Page 102 of Escape to the Country

She knew that her handmade creams were the main difference in the improvement of her skin but she had no doubt that the fresh air had helped as well.

‘Apart from my freckles,’ she whispered

He smiled. ‘They’re a sign of beauty, my dear. And you get that from your mother. How is she getting along without some of her animal friends?’

‘Better than I thought she would,’ Eleanor told him.

‘Glad to hear of it,’ said Arthur. ‘I would hate to see a lovely woman such as June hide herself away when there’s so much to be enjoyed in the world.’

With a nod of goodbye, Arthur got up from the bench and went back to the house.

Eleanor watched him for a while, thinking that Annie was blessed to have such a grandfather-type figure in her life. Her own dad was particularly lacking in any kind of parental guidance or even interest.

Enjoying the sun, Eleanor stood still and realised that her pulse no longer raced along in stress. Her whole life and attitude had slowed down. Nothing was a rush now. There was no race to the next story. To the next Tube. Running and running in the sweaty concrete heat of the city. Here in the country she could stop.

However, she did want and need to keep her brain busy so had begun to read up on skincare and how certain flowers could help against various ailments. Roses were wonderful for older skin, helping to soothe and hydrate sensitive skins. Lavender had also real flower power to relax both skin and mind.

She was just googling how to make flower oils when Tom arrived back from the main house with a picnic basket. ‘Annie thought you might be keeling over from starvation. Have you eaten lunch?’

Eleanor shook her head. ‘Not yet. You want to share?’

But as they peered inside the basket, she realised that there was plenty of food and drink for both of them.

‘Looks like a picnic for two,’ said Tom, grabbing a sandwich.

Not very subtle, Annie, thought Eleanor. But the cold drink was welcome, as was the food.

As they sat outside on Arthur’s bench in the warmth of the sun, she watched Tom lob an apple core at Dylan. He caught it and settled down to have his own lunch.

‘Shouldn’t you be writing songs instead of working out here?’ she asked.

He grinned and tapped his temple. ‘It’s all still working up here, you know. Let me think now.’ He paused before singing softly, ‘She fades in and out. Does she know? Does she care? She’s a sweet enigma. The girl with the wavy hair.’

She was impressed until she thought about the lyrics. ‘Wavy?’ Her hand automatically flew up to her head. She hadn’t bothered to straighten it properly for a few days.

‘I like it,’ he said, still watching her. ‘When I first knew you, you were more, what’s the word, rigid.’

Rigid? She was horrified.

‘Too London, I mean,’ he carried on, seeing her upset look. ‘Now you’re all countrified.’

She made a face at him. ‘You mean with the wellies and the bad smell?’

‘I mean with the relaxed look, genuine smile and freckles.’

‘Aren’t they awful?’ she said, covering her nose. ‘Every damn summer.’

He reached out and removed her hand.

She flinched for a second, worried about the eczema patches in between her fingers. Then she remembered that they had disappeared and relaxed a little.

‘I think your freckles are cute,’ he told her.

There was a moment when he held her hand and she couldn’t look away from his eyes no matter how hard she tried. The world stopped as she held her breath, remembering the moment when their lips had touched at Glastonbury.

Finally, he stood up. ‘Well, those doors aren’t going to make themselves,’ he said softly.

He left her sitting on the bench, realising that she could finally breathe out.