Page 43 of The Lucky Winners


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Beside me, I feel Tilda freeze.

Sarah gives me a little wave, but is distracted when she sees Tilda. The two women don’t speak. Sarah’s friend laughs at something I don’t hear as we leave the bistro.

Outside, the air feels cooler, somehow sharper.

‘Do you know her?’ Tilda asks, as we walk.

‘That’s Sarah. Jack’s fiancée. She’s doing some decorating for us at Lakeview. She usually dresses down, no make-up, but she looks knockout when she’s out on the town.’

Tilda frowns. ‘A bit much for a place like this if you ask me.’

‘Well, she’s just finished university and starts her first teaching job in September. Maybe she’s letting her hair down a bit first.’

Tilda nods but doesn’t say anything. In the cab home, she stares out of the window, not speaking. Sunlight filters through leafy trees as we pass. When I glance at Tilda, shadows seem to play around her eyes.

And I find myself wondering exactly what it is about Sarah that’s troubling her.

29

Saturday

We leave the car at home and walk down the steep hill until, as per Simon’s instructions, we reach the first driveway on the left.

We follow its bends until we emerge into a large clearing. I blink a few times. This isn’t what I was expecting.

Simon had described their place as a ‘barn’, which sounded rustic, maybe even a bit run-down. But, as I suspected, given how glamorous they are, the property in front of us is far from that.

‘Not quite the shabby little “barn” we were expecting,’ Dev mutters, echoing my thoughts.

The converted farmhouse sits on a slight rise at the end of the driveway. Its slate stone walls are currently bathed in the amber light of the setting sun. It’s more of a manor house, yet somehow still manages to look modest, tucked against the rolling hills and rising woodland behind it. Dark, polished external beams frame huge picture windows that reflect us staring back at the building. A wide, slate-paved path leads us to the double front door, which swings open before we reach the house.

‘Welcome! You found us!’ Tilda stands in the doorway, beaming, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her jaw. She’s dressed in her trademark elegant way – linen trousers, a crisp white shirt and biscuit-coloured suede loafers. The sight of her makes me feel instantly under-dressed. Why onearth did I decide to wear cropped jeans and a cotton top to dinner?

Beside her, Simon leans casually against the door frame. He’s smiling, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, dark hair tousled as if he’s simply run his fingers through it post-shower. He looks more understated than his wife in jeans and a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt.

Dev is already moving ahead, shaking hands with Simon, while Tilda steps aside to let me in. ‘Come through and leave your shoes on, they won’t hurt the flagstones.’

The interior is just as impressive as the outside. The entrance opens into a huge, open-plan living space. Exposed beams stretch across the ceiling, old and weathered, but somehow complementing the sleek, modern furniture. Clean lines. Soft leather sofas and scattered rugs soften what must be the original stone floor. Large abstract paintings look expensive but not ostentatious. It’s a blend of old and new, perfectly balanced.

‘Your home is amazing,’ I tell her.

‘Thanks. Soon as it went up for sale, we put in an offer at the asking price and snapped it up.’

Simon glances over and smiles at me.

The most delicious smell hits me – a rich, savoury aroma wafting from the kitchen, drawing us deeper into the house. Tilda gestures for us to follow her, and as we walk in, the kitchen reveals itself, all warm lighting and gleaming surfaces, cluttered in the most stylish way with hanging copper pans and an open larder cupboard. An enormous cooking range dominates the far wall, its gas burners all alight, with pots and pans bubbling and hissing.

I take a deep breath, trying to place the scent. Garlic, herbs, something slow-cooked, maybe chicken? My stomach growls.

‘Bingo!’ Tilda calls, clapping her hands softly.

A flash of movement, and a Border collie barrels around the corner – black and white, with intelligent, shining eyes. His tail wags furiously as he skids to a halt in front of us. He sniffs first at my shoes, then Dev’s, before trotting over to Simon and sitting obediently at his feet.

Simon pats his head. ‘Bingo likes to pretend he’s a working dog but, really, he’s more of a spoiled couch potato. Aren’t you, boy?’ Bingo looks up adoringly and gives his master a panting smile.

Dev asks Tilda about the kitchen renovations and I crouch, running my hand along Bingo’s sleek fur. ‘He’s so beautiful. We’d love a dog when we’re settled in.’

I look up just as Simon looks intensely down at me, his eyes lingering just a second longer than they should. I feel my cheeks flush.