Summer Strawberries at Swallowtail Bay

From the set of Jaz’s shoulders, she was a little cross that he’d given in, but she stood aside to let Miss Hetty Colman enter Thornhill Hall. Jaz’s eyes followed her as she walked into the house, the soles of her shoes tapping lightly on the tiled floor.

John stepped back and motioned for Hetty to go through to the study. It was, he felt, the grandest and least tatty room in the house these days. And for some reason, he didn’t want Hetty Colman thinking badly of him or his home. Hetty peered around, taking in the décor, and John followed her gaze, appraising his own home once more.

Three of the four walls were lined with books: great old-fashioned tomes with green, brown and red leather bindings, half of which he’d never even touched let alone read. The fourth wall had a large window with a view out towards the front of the house and the grand driveway. As he glanced out of it now, he could just see, through the mass of wisteria vines (a pretty, yet invasive and costly plant), the bonnet of Hetty’s car parked at the furthest end of the turning circle. Sitting down at his antique mahogany desk, he quickly brushed aside the large pile of unpaid bills and final demands taking centre stage and ran his fingers over the worn green leather inlay. He gestured for her to take the seat opposite, which she did, with a mesmerising grace he tried to ignore. For some reason, Jaz had followed them in.

‘Thanks, Jaz. If Stevens calls early, can you come and get me please?’ Not only was this an instruction for Jaz to leave but also a tactful reminder to this woman that she was only getting the five minutes he’d promised. However, Jaz didn’t take the hint as she lingered and directed a sideways glance at Hetty. Hetty didn’t seem to notice as she was still busy looking around. After a second of silence Jaz got the message and left.

‘So, Miss Colman, you’ve managed to get your five minutes. What is it you want? What is this proposition that’s going to be of great financial benefit to me?’

She smiled. ‘I’ve come to talk to you about the Swallowtail Bay strawberry festival.’

He leaned forwards, his elbows resting on the desk. ‘Hardly a festival, Miss Colman—’

‘Yes, I know,’ she replied, with a small shake of her head. ‘More of a church jumble sale these days, but I’m happy to say, I plan to change all that.’

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ He sat back, amused at her confidence and the twinkle in her icy blue eyes.

Every so often a charity bod would come along full of new ideas that were going to raise millions to do this, that and the other, but it never happened. If she was looking to revamp the strawberry festival – an event he’d enjoyed as a child – it was going to take a lot of hard work. And he was sure she wouldn’t have thought of half the things that needed to be considered with only four weeks to go. ‘Whatever it is, you don’t have much time.’ Hetty raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Oh, yes, I know when it is. Despite what people think, we do know what’s happening in the town. And what’s being said.’ The bitterness he felt had crept out again, but she didn’t comment and he moved the conversation along. ‘So, what is it you’re planning on doing, Miss Colman?’

‘I’m a local event organiser and I plan to turn our current boring boot-fair type afternoon into a huge food festival, lasting the whole of the bank holiday weekend. I was hoping we could hold it in the grounds of Thornhill Hall.’

Now that was a surprise. John felt his mouth open slightly but didn’t speak, wanting to consider his response. He needn’t have worried as Hetty continued.

‘Obviously I don’t expect you to let us use your land for free, we’d either sell pitches for a flat rate or get a percentage of profits that you and I would then split. The more pitches, the more profit.’

So, she wasn’t quite a charity do-gooder but a small-timer trying the big leagues. While John admired the spirit, his family had learned from bitter experience that these ventures rarely ended well. ‘Unless it’s a failure and no one comes.’

The instant he said it he felt a stab of regret. John knew his manner took some getting used to. A boarding school education had formed his direct way of speaking and even when he tried to soften it, it didn’t come naturally. Constant concentration on not sounding like a sergeant major barking out orders gave him a headache and he’d long ago given up trying to correct it. The woman in front of him didn’t seem to mind it as she gave a polite smile and adjusted her glasses.

‘A, I don’t think that’s likely, and B, even if that is the case, as you haven’t had to shell out any money upfront it won’t be a problem, will it?’

