Birds of a Feather Page 8

  She nodded. ‘On the day of your gala, in fact. He came to see me before you all drove down to London, and left me with some uncomfortable truths to wrestle with over the weekend. That is why, Abby, I was particularly hard on you when you returned to work that Monday. Not only was it unfair of me to take it out on you, but by the time I saw you Leo had been in touch again to tell me that Jack had left Meadowgreen, so my anger was doubly cruel when you were already suffering. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m truly sorry.’

  Abby brushed the apology away, the mention of Jack’s departure threatening to overwhelm her after the revelations, the emotion, of the afternoon. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But it does,’ Penelope said. ‘You have done so much for Meadowsweet. You’re kind, generous with your time, and you’re smarter than I sometimes think is good for you.’ She gave her a gentle smile. ‘I knew you’d worked it out, about Leo. I’ve had cause to be in touch with him a lot recently, since I asked him to look for an investor for me – a fruitless task, as it turned out. He had much more success helping me find a tenant for Peacock Cottage. I was hoping to raise some extra money for the reserve and ended up getting decidedly more than I bargained for. I didn’t anticipate your and Jack’s burgeoning relationship, and that you’d end up spending time with Leo yourself, and so spot our similarities.’

  ‘Does Jack know?’ Rosa asked.

  ‘Leo’s and my relationship has always been … private. The complications were as much on his side as mine, because he has a very close adopted family, but also because Meadowgreen isn’t the most discreet place, and many of the villagers grew up knowing Al. It seemed pointless stirring up village gossip when Leo was here so infrequently – it wasn’t anyone’s business but ours.

  ‘When Leo suggested Jack could be the perfect tenant for Peacock Cottage, we both agreed that there was no reason to tell him about our connection. But Jack has been a good friend of Leo’s for almost ten years, and while he was staying in Suffolk we spent time together. He may well have come to the same conclusion as Abby, though he has had other things on his mind, and I certainly wasn’t his main focus while he was here.’

  Abby’s triumph faded. Suddenly the thought of going home to a ready meal and a glass of wine felt like an anticlimax, even though she knew Raffle would be waiting for her.

  ‘Anyway,’ Penelope said, ‘I have kept you here long enough with my tales of heartbreak and indecision. I felt it was useful for you to know my reasoning, but I really brought you here to say thank you. For keeping Meadowsweet going, for being dedicated to the cause, even as I was dithering. Without you, this champagne wouldn’t be required. So, to my wonderful team, and to a blossoming future for Meadowsweet.’

  ‘To the team, and to Meadowsweet!’ Everyone echoed the words, clinking glasses.

  Abby took a long sip of champagne. She was tired and aching, in need of a shower and some food. She was pleased that Penelope had Leo, though she was still stunned that it was true and that her boss had hidden the truth for such a long time after Al’s death, but she hoped it meant that she would see more of him in Suffolk. She tried not to think about how tantalizingly close that would make Jack, or knowledge of him, at least. She would focus on her job, and all the new possibilities it held. She would work harder, live up to Penelope’s expectations, especially as, she thought sadly, she no longer had any distractions.

  ‘And to you, Penelope,’ Gavin said. ‘The scariest, most secretive but, above all, most lovable boss anyone could ask for.’

  ‘To Penelope!’ They touched glasses again.

  ‘Right, then,’ Penelope said, smiling. ‘Off you go. Get a good night’s rest.’

  Drinks were downed and chairs were scraped back, and as Abby went to leave, Penelope put a hand on her arm. ‘I do have one final thing for you, Abby,’ she said quietly, and Rosa, Stephan and Gavin stopped in their tracks.

  Penelope glanced at them, sighed as if their interest was inevitable, and took something out from under the table, where it must have been sitting in her lap. It was a crisp white envelope.

  She handed it to Abby, her smile reaching her grey eyes, and as Abby looked down at where her name was written on the front of the envelope in neat, slanted writing, with no address or stamp or postage mark, she tried to remember how to breathe.

