The Wedding Cake Tree (4 page)

‘
So she came up with a second birthday for her official celebration, just like the Queen.’

‘
Yes, just like the Queen,’ I said in a more reflective manner than intended. Pulling myself back to the present, I realised it was time to focus all my efforts into ignoring the fact that Alasdair had the most captivating blue eyes I had ever seen, and ‘dismiss him from his duties’ as Paul had said.

‘Listen
, I’ve been thinking. It was wrong of Mum to ask you to give up your holidays just to travel with me. I can easily do this journey on my own. You must have better things to do with your time. Family to see, maybe? More exciting places to go? If you just give me all the details, I’ll be happy to carry on by myself.’

I flashed him my best smile
. Immune, he frowned and rubbed his chin.

‘
Hmm, I thought you might say that.’ He leant forward again. ‘You should know that I owe a great deal to your mother, she was very good to me during my time at the retreat. And regarding your concerns about taking up my leave entitlement, at the moment I’m on a short sabbatical
–
Rosamund’s suggestion
–
and I’ve had a holiday at my house in Snowdonia, and done most of the things I needed to do. I know the thought of spending the next ten days with me must seem, well, odd to say the least, but it’s what your mother wanted. Please remember that I promised a dying woman I would accompany her daughter on a journey that seemed vital to her, and I
really
don’t want to break that promise. So, as bizarre as it is, let’s just go with it. What do you say?’

How
on earth was I supposed to get rid of him after that? Some pudding fell off the spoon I had been balancing absently over my dish. Trying to think of a response, I moved the pudding around the dish and tried to decide what to do for the best.

Would it really be so bad to travel around
the country for a few days with this amiable and attractive (although clearly not the deciding factor) marine?

Suddenly animated, he
beamed his brightest smile, sat upright and began to delve into a pocket.

‘
I know!’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ll show you my military ID, so you know I’m exactly who I say I am?’

I began to feel sorry for him and raised
my hand. ‘No no
–
you’re a friend of Mum’s after all. It’s fine.’

He removed
his hand from his pocket.

‘So,
we’ll stick together then?’ he asked, his expression the epitome of optimistic innocence, ‘because I’ve already planned the whole thing, and I’ve really been looking forward to seeing some of the places we’re going to; they’re all great locations, I’m sure you’ll love it …’ His enthusiasm was contagious.

‘Okay
, fine. We’ll go together.’

He sm
iled a broad sexy smile, looked decidedly pleased with himself and changed the subject, which is when I realised the man had known all along he’d talk me round. I couldn’t help but smile.

‘
And a couple of these,’ he said brightly, gathering the books from the table and packing them into a small rucksack, ‘are tourist books for the places we’re going to visit.’

I leant forward.
‘Oh, can I see them? Grimes didn’t actually say where we’re going.’

‘
No, no, no. I’m the book holder and each destination is to be revealed only as we move from place to place. Rosamund was particularly firm about that.’

‘
Seriously?’

‘
Seriously.’ He flashed me a cheeky wink. ‘I’ll tell you more later, once we’ve landed and feel like the journey’s got going. We’re booked on Flybe 109 to Leeds from Exeter. It departs at four o’clock. I was told you would have your passport with you. Please,
please
tell me that’s correct!’

I nodded; I couldn’t say no, Grimes had seen it
, the conniving toad!

‘
Bob Grimes will be here soon to give me all of the paperwork and drive us to the airport.’ I got the gist of why we were flying to Leeds.

‘
Would I be correct if I guessed Mum was taking me back to her northern roots?’

‘
I believe that would be a correct assumption, yes.’

I had to smile.
He was trying so hard to make this crazy situation work – make me happy and follow Mum’s wishes. It was easy to see why she had singled him out to be my companion. I returned to the bread and butter pudding while he gestured to the waitress and asked for some fresh water for the teapots and two clean cups.

‘
I don’t know about you,’ he said, ‘but I have to have a fresh, hot cuppa with my pudding. All my jabbering has made the last one go cold.’

Whoever this man was
, we were certainly on the same wavelength, and although my plan to travel alone had somehow been scuppered before it ventured past the blueprint stage, I had the vaguest of inclinations that this journey might prove to be worthwhile after all.

Part Two

The Yorkshire Dales

England

22–24 May

Chapter Six

The flight to Leeds was short
– fifty minutes at the most. When the aircraft pushed back from the stand, the steward ended his safety brief by reminding all passengers to switch off their mobile phones. Alasdair tilted his head towards mine but kept his gaze towards the front of the aircraft. ‘There is one minor detail I haven’t told you yet,’ he said.

‘Go on.’

He nodded towards the phone in my hand.

‘Your
mum wanted you to leave your phone turned off for the duration of the trip.’

My head whipped through
ninety degrees to look at him directly.

‘Why?’

‘N
o distractions.’