Her confidence was astounding. The only person he’d met with confidence like it was Jaz, but that had grown over time. She’d been timid and worried of making mistakes at first, but with support and encouragement had grown into her role and John had watched on with almost brotherly affection. Miss Colman’s confidence was much more … attractive – no, mature. That’s the word he was looking for: mature. And impressive. Still, he wasn’t convinced and there were many more questions to be answered. ‘What exactly are you planning?’

‘I’m planning on a huge number of food vendors showcasing different things as well as other local producers, entertainment and activities.’

‘Why can’t you hold it in town?’ The idea of people running all over his land would send his mother into fits, not to mention cause him untold problems.

Miss Colman’s hands were resting in her lap, one on top of the other and there wasn’t an ounce of tension in her shoulders. ‘You know as well as I do, Mr Thornhill, that to hold it in the town would require applying for road closures, the diversion of traffic, and a number of other licenses and permissions. All of which we’re unlikely to get in the time we have available. Your land is the best option. We wouldn’t be limited by size and I plan to make this a big event worthy of regional, if not national, coverage. Your fields are fairly flat and not currently growing crops.’

‘No, they’re not,’ he said with a sigh. They hadn’t been farmed for a long time, his family unable to pay the farmers, repair equipment or process the yields even if they had grown any. He was working on plans to sell more land, but the price wasn’t what they needed to sell for and the solicitors said it really wasn’t worth it. ‘Will it still keep the strawberry theme?’ he asked. He’d always enjoyed the festival and hoped that it would.

‘Not entirely. I think to get the most vendors we need to broaden it. We’ll certainly ask them to consider it as a theme but if people sell other things, that’s fine too. We don’t want to limit ourselves, but I am going to start some awards and we’ll have a special one for strawberry-based products.’

‘And what do you want me to do? Apart from let you use my land?’ He waited for the catch. There was always a catch.

She lifted her delicate hands a fraction. ‘As much or as little as you like, Mr Thornhill. You don’t have to get involved at all if you don’t want to.’

He had an idea that ‘as little’ was probably the way she wanted it. He doubted very much that this powerhouse would ever give up an inch of control, not unless she absolutely had to, and he couldn’t imagine what catastrophic circumstance would require it. She seemed the sort of person who had contingency plans for contingency plans. It probably made her less than fun, though there was that mischievous glint in her eye which could mean otherwise. John took a moment to mull over everything she’d said.

It would cause untold disruption to the house and an insane amount of stress for his family. He had to admit the idea of additional income was appealing but these things were rarely as simple as this woman was making out. If any costs needed covering and she asked him to contribute, there was no way he’d be able to. They didn’t have any spare money. What was left in the back was there for emergency repairs and right now, there wasn’t even enough to cover that. John glanced at his watch. Impressively, she had only taken around five minutes. But he needed the loo before his ten o’clock call, and a coffee. After clearing his throat, he gave his reply.

‘No.’

***

‘No?’ Hetty couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He’d actually said no. No! What was wrong with the man? This was a brilliant idea and what’s more, she wasn’t asking him to do anything. It looked like he was living up to his reputation after all.

From the moment she’d entered the house after finally managing to get past that bulldog of an assistant with her mulish expression, she’d sensed trouble. In Hetty’s mind, she’d seen the grandeur of a BBC costume drama. Though the exterior was incredibly beautiful, the small bit of the interior she’d seen so far showed signs of age and lack of care. The air smelt damp and musty, like soggy towels, tiles were cracked in the hall floor, and in the study, though he’d quickly swept them aside, she’d spotted the stack of unpaid bills on his desk. They clearly needed the money. She’d also imagined him opening the door wearing a Saville Row suit or something equally expensive, but his rumpled pale-blue shirt and faded denim jeans were a surprise, even if they did fit quite nicely on his muscular frame. Bringing her mind swiftly back to business, Hetty asked herself again how he could possibly think this was a bad idea. All Hetty could assume was that John Thornhill was an idiot with no business sense. As handsome as he was – and he was handsome, much more so than she’d imagined – he was looking a gift horse in the mouth then walking behind it and giving it a swift kick up the backside for good measure. Plus, he hadn’t shaken her hand when she offered it. The height of rudeness in her opinion.

