Summer of Love (4 page)

Sian looked at Rory, wondering if they should go too when Fiona said, ‘While you’re here, Sian, come and look at the barn and see what you think.’

The barn was full of furniture – Fiona hadn’t been exaggerating – and as Sian followed her between wardrobes, tables, cupboards and upturned chairs she realised it would make an ideal space to work in – without quite so much in it, of course.

‘Who does all this belong to?’ she asked Fiona.

‘Various people. A lot of it can be just got rid of, but there are some family pieces the boys should have a look at, to see if they want them. Some of it’s my ex’s – my second husband’s. That can all go. I do need this space cleared,’ Fiona said with a frown. ‘I shouldn’t be hanging on to all this stuff.’

‘You need a life-laundry person to come and counsel you over every oversized chest of drawers and convince you that you’ve moved on from it.’

Fiona smiled but Sian sensed she’d stumbled on a germ of truth.

‘I could help you,’ Sian went on. She didn’t want to sound mercenary but the barn would be a perfect workspace. ‘Pure self-interest, of course. I might like the furniture to paint and I’d definitely like the barn to work in.’

‘Although,’ said Fiona cautiously, ‘as I said before, if Angus discovers he can’t live in the same house with me, he might want me to convert it into living space.’

Sian brushed away an unexpected flicker of resentment for the absent Angus. He was Fiona’s son: of course he should have first dibs on the barn. ‘Well, that would be OK. I’ll still help,’ she said magnanimously.

‘Would you?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’ve done a lot of clearing in the house. I’ve sorted out loads and loads of books; a whole library, in fact. Though I haven’t gone near the attic.’ Fiona sighed. ‘It’s not that I want to move, I don’t, at all, but it’s a huge house, I’m only one person, I’m rather rattling around in it and, much as I do like my space, I can’t help feeling the boys might like to have a bit of capital now, rather than waiting for me to pop my clogs. Although Russell’s well set up in Montreal.’

‘Oh.’ Fiona seemed as far away from popping her clogs as Sian herself did.

‘I’ve found a shop that might take a lot of the books. Second-hand – or rather “antiquarian” – books are mostly sold on the internet these days. This man sells them. I’m going to take a selection over soon.’

Sian had spotted something. ‘Oh, a nest of tables.’

‘I hate nests of tables,’ Fiona exclaimed. ‘I know they’re useful but I just hate them.’

‘Why don’t I paint them for you, all with different flowers or something, and you could put them in different rooms?’

Fiona laughed. ‘OK. My ex-husband would be livid at the thought of his dead aunt’s nest being painted with flowers. However, as he left them here and has shown absolutely no interest in reclaiming them, what he thinks is of little consequence to us!’

Sian’s imagination was already fired up. ‘Not too many flowers, of course, and I’d put some sort of glaze on before I started. What about a sort of pale clay colour? That would set off the flowers beautifully.’

Fiona was amused at the younger woman’s enthusiasm over a nest of tables. ‘Just you do what you think best. If I hate them I could give them to my friend to sell. She’s got a shop in Fairsham. You know the kind: it sells things you don’t really need but can’t resist buying.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’ve even bought stuff from there myself. She’d be a really good contact for you. I must get you together. Her name’s Margaret Tomlin. Her shop is called something like Eclectica. You should have a look if you ever get the chance.’ Fiona paused but before Sian could reply she continued, ‘Hey, I’ve had an idea. I’ve been meaning to have a dinner party. I can invite Margaret and introduce you both. I’ve been wanting to welcome you properly into the village. This is the perfect way. I’ll get on to it straightaway.’

‘A retail outlet would be good,’ said Sian cautiously, less certain about the dinner party. She wasn’t sure she was ready to be launched into village life yet, although she had enjoyed meeting Jody. She much preferred more informal occasions. She climbed over a chair and headed for a corner. ‘Look at that cupboard – perfect for a child’s bedroom. I can just see it with delicate trails of ivy climbing up it and a tiny row of antique baby equipment along the top.’

‘That sounds nice,’ said Fiona, looking at the cupboard with renewed interest. ‘Maybe I’d rather have that. It was my aunt’s.’

‘How did you come to be left with so much furniture?’ Sian asked.

