Summer At Willow Tree Farm: The Perfect Romantic Escape

*

Situated in the historic centre of Salisbury, the city’s main square had served the population since medieval times as a thriving community market. Presided over on one side by the majestic Georgian columns of the Guildhall, which now housed the city council, and hemmed by the patchwork of shopfronts ranging in style from half-timbered Tudor to redbrick Victorian, eight hundred years of the city’s history was here. As Ellie muscled her way from the car park behind the square through the crowds of shoppers buying everything from home-made soap to burritos, it was clear the Artisan Market was still a thriving place of commerce in the present day.

Indian spices blended with the scent of freshly roasted coffee and patchouli oil. The standard-issue green gazebos vied for space with gleaming metal food trucks and striped awnings, while the jubilant Caribbean riff of a steel band floated over the shouts of the traders and the general hubbub of people enjoying a sunny June afternoon getting lots of retail therapy. A pair of elderly ladies in floral prints inspected a stall laden with hand-sewn cushions next to a gang of teenagers with tattoos and nose rings clustered around another stall peddling multicoloured cupcakes.

‘How long has this market been in operation?’ Ellie shouted to Tess as they made their way through the labyrinth, laden down with a tray each of the strawberry shortbread Tess had baked. The few times she’d been to Salisbury in her teens all Ellie could remember was a market full of jumble sale knock-offs that she’d looked down her nose at as a London teenager with vast fashion sophistication.

Tess glanced back, Melody clinging to the hem of her T-shirt so as not to get lost in the crowd. ‘The Artisan Market? Quite a while. It’s a brilliant venue for us. It attracts a great foodie crowd. But, unfortunately, it’s only on one Sunday a month. Dee also runs a stall at the farmers’ market here every Wednesday and the general markets, on Tuesdays and Saturdays, when she’s not manning stalls at other farmers’ markets around the county.’

‘That must require a huge amount of work, doing all that baking?’ Ellie said, readjusting the tray. Her arms were already aching and they had two trays of bread still to transport.

‘We don’t just sell baked goods,’ Tess said. ‘Dee does amazing jams and preserves too. And Annie is a whizz with pastry – she’s on a mission to single-handedly reintroduce the wonder of quiche to the south-west of England – and Annie’s husband Rob makes some very nice elderflower fizz when he has the time,’ Tess replied. ‘But yeah, time is a problem because most of us are stuck doing day jobs. So Dee is the one who has to bear the brunt of the work.’ Tess shouldered her tray and sidestepped a queue of people lining up to buy themselves a dosa wrap from a Bombay street food stall. ‘Most of the speciality markets don’t run after Christmas,’ Tess continued. ‘So there is some chance to stock up and catch up on our sleep. But as most of our merchandise is freshly prepared, not much. And, to be honest, the time spent travelling to venues and setting up, and then clearing out, is also pretty prohibitive.’

Ellie spotted her mother’s stall ahead of them. The queue was even longer than at the dosa wrap one, with her mother in the centre of it all busy chatting with one of her customers while Josh and Toto packed their order into folding cake boxes.

Seeing them approaching, Dee raised a hand to greet them both.

Tess ducked round the crowd. She stacked her own tray and lifted Ellie’s out of tired arms, then began adding the cakes to the dwindling supplies on display.

‘Mom, me and Toto have been working all morning.’ Josh tugged Ellie’s arm to get her attention. ‘And Granny Dee says she’s going to pay us.’ He did a jaw-breaking yawn as Dee looped an arm around his shoulders.

‘He’s been terrific,’ Dee said. ‘A natural salesman just like Toto.’

Josh grinned up at his grandmother, basking in her praise, and Ellie felt the burst of warmth in her chest. However many mistakes she’d made in the last few months, however much she’d let Josh down, the hare-brained decision to bring him to Wiltshire might turn out better than expected in some regards.

However stilted her own relationship with Dee, Josh seemed more relaxed than she’d seen him in months.

Not so Toto though. The wave of regret was swift and fairly painful for Ellie as the girl’s gaze darted away from her.

Art had told her not to apologise to Toto, but then he was, and had always been, a hard arse. Having watched Josh struggle for over a year to find acceptance with any of the judgemental little body fascists at the expensive private school he attended in Orchard Harbor, Ellie knew she owed Art’s daughter an apology.