  Chapter Six

  The swallowtail is the UK’s largest butterfly, and also one of the rarest. Its larvae live on milk parsley, and in England, it can usually only be seen in the Norfolk broads. Very occasionally, Suffolk will have a visiting swallowtail from over the sea in Europe, but it’s a once-in-a-lifetime sighting. Its swallow-like tail mimics antennae, and it has red spots on its wings that look like eyes, so it can confuse other creatures into thinking it has two heads.

  — Note from Abby’s notebook.

  ‘What does it say? Oh my God, Abby, what does it say? We’re all about to die of suspense here.’ Rosa’s voice was high-pitched, but Abby barely heard it.

  Dear Abby,

  Meet me at the House of Birds and Butterflies whenever you’re free. I’ll be waiting.

  JW xx

  She blinked, passed the note to her friend, and stared at Penelope.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Penelope said.

  ‘What the fuck is the house of birds and butterflies?’ she heard Gavin say, but she was already grabbing her bag from the storeroom and running out of the door, past the bird feeders, where a squirrel was hanging upside down, helping himself to sunflower seeds, and down to the start of the woodland trail, the signpost pointing towards the meadow trail, the heron hide, the kingfisher hide. She followed the path towards the forest hide and then cut off to her right, down the barely visible track which wasn’t signposted to anywhere but led to her destination.

  The sun was beginning to slip towards the horizon, and she could tell, even though she was beneath the canopy of trees, that the glare of the day was fading, leaving behind a warm evening. She found the fallen elder, navigated carefully through the brambles, but still managed to scratch her legs, bare below her denim shorts. She thought of what she must look like: scraped legs, fluorescent orange T-shirt, hair pulled back in what would now be a dishevelled ponytail, and realized she didn’t care.

  Jack was here, and he was waiting for her, perhaps allowed this one, final dalliance on Penelope’s property before she no longer had any claim over it.

  She could hear the short, high-pitched song of a tree creeper and, somewhere in the distance, what sounded like a nightingale singing for all it was worth, the notes rising high into the clear sky.

  A few more steps, and the brick wall that held Swallowtail House and its grounds came into view, and then the side gate, where all those months ago Jack had broken apart the padlock and invited her to trespass with him. Now, Jack’s shiny new chain was wrapped around the gate, but it was loose, the padlock missing.

  Abby’s breathing quickened as she pulled open the gate and peered towards the house. It was resplendent in the evening sun, its windows shining, the scaffolding at the back of the building gleaming like silver.

  She hurried through the long grass and saw two figures on the wide front steps. One was laid out flat, head on his paws, large ears twitching, and the other was sitting still, his elbows resting on his knees. He stood up as she approached, and ran a hand through longish, thick dark hair.

  Abby’s heart soared like the nightingale’s song, and she found she was jogging, running, white rabbit tails scattering as she disturbed them. As she got closer, Jack walked towards her. He was wearing pale jeans and a white, casual shirt, open at the neck. She soaked up the sight of him, his smile – once they were close – warm, though there was apprehension in his eyes.

  They stopped a few feet apart, and Abby tried to catch her breath.

  ‘I got your note,’ she said.

  ‘And you came straight here,’ he replied, the low sweep of his voice jolting through her, firing her senses as much as the sight of him.

  �
��I felt it warranted an immediate response.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, too.’ He took a step towards her, and Abby did the same, deciding that she’d been controlled for long enough, that now his intoxicating bergamot smell had reached her she couldn’t hold back for another second. He was here, within touching distance, and it filled her with happiness.

  His hands slid down her arms and he laced his fingers through hers. His eyes, so vividly blue in the sunlight, held hers for a moment, and then he kissed her, and all Abby’s sadness shattered, dispersing like a cloud of butterflies. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, closing any last gap, not even the whispering wind given room to come between them. She clutched at the thin fabric of his shirt, pressed her fingers against his back, his shoulder blades, feeling him, solid and warm and here.

  He leaned back to look at her and stroked her hair away from her forehead. ‘Abby, God,’ he said, ‘I have missed you.’ He kissed her again.