‘No,’ he said again. His voice was deep with authority, something Hetty found attractive, but his piercing and steady eyes were fixed. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t something we can support.’

Worryingly for Hetty, on seeing John Thornhill her stomach had tightened a little and it was doing the same thing now. Hetty hoped it was just her stubborn streak kicking in and nothing to do with the way his voice resonated in her head, or the way his shirt pulled slightly open across his broad chest. If it wasn’t, this would be the first time in a long while she’d had a physical reaction to a man, and she couldn’t have chosen a more stuffed-up grump if she’d put an ad on Craigslist. Plus, he had a beard and she didn’t like beards.

‘Mr Thornhill, I don’t think you’re quite grasping what an amazing opportunity this is. I’m planning on turning the food festival into a massive event and I’ll be marketing it widely so there’ll be a lot of attention. Don’t you think it would be good to raise the profile of Thornhill Hall?’

‘That depends on what’s said about it.’

‘Are you always so negative?’ She couldn’t help the challenging question.

He shrugged as if he didn’t care what she thought, and it bothered her. ‘I’m just being realistic, Miss Colman. If it’s a white-wash it won’t reflect well on either of us and Thornhill Hall has enough problems as it is.’

And you’re one of them, she thought, but made sure the words didn’t escape. ‘What if I promise you it won’t be?’

‘I’m sure you can promise many things, Miss Colman, but that isn’t one of them.’

When they’d been talking before, she hadn’t felt tense or worried in the least, confident in her idea and that she could achieve it, but now she found herself leaning forward as John Thornhill’s negative attitude frustrated her. ‘Then perhaps you can tell me exactly what it is you’re concerned about? We’ve already discussed the land isn’t currently being used for anything helpful.’ A slight tightening in his jaw showed the remark had stung and Hetty knew she had to bring this back around before she lost any chance of convincing him at all. ‘All I mean is that the fields won’t take any damage from our using it and I’ll be covering the costs of setting up the festival.’

John eyed her for a moment and a slight tingle of hope rose within her only to be extinguished almost immediately. ‘If you’re planning on holding it on the bank holiday weekend, that’s only four weeks away, which is clearly not enough time to do all the things you’re saying you’re going to do. Is it just you working on this?’

She lifted her head a little, offended at his saying it was too much for her to handle. He clearly didn’t know her. ‘It’ll be myself and my assistant, Macie, which I can assure you is more than enough to get everything organised. We’ll also have a number of volunteers for the weekend.’

‘It’s simply not enough people, Miss Colman, and I don’t have the time to spend on this. As I’m sure you’re aware from town gossip, Thornhill Hall has a number of concerns at present and they require my full attention.’

‘I realise that, but—’

‘I’m, sorry, Miss Colman. I’m afraid the house and the land surrounding it is private property and not open to the public. I won’t consent to opening up the place for people to wander around willy-nilly.’

‘But they won’t be wandering around willy-nilly.’ She didn’t think people said willy-nilly anymore and the ancient phrase almost made her laugh. ‘They’ll be at the food festival which, if we hold it in a field, won’t be anywhere near your house. And I’ll have stewards to make sure people don’t come near the hall if that’s what you want.’

Outside they heard a van speed up the drive, and the sound of gravel flying as it parked. Mr Thornhill checked his watch and stood up behind his desk. ‘Miss Colman, I’ve actually given you seven minutes and I thank you for considering Thornhill Hall, but the answer is no.’

The thought of Gwen’s smug face at the next business forum made Hetty briefly consider planting herself in the chair and refusing to leave until he agreed, but John Thornhill was tall and broad and could probably lift her and carry her out. The idea of him doing so sent a small shiver through her body, and she looked up to see him staring at her.

Reluctantly, Hetty stood and found a business card in her back pocket. ‘I have to say, Mr Thornhill, I think you’re making a very big mistake, but here’s my business card in case you change your mind.’ She handed it over and watched a hint of a smile play at the corners of his mouth.

