know about the rest of it. ‘Forget about her, Dad.’ Because Rhys was going to do his damn best to. ‘I couldn’t get enough fresh fruit, so I’ve bought some concentrated juice as well, I hope that’s okay?’
‘It’ll have to do. I haven’t got time to worry about it.’
Rhys handed the bag over and placed an arm around his father’s shoulders. ‘I’m here now, shall I give you a hand?’
Zap slung his free arm around his son’s waist. ‘I wouldn’t say no because everything I’ve touched this morning has turned to absolute shit, but haven’t you got places to be?’
Rhys cast a quick glance back over his shoulder towards his car full of shopping. It was barely above freezing and there was nothing that was going to come to any harm if it sat in the boot for a bit longer. There was loads to do around the farm, but then again there always was. Denny would call him if any problems cropped up.
It was past time to look beyond the day-to-day stuff and start planning properly for the future. If things worked out with finding a manager for the campsite, perhaps he should have a think about the set-up at the farm as well. Young Mikey Dobbs was due to finish his training course at the agricultural college that summer, maybe he’d be interested in a trainee management position? Making a mental note to chat to Ziggy about it, Rhys turned back to his father. ‘I’ve always got time for you, Dad.’
4
The christening went off without a hitch. Even Mason behaved himself once he was allowed to join the group gathered around the font, holding Tasha’s hand and watching on as the vicar blessed the baby. There’d been a near miss when he’d reached his free hand towards the water, intent on doing a little blessing of his own, no doubt. Thankfully, Jonny had whipped him up out of harm’s way and plonked Mason on his shoulders while they finished the formalities of the service.
It was only a short distance to her parents’ house, and most guests had opted to leave their cars in the church car park. Leaving the guests to mingle, Tasha had followed her dad back and parked near the top of the drive facing towards the road where she couldn’t be blocked in. Having chucked her overnight bag on her bed and removed her jacket, she nipped into the bathroom to wash her hands and headed down to the kitchen to help out with whatever her mum needed doing.
For the next hour, Tasha was happy to stay in the background while her parents played host. She ferried bottles and cans from the half-dozen ice-filled cold boxes stacked against the wall in the utility room next to the kitchen, rinsed the empties and placed them in the recycling bins outside. Once everyone had a drink and had been ushered out into the marquee, Tasha, her mum and a couple of her mum’s close friends uncovered the trays of finger food a local caterer had delivered earlier that morning. Tasha hoped no one had brought an appetite with them because there didn’t look to be nearly enough for the number of guests.
‘Can you get me some bowls out, Tash?’ her father asked as he passed her on his way out to the utility room.
Tasha bent and pulled open the cupboard beneath the counter she’d been standing in front of and surveyed the neatly stacked piles of bowls and dishes in every size. Nothing was ever out of place in Victoria Blake’s kitchen. Even the plastic storage boxes on the bottom shelf all had their matching lids, proving to Tasha’s mind that her mother had done a deal with Satan at some point because how else to explain such an unnatural thing? She glanced back over her shoulder towards her dad, who had returned with several multipacks of snacks loaded in his arms. ‘Which ones do you want?’