But that would have to wait, until after she’d given Dee news of the morning’s events at A and E. She drew Dee to one side while Josh and Toto helped Tess deal with the queue of customers.

‘Mum, I need to tell you something,’ she said.

‘I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t wake you,’ Dee said. ‘But you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Ellie smiled, strangely touched. When was the last time anyone had put her needs first? ‘Actually, as it turns out, it was a fortuitous thing I was at the farm, because Art had an accident and I had to take him to Gratesbury to get his hand stitched up.’

The colour leached out of Dee’s face. ‘Is he OK?’

‘Yes, as long as he doesn’t try playing dodgeball with a rotary blade again.’

Ellie gave her mother’s hands a reassuring squeeze when her colour failed to return. ‘He’s woozy from all the medication and not too happy with me. And I’m afraid your kitchen looks like the set of a slasher movie, but otherwise he’s fine.’

‘He let you take him to the hospital?’ Dee asked.

So Dee knew about Art’s hospital phobia? Ellie wondered if her mother knew where it came from. And anything about that gruesome scar on his stomach?

‘I insisted,’ she said.

Dee squeezed Ellie’s hands back then let them go. ‘I’m sure that’s an understatement.’ She gave a breathless laugh. ‘But thank you. And thank goodness you were there.’ She tucked her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture.

Ellie wanted to question her mother further about Art’s phobia, when Toto’s panicked voice interrupted them.

‘Is my dad OK?’ The cake box in her hands had been scrunched into a ball. ‘Is he going to die?’

‘No, of course he isn’t.’ Dee captured the girl’s slender shoulders and folded her into a hard hug. ‘He cut his hand, but Ellie looked after him and it’s all fixed now.’ Dee sent Ellie a look of gratitude over Toto’s head.

Toto nodded mutely while concentrating on the mangled cardboard in her hands: ‘Thank you for looking out for my dad,’ she mumbled. ‘I’m sorry I made you mad yesterday.’

‘You don’t need to be sorry,’ Ellie said. ‘I was tired and cranky yesterday. I hope you can forgive me?’

‘OK,’ the girl whispered, but the wary expression remained. ‘Can I go home and make sure Dad’s alive? Please?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Dee said, but Ellie could see the concern cross her mother’s face. There were still two trays of bread to unload from the car, plus there were several hours to go yet before the market closed and the queue was only getting longer.

Ellie touched her mother’s arm. ‘Mum, you go ahead and take Toto and Josh back to the farmhouse.’ From the way Josh was yawning, she suspected the jet lag was about to slam into him. ‘I can assist Tess on the stall.’

It took quite a lot of effort to persuade Dee, but Ellie eventually managed to corral her mother and all three of the children to the car park – Melody having decided that hanging out with Josh and Toto would be much more fun than manning a market stall for the rest of the afternoon. After seeing them off, two questions nagged at her as she began the trek back to the stall with a tray of sourdough loaves.

Where had Art’s hospital phobia come from?

And where was Toto’s mother?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two days later, Ellie sat in the kitchen and chewed at a ragged thumbnail after a morning spent picking strawberries with Josh for Dee’s latest batch of shortbread.

Nicole at Nails R Us on the corner of Main and Fifth in Orchard Harbor would have a fit if she could see the state of Ellie’s manicure.

‘Why don’t I show you how to use the bread maker this afternoon?’ her mother said, as she slid a plate of fennel and endive salad in front of her with a bowl of freshly baked bread rolls. ‘We’ve got a batch to make for tomorrow’s market in Swindon and it’s a lot less hard on the hands.’

Ellie breathed in the yeasty aroma and picked up her fork. ‘I’d certainly be quite happy never to see another strawberry again in this lifetime.’

But, as she tucked into her lunch, she recalled the hushed conversations and hidden looks directed at her during her visits to Nicole, as she pretended she didn’t know her husband had flirted with most of the women there and probably slept with a few of them too. Chipped polish and fruit stains suddenly seemed a small price to pay not to have to do the walk of shame each week at the local beauty parlour.

And running herself ragged with Tess on Sunday afternoon on the farm’s market stall had been an even better distraction than picking strawberries until her manicure died. Chatting to customers, wrapping what felt like a million cakes and loaves in paper until her fingers ached, and ringing the mounting sales up on the stall’s antique till had been so much more exhilarating than all the small talk she’d had to endure with her fair-weather friends in Orchard Harbor.