  ‘Ditto,’ she murmured, returning his kisses, keeping her words short, not wanting them to get in the way.

  Eventually, they broke apart, and he took her hand and led her to the steps of Swallowtail House. They sat close together, their bodies angled towards each other.

  Raffle raised his head, and Abby stroked her husky’s nose.

  ‘What are you doing with my dog?’ she asked, fixing on the least pressing of all her questions.

  Jack smiled the half-smile that she had missed so much, though his eyes were dancing, no hint of a frown furrowing his brows, all apprehension gone. ‘Octavia let me take him, once she’d stopped screeching at me.’

  Abby laughed. ‘I can imagine that seeing you again was a bit of a shock for her. I know how she feels.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this before.’ He gestured around him.

  ‘About what? Coming to visit?’ She wondered, through her elation, how long she would be able to spend with him, whether she could cope with another goodbye.

  He stared at her. ‘Visit?’

  ‘You came back to see me, and I – Jack, being with you is perfect, I’m so happy, but when you go again, I—’

  ‘Hang on, Penelope didn’t tell you?’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Abby felt like everything was slowing down, that the sun had stopped sinking, the birds had given up preening, the rabbits were all frozen, their heads raised, waiting in the long grass. She held her breath.

  ‘I’ve bought Swallowtail House,’ he said. ‘I’m moving here, permanently. Penelope has said I can stay in Peacock Cottage until the foundations have been stabilized and at least a couple of the rooms are finished, but I’m taking a few months off writing to focus on getting it done. I …’ He faltered. ‘Abby, you really didn’t know?’

  Abby swallowed desperately, trying to find words – any words – and failing.

  So instead Jack kissed her again, his thumb grazing her cheek where the tears had started to fall.

  ‘I cannot live without you, Abby Field,’ he whispered. ‘The last couple of months have been unbearable. I thought you would have realized that by now?’ He looked suddenly bashful, as if admitting this much was too exposing.

  ‘You bought Swallowtail House so you could be near me?’

  He glanced behind him. ‘I did. And also because that kitchen is crying out for some white granite worktops, and I can’t remember feeling as at home, as content, as I did looking out of those windows over the trees towards the reserve and the village. I have space to write here. I can be myself. I can walk along the trails and think through storylines and character motives and dialogue. And most of all, I can spend time with you, if you’ll have me?’

  Abby didn’t bother to wipe her tears away. ‘But it’s so big,’ she said, because that was the easiest of all her thoughts to say out loud.

  Jack laughed and took her hands again. ‘It is, but I was thinking that, in time, I might have someone who would want to share it with me, and bring their large, affectionate dog with them. Someone who will help me redesign the garden – though I’m planning to leave some of it at nature’s mercy – and who might ask their sister and her family to stay sometimes, her nieces to take charge of that small bedroom with windows on two sides. And we’d need to make use of the ballroom, so I could host Page Turner Foundation evenings here – publishing’s far too London-centric anyway, though Bob Stevens will need a bit more persuading before he agrees with me on that – and maybe Octavia would like to run a book group for the village, or invite other authors to give talks, as long as the audiences promise not to heckle, of course.’

  ‘You want me to – to live with you?’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘At some point, further down the line, I’m hoping that might be a possibility. I know we’ve barely started, that there’s so much to find out about each other, but going on our recent experience, and considering how I feel about you, I’m hoping that in a few months we’ll still like each other enough to want to spend more time together. As long as I promise not to complain about the wildlife.’

  ‘If you’re not keen on wildlife, then you’ve bought the wrong property, Mr Westcoat.’

  ‘I know that,’ he murmured.

  ‘And I could, possibly, see that in the future I might still like you enough to want to spend some time here. Would I get any say in the decoration?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘That’s going to take months, by the way. There’s a lot that needs bringing up to scratch.’

  ‘So you’ll be at Peacock Cottage for a while?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘When are you moving back?’

  ‘I’ve done it. Shalimar and the squashed-frog Range Rover are already waiting for us.’