Mr Thornhill went to the study door and opened it for her, letting her through first. Jaz had helpfully opened the front door already and clearly couldn’t be happier to watch her go. Hetty took the chance of a final look around before leaving. The hallway was massive, about the size of the entire ground floor of Hetty’s cottage but it had a melancholy, almost broken feel to it. Faded wallpaper had begun to peel from the bottom of the walls and the giant chandelier that hung in the centre of the room was missing a number of drops.

‘Thank you for your time, Mr Thornhill. Goodbye.’ She held out her hand for him to shake and he took it in a strong grip.

‘Goodbye, Miss Colman.’

As she walked down the steps back to her car, he spoke to the delivery driver. Climbing into Myrtle, she drove away as quickly as possible, her hopes crushed by his refusal. But she would not give up so easily. Winding the window down she took a moment to enjoy the warm sunny day and allowed the brightness of the world to refill her enthusiasm. She’d have to find another venue, that was all. She was determined not to be defeated by stubborn and stuffy John Thornhill. She’d organise the festival somewhere else and show him just what he was missing out on.

Chapter 4

‘There isn’t anywhere else,’ Hetty exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air as her patience ran out. ‘And I can’t get people on board if I can’t tell them where they’re going to be. Urgh, I’m actually getting cross now at how stubborn John-bloody-Thornhill was in saying no. It’s the perfect spot. He’s being such an idiot. I mean, what will it take to convince that man? Do I need to show him projected profit? Detailed health and safety plans? My colour-coded spreadsheets? I don’t understand how someone who runs a successful antiques business doesn’t have enough business sense to see this is an excellent idea. And he didn’t shake my hand. Did I tell you that?’

Down the other end of the phone, Macie giggled. ‘Yes, you did. Twice. He’s really got under your skin, hasn’t he?’

Hetty’s free hand rested on her hip as she paced around her living room. ‘I just don’t understand how he hasn’t leapt at this chance. This is the most brilliant idea ever to walk up to his enormous, crumbly old house and fall into his lap.’

‘Wait, did you fall into his lap? You didn’t mention that before.’

‘You know what I mean,’ Hetty said, refusing to think about what that might be like. She flopped onto the sofa, then curled a leg underneath her.

With all the windows open, birdsong filled the late afternoon air and mixed with the constant hum of the sea. A wonderful breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, cooling the warm day. Her home had originally been part of a pair of fisherman’s cottages, complete with flowering window baskets giving huge pops of colour against the bright white canvas of the walls. Across the road from her, the beach was so full she couldn’t see anything except for a mass of heads and sunhats.

Though Hetty had originally called Macie to ensure everything was in place for the retirement party they were running that night, she hadn’t been able to stop herself talking about the food festival and John’s refusal to support it. After much research she hadn’t come up with anywhere else that was suitable and had even made a tentative call to a contact in the council who’d confirmed everything she’d expected about the chances of getting the road closures to hold it in town. He’d actually laughed at her before giving a kinder answer of slim to none. The whole situation was frustrating and Hetty could feel it knotting her shoulders.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ asked Macie. ‘Oh, hang on a second.’ In the background, Hetty heard Macie telling someone where a balloon display was supposed to go. ‘I’m back,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘I take it we’re not giving up.’

‘Of course we’re not,’ Hetty replied. ‘I’ll keep researching and find somewhere else. There must a local farmer who’ll let us have a field. I’m not letting this opportunity go, even if it means I work day and night between now and the bank holiday to get it done.’

‘This is why I love you,’ said Macie, sweetly. ‘You’re my hero.’

‘Are you just saying that because they’ve got those mini spring rolls at this buffet tonight and you want me to turn a blind eye to you eating them all?’

‘Something like that.’

With a giggle, Hetty signed off and tossed her mobile phone onto the seat beside her. That morning, she’d been checking the land registry to see who owned fields suitable for hosting the food festival, but there weren’t actually that many that weren’t growing crops. She didn’t like the idea of having to tone down her plans and really couldn’t stomach the picture of smug Gwen grinning as she admitted defeat. The thought made her uneasy and she went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Stanley the seagull had returned to her garden after trying his luck on the beach and was hopping about on his one good foot, nibbling at the breakfast she’d put out for him.