‘Easy,’ said Fiona. ‘Whenever anyone died or people didn’t know what to do with anything they said, “Fiona lives in that huge house, she’ll store it for us.” But no one ever took anything away again.’

‘Abso-bloody-lutely!’ Sian replied, looking out across a sea of assorted bits and pieces that lined the barn from ceiling to floor. There really was a daunting amount of stuff. ‘Now, please, put me out of my misery and tell me about the internet-dating thing!’

‘It’s Luella’s fault!’ said Fiona. ‘She put me on a site where you recommend your friends. She did ask my permission, but only after she’d done it.’ Fiona shook her head slightly. ‘I think what really clinched it was that she had a very flattering photograph of me, taken when I was staying with her. I was laughing and playing with her dog. A good look for the more mature woman. When I saw it I thought, why not?’

Sian hesitated. ‘I wouldn’t describe you as more mature. I mean – That’s not to say I think you’re immature, what I mean is you’re like my mother, you wear jeans and funky jewellery and you’re fun. More mature sounds, well, old.’

‘Ridiculous as it sounds, I only feel about eighteen a lot of the time.’ Fiona frowned. ‘And goodness knows what Angus would say about me internet dating.’

‘But surely, anything that made you happy …?’

‘Yes, but my boys don’t trust my taste in men. We all had an awful time when I married my second husband.’

‘But you’re not going to marry anyone,’ Sian pointed out, ‘just have a good time.’

‘That’s exactly what Luella said,’ Fiona replied with a smile as she led Sian out of the barn to a bench in the courtyard. Rory played happily with the trains as they watched.

‘So, you need me to do you a favour?’ said Sian. ‘To do with the internet dating?’

Fiona laughed. ‘To be honest, you’re doing me a favour not dying of shock.’

‘Well, everyone seems to be doing it these days,’ Sian said in a reassuring tone (not that she could think of a single person she knew who had). ‘But there’s more to it?’

Fiona nodded. ‘Just a bit. It’s a safety thing. I’ve got a date and I need someone to know where I’m going and who I’m with and when I should be back, that sort of thing.’

Although she’d only met her the day before, Sian secretly felt that Fiona could handle any situation, however precarious, but didn’t voice her thoughts. She would be very happy to help someone who had been so welcoming in any way she could. ‘No problem. So where are you going?’

‘We’re going to an antiques fair. I mentioned that I liked them and he said there was one on and why didn’t we go together? As it’s not too far, I said yes.’ Fiona paused. ‘I can’t remember the last time I’ve been out with a man like that.’

‘That sounds a perfect first date.’ Sian smiled enthusiastically. It must be nerve-racking, but exciting too. Just for a second she wondered if her life was rather lacking in excitement. It was full and productive but not exactly spine-tingling. And here was a woman her mother’s age who wasn’t afraid to get out there and try something different. Fiona put her to shame.

‘I hope so. And you don’t mind texting me during the date so I can alert you if I need rescuing? Which I won’t, of course. I can just walk out and go home if I’m unhappy. But they do say it’s better to be safe …’

‘Of course. How much chance will you have to get to know each other at an antiques fair, though?’ Sian asked.

‘Enough, I should think. But there is one thing …’

‘Go on.’ Whatever it was seemed to be bothering Fiona.

‘Well, on the dating site and in all the emails and phone calls we’ve exchanged, there’s one thing they won’t tell you and doesn’t show on photographs …’

‘What, chemistry?’ Sian understood this. To her it seemed that good sexual chemistry was possibly a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

‘No, although of course you’re right about that. What I’m worried about is much more mundane.’ She paused. ‘Bad breath. Have you ever noticed how many older men seem to have it?’

‘I hadn’t, actually.’ Once again Sian marvelled at the way Fiona’s mind worked. She was wonderfully honest.

‘You probably don’t need to get near to many of them but I promise you, it’s a problem. And unless there’s some way you can drop “mouth wash” or “dental floss” into an email or chat on the phone without looking completely barking I’m not going to know until I’m committed to an afternoon of browsing antiques.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘Shall we have another cup of tea?’

