Logan pushed his chair out and she followed suit. They made their excuses and said goodnight to the family, she smiled and chatted for a bit with Octavia.
Walking back to the cottage via the sunken garden, they stopped for a while on a bench by the water fountain. Because everyone has a water fountain in their garden.
Logan put his hand on her leg. ‘How was that, then? Not too bad? You survived, so there’s that.’
Cally nodded. ‘I really enjoyed it.’
‘Did you?’
‘I actually did.’ She gestured to the house. ‘I’ve fallen for the house. It’s so comfy and grand at the same time. Weird really. There’s something about it up here, too.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like an aura or I don’t know, a pull or something. Is that a thing?’
‘I know what you mean. It’s enough to have made Alastair announce his grand plans.’
‘Yup. I wonder if there will be wedding bells with those two next.’
Logan widened his eyes. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Feels like something’s in the air.’
‘Does it? How’d you mean?’
‘I don’t know really. A feeling in the water about those two or something. I can’t put my finger on it.’
Logan joked. ‘Ooh, intrigue.’
‘Ha.’
Logan patted her leg. ‘Well, you survived another Henry-Hicks bash.’
‘I did.’
As they got up and strolled in the direction of the cottage, Cally was surprised about how much she’d enjoyed the evening. Her mind flashed back to her first Henry-Hicks family event she’d attended at the races. She’d been a ball of nerves and unsure what was what. Now it was almost as if she was part of the woodwork of the actual inner circle of the family. It was odd and sort of nice at the same time. She couldn’t shake a strange feeling, though, that something with, about, or to do with the family was going to happen soon. As they arrived at the door of the cottage, she winced a little bit as a thought went through her head that whatever was in the air it wasn’t going to be nice. She wasn’t wrong.
18
As per usual with Cally’s body clock she’d woken very early and it was chilly. Not freezing wrap-yourself-head-to-toe-in-a-duvet chilly but Logan’s-jumper-over-your-pjs chilly. Unlike the other mornings when Cally had woken up before Logan and crept downstairs in just her pyjamas, this morning, because she’d been prepared the night before, Cally had laid out one of Logan’s jumpers to deal with the cold.
After tiptoeing down the creaky old stairs, she flicked the kettle on and stood looking at the mist hanging over the beautiful old conservatory adjacent to the garden. Then, after putting the jumper on over her pyjamas and with a mug of tea in her hands, she opened the back door, stood for a bit watching the mist and padded down the path in the direction of the conservatory. Morag had told her to pop in at any time, and with the foggy morning casting the whole garden in a sort of ethereal shroud, she was feeling its pull. In her slippers, she trudged along the path with the morning air nipping at her exposed skin. Despite the warmth of Logan's Fairisle jumper, she shivered as goosebumps rose on her arms. She clutched her steaming mug of tea close to her chest, felt the heat in her palms, and took in the mist hanging low over the landscape.
As she approached the conservatory, it seemed to emerge from the fog as if materialising from a dream. Pausing at the door, she inhaled deeply and took in the heavy-with-moisture air and scent of early morning dew. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out and little droplets of condensation clung to the window panes, glistening drops catching the light and sparkling like diamonds all around her. A sudden rustle in the nearby bushes made Cally turn and look over to her right. Expecting to see another deer, she strained her ears as the sound came again and a rabbit emerged from the undergrowth. It froze as it spotted Cally and looked at her as if to ask her who she thought she was to be out so early. Its ears twitched, and as quickly as it had arrived, it darted away, disappearing into the mist. Deer, rabbits, eagles, she’d seen them all.
A few seconds later, Cally strolled through to the end of the conservatory, and sat precisely in the little spot Morag had told her about. Not quite Marbella. Much better. Sitting lost in thought with her tea, she pondered about how the Scottish estate had surprised her and how much she liked it. Her mind wandered to her thoughts the night before and all the conversation about Alastair and Octavia taking off for a year to travel the world. She imagined what it would be like to go off into the sunset without a plan to follow with no real destination in mind. How strange it would be to her to have a no-plan plan.
The more she thought about it the more she didn’t like the idea at all. She thought about how excited Alastair’s face had been when it had lit up at the prospect of trotting off on an adventure without a plan. She realised, as she stared at the leaf of a philodendron, that she didn’t want that at all. What she wanted, in fact, was probably the opposite: a comfy blanket of stability and familiarity that would allow the rest of her to thrive. What she truly needed was to feel safe, to settle down and to build a life in Lovely, to further put her feet under the tableof the community that had welcomed her. In fact, the thought of gallivanting here, there, and everywhere didn’t really fill her with glee at all. In a funny sort of way it was the stay in the cottage in Scotland that had shown her that. For sure she wouldn’t mind a trip to New York one day, ditto any other major city in the world. A nice little Greek island wouldn’t go amiss, an Italian beach, perhaps a road trip across the USA. But really, what she wanted was to feel secure. She’d be quite happy living in Lovely Bay and getting on a train once a year to take her to the other end of the country to stay on the estate and spend a few weeks in a wax coat tramping around the countryside in wellies.
As she sipped her tea and pondered, Cally got lost in a world of her own as a drip of condensation from the leaves of a few exotic-looking plants plopped onto the ground beside her. Gorgeous early morning light filtered through the glass panes, and a few dappled shadows danced here and there on the tiled floor around her chair. A thick, earthy, damp soil smell filled the air, and a quiet so dense it was almost hypnotic surrounded her thoughts.
Thinking about what had happened the night before and how it had cemented her thoughts on what she wanted in life, she pondered being offered the promotion. The more she thought about it the more she realised that it was exactly what she wanted; it had just taken her a while to realise it. Just as she didn’t need to be scooting around the world on a jet plane, the same was true for what she did for a job. She didn’t need a power suit and a big career. She would be quite happy doing her thing with Birdie, in fact, it suited her down to the ground. The weekend at the estate had somehow shown her that as clear as day. She nodded and made up her mind. She would message Birdie that she would love to take the job. Sorted.
Just as she was thinking about going back into the cottage to make a hot blackcurrant and have a little read in the sittingroom, a crunch of gravel outside the conservatory caught her attention. Leaning on a potting table she craned her neck to see one of the old Land Rovers pulling up outside the conservatory. She leaned out further to see a figure approaching through the thinning morning mist and realised it was Morag, the estate's head gardener. She was bundled up against the early chill in a thick jumper under dungarees, a green estate cap pulled low over her ears.
Cally looked down at the state of herself; old pyjamas with Logan’s jumper over the top, slippers and bed hair. Not the best look. She tugged self-consciously at the hem of the jumper as she stood up when Morag entered the conservatory.
Morag beamed, her breath fogging in the cool air. 'Oh, hiya! I didn’t expect to see anyone up and about after last night. You're up with the lark today.'