As she and Tess had packed up the empty trays, swept the debris, folded away the farm’s tables and gazebo and loaded everything into Tess’s car, the sense of achievement and camaraderie had been immense – so much more rewarding than attempting to ingratiate herself with women who she suspected had viewed her with pity or contempt.

‘Rob’s wife Annie does a mean manicure.’ Dee put a plate in front of Josh and took his DS out of his hands to replace it with a fork. ‘You, Tess, Maddy and Annie should arrange a girls’ night in soon so you can get your nails fixed.’

‘I’d love that,’ Ellie said as she split open a roll and slathered it with butter. She’d met Annie yesterday, and had warmed to her instantly. A petite woman with the will of a Trojan and a broad Northern accent, Annie Jackson had been busy corralling her twin toddlers, Jamie and Freddie, while she dropped off some of her husband’s home-made elderflower fizz for the weekend’s stall. Of course, the two of them had been forced to sample some of it with a slice of Dee’s banana nut bread. By the time they’d moved on to coffee, they’d discussed everything from the current state of US politics to the pee hazards involved when changing the nappies of baby boys. Ellie had conceded that Josh’s aim was nowhere near as hazardous as Annie’s two boys.

‘I’ll suggest it to Annie, then, so you guys can all get together soon,’ said her mother.

‘Won’t you be joining us?’ Ellie asked, surprised that the thought didn’t feel as uncomfortable as it probably would have three days ago, when she’d arrived.

Her mother picked up her fork. ‘I’m afraid manicures are totally wasted on me.’ The wistful tone told Ellie that there was more to the refusal, but she didn’t push. Maybe her mother was just being diplomatic, and wanted to let Ellie get to know the other co-op women on her own terms.

As Ellie finished her lunch, she watched Josh plough through his salad. While he’d never been a fussy eater, he wasn’t a particularly adventurous one either, but the last three days of exercise and fresh air had turned that around. As soon as Toto got home from school, the two of them headed off on another adventure and stayed out until supper.

In an attempt not to freak out when he returned each evening either covered in mud or with some unexplained raw spot on his elbow or chin, Ellie had kept busy, helping her mother with the cooking and KP duties. Dee had given her endless assurances that Toto knew how to stay safe on the farm, but even so Ellie had set some ground rules – such as no climbing on the combine harvester, or playing handsy with Art’s rotary blade.

And here was her reward. Not only had Josh spent very little time on his DS in the last few days, she suspected he’d never eaten so many fresh vegetables in his life. He was a little boy. A boisterous little boy, who had been overcautious for too long.

His nutritionist back home would be ecstatic.

‘When will Toto be back from school?’ Josh asked, around a mouthful of bread roll.

‘Not till four,’ Ellie replied. She’d learnt the bus schedule off by heart, because Josh asked the same question every lunchtime.

‘But that’s hours away and I’m bored,’ he said. ‘Toto says she’s got weeks and weeks of school left and I won’t have anything to do all day when she’s gone.’

‘You liked helping with the strawberries, didn’t you?’ Ellie asked. Why hadn’t she considered how bored Josh was likely to be with Toto at school most of the day?

‘But we’ve finished that,’ Josh said. ‘And it’s not as good as building a hideout with Toto.’

‘Maybe you could go and hang out with Melody until Toto gets back?’ Ellie said. Her mother looked after Tess’s daughter each morning while Tess was at work in Gratesbury, and Ellie knew Josh had helped to entertain her the day before.

‘Melody’s OK, but she’s only four,’ Josh said, exasperated. ‘And she’s a girl. All she wants to do is play with her doll. And sing dumb songs, really loud.’

Ellie didn’t think it would help to point out Toto was a girl too.

‘I tell you what, Josh,’ Dee cut in. ‘Why don’t I ring up the head teacher at Toto’s school this afternoon? Maybe you could go for a visit tomorrow? Would you like that?’

Josh chewed his lip – a sure sign of the nervousness and trepidation that had dogged his time in Charles Hamilton Middle School. Ellie was about to intervene, and explain to her mother that school was a problematic environment for Josh, when her son surprised her.

‘I could go to Toto’s school with her?’ He actually sounded curious.