Chapter Three

Rory walked along next to Sian, his hand in hers, singing to himself. They were both tired and dusty but had had a lovely time with Fiona. She had invited them to supper but Sian felt she should get Rory to bed.

‘We’ll just have scrambled eggs on toast and then get you into the bath,’ she said now, wondering if she had the energy to work after he was asleep. She needed to finish a piece of furniture but what with meeting Fiona, the flower-arranging, being introduced to Jody and Annabelle and checking out the barn she’d hardly had a moment.

‘Will you read to me?’ Rory asked.

‘OK, darling.’ Reading to Rory in the bath had started as a time-saving exercise but they had both come to enjoy it. Having first done the tooth-brushing, Sian would sit on the floor, leaning up against the bath, while Rory splashed around, getting more and more drowsy. When Sian judged the moment was right, she whisked him out with a big towel and popped him into bed. He quite often begged another story once he was in bed but was usually asleep before she’d finished.

Tonight he was full of chatter about Fiona, Annabelle and the train set in Fiona’s barn. He was also thinking about going to the play scheme tomorrow.

‘Emily will be there, won’t she?’ he asked, squeezing a sponge full of bubbles.

‘Yes, and she’ll have helpers, because she’ll have more children. It won’t be just you.’ Sian wiped his face with a flannel. Relaxing bathtimes sometimes meant the washing part got overlooked.

‘And will they be girls?’

‘Who, the children or the helpers?’

‘The helpers. Helpers are always girls.’

‘They may not be. Emily might have got some young men to help now she’s down here.’

Rory sighed. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think boys look after children. I like boys.’

‘So do I.’ She paused. ‘Are you ready to come out now, darling? I’ve got a bit of work to finish and I’d like to get you tucked up.’

‘OK, Mummy,’ said Rory, resigned to there being no male carers and to going to bed. He did it with relatively good grace.

Sian had been working with all the doors open to minimise the smell of paint and had just wrapped her paintbrush in clingfilm when her phone went. It was Richard. She remembered he was due back from a business trip.

‘Hey!’ she said. ‘Are you at home?’

‘No, but I’ll be back tomorrow. I just wondered how you were getting on?’

‘Fine! We’re nearly all unpacked. Mum helped quite a bit when she was here. And we’ve met a really nice woman. Fiona Matcham. Do you know her? She lives in the big house at the end of the lane. She seems lovely!’

‘Oh yes, she is lovely. I was at boarding school with her boys, but I haven’t seen her in a while. I’m not surprised she’s taken you under her wing. That’s just the sort of person she is.’ He paused. ‘And how’s Rory? Looking forward to tomorrow?’

‘Oh yes. He hopes there are boy helpers there.’ Then she wished she hadn’t said that. Richard felt that Rory needed an adult male role model and that he should be it. While Sian agreed on some levels, she wasn’t sure marrying Richard so he could be a role model was the answer. She sighed and said more brightly, ‘He’s met a little girl called Annabelle, who goes there. And he’s looking forward to seeing Emily again. Has she got lots of young helpers, do you know?’

They chatted on gently about Emily’s project and ended with a plan for Richard to come over the following evening and have supper. He was driving down from London that afternoon for a flying visit home before his next trip. Sian went to bed feeling fond of him. He might never set the world on fire but he was nice, and niceness had a lot going for it. She hadn’t always thought like that, of course. Once she’d followed her heart – and her hormones – and had a mad, brief affair that had resulted in Rory. But now, nearly six years on, she felt she’d grown up a bit and no longer looked for heart-stopping passion but for something more comfortable and secure. Her head was definitely sure this was what she needed and wanted, she just wished she could convince her stubborn heart of this. However, she had to be practical. It was no good thinking she was a heroine in one of those books she’d devoured as a teenager. Real life wasn’t like that, and as she was never going to see Rory’s father again she just had to get on with it. And the love one felt for a friend could grow into a deeper love, couldn’t it? All the articles said that a relationship based on friendship was an enduring one and she knew that arranged marriages often lasted longer than those where the couple had married ‘for love’. She was sure if she decided on a life with Richard, as he wished, she and Rory would have a very contented, safe, one. Brushing aside the nagging little voice inside her heart that said, ‘Contentment, is that what you really want?’ she turned over and drifted off to sleep.