  ‘They are?’ Abby’s soul lifted further, threatening to sweep her off the ground, untethered like the hot air balloon.

  ‘I’ve bought a bottle of champagne and a packet of oven chips, and I wondered, Abby Field, if you would be happy to spend the evening with me, to see if we can finally nail down that badger in the garden.’

  She grinned. ‘That sounds perfect, if I can have a shower first? Maybe nip home and change this T-shirt for something a bit more comfortable?’

  ‘What’s wrong with Day-Glo orange?’ Jack asked. ‘You look gorgeous, sun-kissed.’

  ‘Like I’ve been tangoed,’ Abby said.

  Jack hesitated, his head on one side. ‘Possibly a bit. I will allow you to go home and change, as long as you’re back at mine within half an hour, otherwise I can’t guarantee that the chips won’t be burnt. I’ll take Raffle with me as insurance.’

  ‘Deal,’ she said, laughing, knowing it would be the quickest shower of her life. She let Jack pull her to her feet, and they stood looking up at the house, the sun sinking, burning amber, classier than her T-shirt but no less blinding as it lit the glass with its fire.

  Swallowtail House, the House of Birds and Butterflies, Jack’s House and, perhaps in time, a home for her and Raffle too. Abby breathed deeply, trying to take it all in, knowing that she was sure, so sure, of one thing, and that was the man whose hand she was holding, who was standing alongside her, as awed by the simple beauty of nature as she was.

  They turned away and walked slowly towards the side gate that would lead them to Meadowgreen and Peacock Cottage.

  ‘Speaking of my nieces,’ Abby said, ‘Tessa has invited me to hers next weekend, as a sort of unveiling of the ridiculous bird guide that I’ve been writing.’

  ‘It’s not ridiculous, Abby.’

  ‘It started as a joke. Something to help Willow and Daisy identify the birds and want to find out more about them.’

  ‘Which is brilliant, and important, especially when you’re trying to encourage more people – young people, notably – to show an interest.’

  ‘Meadowsweet will be doing a lot of that with its Fledgling programme, something I have you to thank for.’ Jack frowned, but Abby kept going, wanting to get her question out before she lo
st her nerve. ‘I’ll tell you about it later. But Tessa, all of them, want me to read this thing out loud, next Saturday, at their house. And Mum’s going to be there.’

  Jack glanced at her. ‘How do you feel about that?’

  ‘Nervous. OK mostly, but a bit nervous. I was wondering, would you – if I checked with Tessa that it was all right – would you come with me?’

  Jack grinned. ‘I’d love to. I’m intrigued about this bird book, and I’d love to meet your family.’

  Abby nodded, exhaled. ‘If it’s too much too soon, then—’

  ‘It’s not,’ Jack said. ‘Not for me, anyway.’

  ‘Good.’ They smiled at each other, looked away. ‘And if you could resist passing judgement on my reading,’ Abby continued, ‘that would be great, because I’ll get enough of that from Willow and Daisy, and I’ll need at least one person on my side.’

  ‘I’ll be the perfect publicist,’ he said. ‘And I’ll quash any heckling the moment it starts. Unless – how scary are your nieces?’

  ‘Daisy, especially, is terrifying.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind. At least you’re starting with a difficult crowd. In some ways that’s best, getting the toughest events out of the way first.’

  ‘Like sleepy little Meadowgreen library?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Jack said. ‘That was hard work.’

  ‘Octavia still feels terrible about it.’

  ‘She doesn’t need to. I deserved most of what was said.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ Abby replied forcefully. ‘And you proved it with that interview in the Saturday paper.’

  ‘You read that?’

  ‘Of course I did! I read everything. I inhaled all I could find about you online, in the papers, while I couldn’t inhale the real you, your smell and your touch, and your laugh.’

  ‘Abby—’ he started.

  ‘He’s smartly dressed, his hair the dishevelled mane of a man who wants to give the impression looks are unimportant, but not even he would deny that he’s attractive, almost disarmingly so,’ she quoted in an over-serious voice.