Christmas on Rosemary Lane. Ellen BerryЧитать онлайн книгу.
a flat with the job.’
‘A flat? Where – in Manchester?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, love. It’s a company flat – just a tiny studio – and it comes with the job. Si’s just bought it. They reckon they need me to make this work, this rebranding the hotel chain thing. So they’ve put together this great, um, package.’
Lucy blinked at her husband. At forty-two, his handsome, finely boned face was virtually unlined, his hair showing no sign of thinning. It had amused her, the way some of the women in the village had fussed over him when they had moved in, clearly delighting in the new, eye-pleasing family man who was seen out and about at weekends with his equally attractive children. He had just taught Sam how to ride a bike. He and the children had built a kite in the shed, which had attracted praise from the locals when they’d flown it up on the hill. Whether or not he was prepared to admit it, Ivan really was part of things here, and country life suited him. His wine consumption had reduced dramatically and he looked far healthier and more relaxed.
Lucy turned to him now, trying to remain calm and not over-react when she didn’t fully understand what he was telling her. ‘So, what are you saying exactly?’ she asked. ‘I don’t quite see how …’
‘I don’t want to upset you, Luce,’ he said quickly. ‘Honestly, it’s the last thing I want.’
Lucy swallowed hard, understanding now what this meant. ‘But we don’t need a great package, do we? We’ve worked so hard to build this. What about school, the kids’ new friends, their lives here—’
‘No, you’d stay here with them.’
Her heart seemed to falter. ‘And … you’d move back to Manchester? You mean, on your own, without us?’
‘Um … yeah.’ He nodded, and his gaze held hers. So this was it, she realised; finally, he was admitting that she had dragged him here, away from the cut and thrust of whizzy city life. It had been her dream – not his – to run a B&B in a picturesque village. He had only gone along with it to please her.
‘Are you … leaving me?’ Her voice cracked.
Ivan looked aghast. ‘No! Oh, God, Lucy – no. Of course I’m not. Jesus. Come here, darling.’ He wound his arms around her and pulled her close. ‘It’s just … I’ve really tried, sweetheart. You can’t say I haven’t.’
‘We’ve only been here ten months, for God’s sake. Can’t you give it more time?’
‘They need someone now,’ he said gently. ‘I’m so sorry, darling. I promise it’s true that they approached me. I didn’t go looking.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said sharply, turning away.
‘Running a B&B just isn’t me, Luce. I’ve realised that already. I mean, I love the village, and what we’ve done to this place. But I need more than this.’
‘You need more than us?’ she exclaimed.
‘No, no – not you and the kids. I mean living here, being so cut off from the world, worrying about have we got enough sausages and do we need new pillows, and did we remember lime marmalade, one of the guests asked for it last week, and maybe it’s time we started offering evening meals—’
‘Sorry your life has become so limited,’ she snapped as her tears spilled over.
‘It’s not limited. It’s fantastic!’
‘So fantastic that you’re moving back to Manchester, away from us?’ She was shouting now; she couldn’t stop herself. Thank God their children slept soundly at night.
‘Listen.’ He grabbed at her hand. ‘I’ll only be away four nights out of seven. I’ll set off on Monday mornings and be back on Fridays, and it’ll make our weekends all the more special.’
So it was all decided then, she realised. This wasn’t a discussion about whether or not he should accept the job. His mind was made up and, whatever her feelings, it looked as if she would be running the B&B virtually alone.
‘We can get someone in to help here,’ he added, as if reading her thoughts.
‘We can’t afford that,’ Lucy said flatly. ‘We’re only just managing to stay afloat now.’
‘Yes, but we’ll have my salary again, won’t we? It’ll be less pressurised, love. Think what a relief it’ll be, having that security again – that regular money coming in. I know it’s looking good for the next few weeks, but what about winter? There’s hardly anyone booked in past October—’
‘I could go all out to get more floristry work,’ she said quickly, hating the desperation that had crept into her voice.
‘But there won’t be any flowers then, will there?’
‘I know, but I was thinking of doing Christmas arrangements and selling them locally – even over in Heathfield. There are plenty of shops that sell that kind of thing. Winter foliage, wreaths, there’s tons of scope for seasonal decorations with holly, fir cones, berries …’ Lucy stopped, her cheeks flushing. ‘I know it won’t make much money,’ she added, ‘but I have a feeling it could grow and become a bigger part of our lives.’
‘I’m sure it could,’ Ivan said distractedly. ‘I think you’re so talented, Luce. It’s amazing that you’re doing this too, on top of everything else you’ve got going on here. But it’s not about that. It’s more about …’ He paused. ‘My future, I guess. My working life.’
She rubbed at her eyes and put down the bunch of teaspoons she’d been holding tightly. ‘You really want this job, don’t you?’
Ivan nodded.
‘And it’s definitely yours, if you decide to accept it?’
‘It is, darling, yes, but please don’t worry. I’ll still be with you, in every way. You and me will always be a team.’
She inhaled slowly, letting his declaration settle in her mind, and looked around the country kitchen they had planned so carefully. In the past few weeks she had already scrambled hundreds of free-range eggs on that hob. She was immensely proud of what they had achieved, even at this early stage; the glowing online reviews, and a guestbook filling with positive comments. So she would not fall to pieces if Ivan had made up his mind to accept the job. She had wanted Rosemary Cottage far too much to let her dreams crumble now.
Lucy smoothed down her long dark hair, which fell in loose waves over her shoulders. ‘Okay, then,’ she said firmly. ‘Go ahead and accept the job, if it feels like the right thing to do.’
Ivan cleared his throat and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I know I should have talked to you first, but … I already have.’
Two weeks later, Ivan launched into his new routine of heading off to work at six every Monday morning and being gone until Friday evening. Lucy could hardly believe this had been thrown at her, with virtually no warning – but then, that was the way his business worked. It was full on, all-hands-on-deck and, admittedly, Ivan was being well rewarded by his employer. However, it required a big adjustment on Lucy’s side. Apart from the wrench of saying goodbye, there were practical aspects to consider; specifically, how could one person simultaneously serve up home-cured Yorkshire bacon to guests whilst chivvying two boisterous children into getting ready and ferrying them to school?
It was impossible, of course, and as Lucy felt uncomfortable relying on her still-new local friends, she decided to enlist some help. In stepped Rikke, the Danish woman in her late twenties who worked part-time at Della’s bookshop as well as giving swimming lessons in Heathfield, and harp recitals locally. She quickly proved herself to be quite the godsend.
Marnie and