I considered this request
for a second … or maybe even two.

‘
The answer to that would be no, absolutely not.’ I jostled in my seat. ‘Turn off my phone? No way, I need it for work. I answer my emails from it. I’ve gone along with everything else, but no, no way.’

‘H
mm,’ he muttered. His thumb and forefinger stroked the lobe of his ear. ‘Well, how about if we
both
keep our
phones
turned off, and just check for messages at the end of each day. That’s a fair compromise surely?’

‘I don’t need a compromise,
thank you.’ I lowered my head to glance through the aircraft window.

‘Fair enough,’ he said
–
that was easier
than expected
– ‘although to be fair, Rosamund said …’ He shook his head, ‘no, it doesn’t matter …’

‘What?
What did Mum say?’

He sat back and sighed.

‘She said you would find it difficult to live without your phone, that it was permanently glued to your hand.’ I glanced down to the phone in my hand and quickly stuffed it back into my bag under the seat in front of me.

At that moment
the pilot powered up the engines and the aircraft began to roar down the runway. Too late to back out now.

When the steward began the drinks service, Alasdair delved into his rucksack and handed me another letter from Mum. I expected a couple of pages of prose, but she had written very little:

Grace.

Time to start living life,
not watching it.

Mum

xxx

I looked up from the note
– bemused and a little annoyed. ‘What exactly has Mum got planned Alasdair? Should I be worried?’

A
wry smile emerged across Alasdair’s face. ‘Worried? Never. Excited? Yes.’

I lowered my head to look down on the British landscape below.
‘Excited about spending some time out in Britain? I’m yet to be convinced.’

A young man holding the keys to a shiny Range Rover waited for us outside the airport terminal. It was Alasdair’s turn to have his name splashed across a billboard and I realised I hadn’t even asked his surname. It was Finn.

After about half an hour w
e turned down the slip road that led onto the A1. I relaxed a little.

‘
Is that where Mum’s from then, the Dales?’ It was odd to be asking a stranger details about my own mother’s life.

‘
Yes.’ He offered no more information.

‘
Oh, sorry, I forgot. You must follow your orders and keep me in suspense.’ Alasdair took his eyes off the road to flash me a reassuring smile.

‘
As I said to you in the café, Rosamund gave me limited information. What I can tell you is tonight we’re staying at the Wensleydale Heifer
–
your mum’s choice
–
and then in the morning I’ll take you to your first port of call; it’s somewhere nearby. I would imagine the next letter will explain all she wants you to know.’

‘
And when do I get the letter?’

‘
At the first port of call.’

‘
And how do you know where this first port
–
as you refer t
o
it – i
s
?’

‘
Because I wrote Rosamund’s instructions down in a notebook.’

I
fell silent to give him a break from the questions – for a few seconds at least.

‘
You must admit that this is more than a little bizarre though,’ I said, more to myself than to Alasdair, while gazing blankly at the passing countryside.

‘
What is? What’s bizarre?’

‘
Well, you’re a complete stranger to me but I’m asking you questions about my own mother. You seem to know more about her than I do.’

H
e shrugged and smiled.

‘
I tell you what,’ I said, ‘I’m going to try my hardest to just follow you around, ask nothing, and then wait for you to shepherd me to some place significant.’

‘
Really?’ he asked, stealing a glance.

I
turned to scrutinise him as he was driving. Paul’s comment that Alasdair could turn out to be a dodgy character crossed my mind. I smiled inwardly.

‘
The thing is,’ I said, trying to keep the smile out of my voice, ‘I keep telling myself to enjoy the trip, but then I start to panic. I mean, a strange man is driving me about in the middle of the frozen north.’ I gestured towards the landscape and he laughed again. ‘You could be an axe murderer or anything. But, my mother seems to think this is a perfectly reasonable thing to do, so who am I to do anything but just go with the flow.’ I gestured with my arm in a casual flowing motion.

‘
Typical, that is.’ He flashed me a scolding glare.

‘
What?’

‘
How come I
–
the man
–
am automatically tarnished with being the murderer? For all I know, this could all be a weird set up between you and your mum. You could be intending to drug me, chop me up into bits and feed me to the pigs.’

‘
Well, firstly,’ I retorted with an unfeminine snort, ‘as
if
. And secondly, pigs?’

‘
Best way to dispense of a body apparently. They eat the lot.’

He was clearly an expert
.

‘
And how in God’s name do you know that little snippet?’

‘
Saw it in a film.’

‘
Oh, it must be true then.’

‘
We’re off at the next junction. Through Bedale, into Wensleydale and then we’re there.’ He glanced upwards through the windscreen to look at the clouds. ‘I checked the forecast this morning. It’s going to be sunny tomorrow.’

He
was obviously in the need of a little tour operator boost, so I assured him that I could see it was a beautiful landscape – behind the mist, the drizzle and field after field of miserable-looking sheep.