‘I can’t promise anything,’ Dee said. ‘But if you’d like to go in with Toto for the day tomorrow, and try it out, I could certainly ask her head teacher. Marjorie’s a friend of mine and a lovely lady and I’m sure if I explained everything there might be a way to make it work. They have exchange visits with children from France all the time. I don’t see why this should be any different.’

‘Yes!’ Josh punched the air and bounced out of his seat. ‘Just wait till I tell Toto. I’m going to go get my stuff ready.’ He shot out of the room and Ellie heard him racing up the stairs.

‘Do you really think the head teacher will go for the idea?’ she asked her mother. ‘I don’t want to get his hopes up.’ Especially as she’d never seen Josh this enthusiastic about the thought of attending school.

‘Toto’s school is a new school, so they have places to fill at the moment. And Marjorie is the local organiser for the Women’s Institute – if there’s a way to make it happen, she’ll find it.’

‘I’m sure she will but what if…’

‘We’ll find something else for Josh to do,’ her mother interrupted gently. ‘There’s a million and one chores round here. Maybe he could help Art out in the workshop?’

‘And risk getting his hand chopped off? I don’t think so.’

Plus, she couldn’t see Art going for that idea. Art had taken his trademark sullenness to a whole new level in the last few days, skulking at the opposite end of the table during supper time as he picked at his food with his uninjured hand, his beard growth starting to make him look like a particularly disreputable pirate. Only last night, he’d chastised Toto for giggling too much at one of Jacob’s jokes. Toto had taken the harsh comment in her stride, obviously used to her father’s moods, but Josh had looked terrified. Her son tended to get anxious around men at the best of times, probably because he’d spent so much of his childhood trying and failing to attract Dan’s attention. And Art, with his no-frills parenting, was a great deal more intimidating than Dan.

‘It may surprise you to know that Art is actually great with kids,’ Dee said. ‘And he’s never usually clumsy. I still can’t imagine how he cut himself so badly.’

Ellie was reserving judgement on Art’s way with children. Toto and Melody might adore him, and Josh was clearly in awe of him, plus she could remember how he’d managed to hypnotise the other children at the commune when they’d been teenagers together, but that did not mean she was going to expose a child as sensitive as Josh to Art’s moods.

And she didn’t trust Dee’s opinion on Art, because it was fairly obvious she was a founder member of the Art Dalton Appreciation Society.

Ellie carried their used dishes to the sink and rinsed them off. ‘Here’s hoping the school visit pans out, so we never have to consider the nuclear option.’

‘I’ll go ring Marjorie now and see what she says,’ her mother announced as she placed the rest of the dishes in the sink. ‘Could you do me a favour while I’m handling that?’

‘Sure,’ Ellie said, placing a rinsed plate on the draining board.

‘Would you take some salad and bread into Art in the study?’ Dee opened a drawer and rummaged around. ‘And check up on him while you’re at it. I’m worried that hand may have got infected, he’s been so grumpy the last couple of days.’

Ellie dried her hands. ‘Isn’t that his natural state?’

What exactly did her mother mean by ‘check up on him’? She’d already done her shift as Art’s keeper.

‘I’m worried about him.’ Dee pulled a thin pencil-sized leather case from the drawer then held it towards Ellie.

‘What’s that?’ Ellie stared at the case as if it contained an unexploded nuclear warhead.

Please don’t let this be what I think it is.

‘A thermometer,’ Dee replied, shattering Ellie’s hopes. ‘All you need to do is take his temperature. It won’t take you a minute and it will put my mind at rest.’

Yeah, but it’s liable to make my mind explode.

‘I’m not sure I’m comfortable taking his temperature.’ Like, at all.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I hardly know the guy.’ And what I do know is only going to make this situation more supremely uncomfortable.

‘Don’t be silly.’ Dee lifted Ellie’s hand and slapped the thermometer into her palm. ‘Just get him to hold it under his tongue for two minutes. He’s more likely to do it for you than me.’

‘Why on earth would you think that?’ Ellie asked. Was her mother delusional?

‘Because he let you drive him to the hospital,’ Dee said, as if that made any sense at all. ‘And he hates hospitals.’

So saying, Dee rushed off, leaving Ellie holding the nuclear warhead.

Shoving the thermometer into her back pocket, she trooped down the hallway towards the office at the back of the house and rapped on the door.