Glancing at the kitchen table, the pine top of which was obliterated by random notes and bits of paper, Hetty went to it and stared at a plan of one of the Thornhill fields she’d sketched out earlier. She’d mapped out a number of pitches on the rough drawing, and again her excitement for the project and the gut instinct that told her it could be a huge success boiled up once more. The heat of the day and hot stuffy atmosphere inside made her eyelids heavy and she decided a walk would freshen her mind and wake her up enough to get through the busy evening ahead.

She quickly grabbed her keys and pulled the front door closed behind her before heading across the street to the beach. The breeze was usually a little stronger on the shore and she enjoyed the feel of it on her skin, blowing the cobwebs from her mind. There was something wonderful about being this close to nature. The sea was wild and uncontrollable at times – dangerous – but on days like this it was friendly and inviting. It made itself more a part of the bay in the summer, like an extra piece of land to be walked on and enjoyed. Hetty wondered why John Thornhill was so determined to keep his distance from them all. Riffraff he may consider them to be, but they didn’t bite.

The difference in Swallowtail Bay in the summer compared to all the other months was unimaginable. The town was so much busier; the beach full of families lying out on blankets, shaded by big sun umbrellas; kids running around with buckets of water, couples walking hand in hand, carrying their shoes as the water lapped at their feet. Even the air was different, thick with the salt of the sea but mixed with the smell of sweet lollies, ice creams and sun lotion. In its stillness it carried the laughing and chattering voices all the way into town. Even if it rained, the sense of fun remained as everyone dived into coffee shops, pubs and restaurants for cover. And always, the ever greedy, overly confident seagulls hopped about, or circled in the sky waiting for their chance to strike and steal someone’s lunch. Hetty put her hands in her pockets and took a moment to enjoy it all.

As she looked up to watch a small boy searching for shells, she spied a figure she recognised marching along the promenade: John Thornhill. His powerful legs made long strides as he headed to a car. Figuring she had no time to lose, Hetty quickened her pace. She wasn’t letting him get away that easily.

‘Mr Thornhill? Mr Thornhill?’ He glanced around and though he clocked her, he dropped his eyes to his car and unlocked it. ‘Mr Thornhill, what a surprise to see you in town.’

‘Not really, Miss Colman. We’d run out of milk.’ He held up the carrier bag for her to inspect. ‘And like everyone else we have to shop, you know. We don’t have staff to go out and get things for us.’

Hetty decided to ignore his bluntness and smiled instead. ‘I didn’t think you had, Mr Thornhill, unless you were hiding them all when I came to Thornhill Hall yesterday.’

‘Was it only yesterday? It seems longer.’ His voice carried a tiredness that surprised her, and he ran his other hand over his face and down his neatly trimmed beard.

‘Well, I’m glad I caught you because I wanted to speak to you again about the food festival.’ She switched immediately into business mode. ‘I really think you need to understand more fully how it’s going to benefit Thornhill Hall.’

‘Miss Colman, I really don’t have time for this right now—’

‘Then when will you have time? Would you like me to show you the more detailed plans I’ve been working on? Because if I could use the field nearest the road, we could fit in—’

‘I’ve already said no and given you my reason. I don’t think there’s anything else you can tell me that will be convince me to change my mind. Once it’s made up, it’s made up.’

‘Yes, you seem the type,’ Hetty replied, her business persona falling away a little.

‘What type?’

He’d got under her skin so much, her business persona fell away completely. ‘Unmovable. Stubborn. The type that refuses to change their mind once they’ve said no because they’re scared it’ll make them look weak, when really it’s a mark of strength to admit you got something wrong.’ Though she admonished herself, her words at least seemed to have an impact on Mr Thornhill, who stared at her, taken aback. Hetty felt her cheeks redden.

‘Right,’ he said.

‘Look around you, Mr Thornhill,’ she said more softly. ‘Look at how packed out the beach is. Look over at the Wild Goose, it’s full.’ The pub had even erected a few tables and chairs outside and they were overflowing with people. ‘Look at the queue at the ice-cream trucks. Just look at this place.’ Hetty motioned around her. ‘It’s full of tourists and all those tourists will come to our food festival.’