By seven thirty we entered a sleepy village called West
Witton. The car tyres scrunched over a gravel drive and we came to a halt in the car park behind the hotel – a seventeenth century inn, according to the sign. The stonework on the outside of the building was freshly whitewashed and the windows – tiny lead mullions – had a lamp positioned on each of the sills.

We left the luggage in the car and dashed through the
– by then – torrential rain, and fell into the hotel through a rear door. The hotel was heady with the scent of burning oak but the effect wasn’t overpowering, just welcoming and atmospheric. We followed voices down a passageway and found an intimate, candle-lit bistro. A middle-aged lady with the look of a farmer’s wife about her backed through the kitchen door and entered the bistro carrying a tray. She spotted us loitering in the doorway and, after serving a couple their dinner, shooed us back to the reception area to register.

‘
Mr Finn is it?’ she asked with a broad smile; she didn’t wait for a reply but bustled breathlessly behind the desk.

‘
Two nights, two rooms, dinner and breakfast.’ A matter of fact statement as she opened the large leather-bound bookings ledger.

Alasdair took the lead and completed the registr
ation form for both of us. I stood behind him like a nervous honeymooner. The lady – June – was completely amiable and not a little bit wink-wink, nudge-nudge. No doubt it was the intimacy of the hotel and the loved-up couple in the bistro that made the atmosphere romantic, and me a little uncomfortable.

We followed June up a tight staircase and waited while she unlocked the doors to adjacent rooms
, then stood awkwardly in our respective doorways as she edged her way back down the stairs. Stopping abruptly, she looked back up the staircase and said, ‘Nearly forgot; you two still want dinner in your rooms then?’

‘
Oh, yes please.’ Alasdair turned towards me to explain.

‘
I phoned ahead yesterday to say what time to expect us. I thought you would probably have had enough of me by now.’

‘
Fine, perfect. I’m really quite tired.’ I nodded my approval.

‘
I’ll just pop to the car and get the bags.’

Alasdair was right to suggest we part company for the evening. After dinner I felt weary and flopped backwards onto the bouncy double bed. It had been such a peculiar day.

Just twenty
-four hours before, I had been at home in London preparing for my trip to Barnstaple and then, somehow, I found myself cajoled a few hundred miles north to what I presumed to be my dead mother’s childhood home – crazy. But, it was turning into quite an adventure already and I had to admit that, despite my reticence, I was enjoying the company and the time away.

I had been pushing myself too hard.
In the past month I had chased from one photo shoot to another, so it was nice to relax and let someone else do the thinking for once. Had Mum known a break was what I needed? Some time away from the madness of my photographic work?

Then there was Alasdair.

Grimes was right, Alasdair was easy company. He had an air of authority about him but in an unassuming way. His manner was such that it was impossible not to warm to him – airport staff, the airline steward, car hire fellow and now June – they all accommodated his wishes with a smile. Although I had been in his company for no more than a few hours, I felt he was the sort of man one could become stranded with in the middle of the Sahara Desert and within twelve hours he would have arranged camels, a Bedouin tent, rations and a little man with a fan.

I grabbed my bag to
find my phone (despite my argument to the contrary, I had completely forgotten to turn it on), ignored the plethora of texts and missed calls, and sent a text message to Paul.

Everything fine. In Yorkshire Dales of all places! The marine came after all ;-)

The phone rang within seconds.

‘
I knew it! You’re useless, Grace. He’d better not be good-looking.’

Err…

‘Actually, he’s good fun, you’d like him. I suppose he’s not
bad
looking, in a rugged kind of a way. I’m having a good time, surprisingly.’

Paul sighed.
             

‘
Just hold on there a minute, tiger! Good fun you say? Need I remind you that, just a few hours ago, you were moaning like a stuck pig about the whole damn shooting match, and now you say you’re having a good timeafter al
l
–
you’re so bloody fickle! Just answer me this, though. Soldier Boy’s rugged. Does that mean he’s got more muscles than me?’

I laughed.

‘
Everyone’s
got more muscles than you, even me. But okay, yes, he’s got a fit body. I’m trying not to look though.’

‘
God, I hate him. Is he married?’

‘
No idea.’

‘Ask him.’

‘No way!’

‘He
probably wouldn’t tell you anyway,’ he quipped. ‘A man like that’ll have a woman in every port. And if he starts telling you about the time he caught a bullet between his teeth when he liberated a small nation, and then pulled shrapnel out of his arm and then sewed up the wound with barbed wire, just tell him to sod off.’

‘
Why don’t
you
sod off!’

He laughed down the phone.

‘Bye, sweet cheeks. And don’t forget, tortoise and the hare! I’ll get you in the end.’

I laughed again. ‘
As sweet as your relentless advances towards me are, it will
never
happen. I’ve known you for what
–
four years? Go find yourself a nice pole dancer.’