‘Go away. I’m busy.’

Apparently, Mr Grumpy had gone from cranky to super cranky since yesterday evening.

With the nuclear warhead branding her bottom through her jeans, Ellie opened the door, certain that no superpower on earth was liable to stop this situation blowing up in her face.

She braced herself as she stepped into the cramped room. Art sat crouched over some papers, his hair swept back in untidy rows as if he’d spent the day running agitated fingers through it. An ancient desktop computer hummed in the corner like a demented bumble bee. The once white bandage was now an unhealthy shade of grey where his hand rested on the table.

‘Hi.’

He swung round, looking surprised for a moment. And then pissed off.

Quelle surprise.

‘What do you want?’

She whipped the thermometer out of her back pocket like Harry Potter preparing to do the Expelliarmus Spell.

If only.

‘I’ve got good news and bad news,’ she said. Time to go on the offensive. There was no point being a wimp around Art, because he would stomp all over her. So he was having his temperature taken now even if she had to shove her wand right up his bum.

He eyeballed the thermometer. ‘What’s the bad news?’

‘The bad news is I’m here on a mission from my mother to take your temperature.’

‘So, what’s the good news?’

‘You’re going to hate this even more than I do.’

*

I do not believe it!

Art stared at the thermometer – and wanted to punch a wall. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, because one hand was throbbing like a rotten tooth and damaging the other one would leave him helpless.

Damn Dee for siccing her daughter on him. And damn Ellie for looking like she was enjoying this. ‘I don’t have a temperature.’

‘Tell that to my mum, she’s worried about you.’

‘Go back and tell her yourself.’

She stepped into the room and closed the door, making the space feel even more claustrophobic than usual. He could smell her, that fresh spicy scent that had enveloped him while he’d dozed off in the car on the way back from the clinic.

‘Unfortunately for both of us –’ she propped her bottom on the desk ‘– that’s not going to wash when you haven’t eaten a full meal in days.’

‘I’m not hungry.’ Like he was going to tell her the real reason he wasn’t eating. She’d probably crack a rib laughing.

She shook her head. ‘Nope, that won’t work either. Unless you’ve suddenly become a closet anorexic. And I’m afraid if you have that’s only going to make Dee worry more.’

‘She’s not my keeper and neither are you.’

‘Yes, I believe you said that already.’

‘So why aren’t you listening?’

She opened the leather case and dropped the glass tube into her palm. ‘What exactly is so terrifying about having your temperature taken?’

‘I don’t have a temperature.’ He grabbed her other hand and slapped it onto his forehead, to prove the point.

The feel of her palm, cool and soft, pressed to his skin didn’t help with the tugging sensation deep in his abdomen. He dropped her hand.

‘Satisfied?’ He cleared his throat, because the word had come out on a husky rumble.

Ellie pressed her palm into her jeans, and scrubbed it down her thigh.

‘I am. Dee won’t be.’ She wielded the thermometer like a lightsaber. ‘Unless I hand her conclusive proof, she’ll only harass you herself. So stop being a pain in the arse and stick this under your tongue for two minutes.’

He was debating whether to do it, just to get this over with and her and her subtle sexy scent the hell out of his office, when his stomach growled like a marauding mountain lion that hadn’t been properly fed for two days – probably because it hadn’t.

Ellie glanced pointedly at his belly. ‘Not hungry, huh?’

‘Bloody hell.’ He grabbed the thermometer – with the wrong hand.

Lightning lanced through his palm and shot up his arm. He swore viciously, jerking his hand back and cradling it against his midriff as the burning pain kicked up several thousand degrees.

‘Did that hurt?’

‘Of course it hurt, I’ve got about a hundred stitches in it. Now go away.’ He rocked, waiting for the lancing pain to subside, not caring that he was being an arsehole. He hadn’t asked her to come in here and harass him. His head felt like someone was trying to hook out his eyeballs with a coat hanger, his stomach was so empty it was practically inside out and now his hand was about to drop off altogether. The only thing that could make his misery any more complete was having Ellie Preston leaning over him with a worried look on her face.

Bingo.

‘I’ve got work to do,’ he added, the pain finally dulling to just about manageable.

Work that gave him a headache at the best of times. And which had transported him into a whole new level of purgatory since Sunday.