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‘Only if scraping your throat with sandpaper is your idea of smooth!’ Barnie said with a grin.
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ Cam grumbled. It wasn’t that he was tight with his money, he’d just never escaped the mindset of not spending more than you needed to. His parents had worked hard to provide for Cam and his younger sister, Nora. There had always been food on the table, and they’d never had to forego necessities, but no one would ever have described the Ferguson family as being well off. Holidays had been in a caravan on the coast and most of the tins in the cupboard had supermarket value labels on them.
When he thought about his childhood, Cam never remembered feeling jealous of his friends who got to jet off to Spain or Florida during the school holidays, though he was sure there were times when he’d wished his dad had a better car, or he had access to the latest computer games console. His abiding memories were filled with the sound of his mother’s laughter, of chasing his sister along the beach and helping her build her first sandcastle. Though his university salary paid enough for Cam to have built up a nice little savings nest egg, he’d never got over the lesson of making his money stretch as far as possible.
They turned off and the road instantly narrowed. Recalling the winding route through the wood, Cam hoped they weren’t about to embark on another mystery tour of the Cotswold countryside. Trees lined the road, but they were spaced out in a more uniform manner, as though deliberately planted rather than the wild spread of nature. The road sloped upwards and, as they crested the top of the hill, Cam’s foot found the brake without any conscious thought at the view laid out before them. A high stone wall stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. An impressive stone archway stood over the road, set with an enormous pair of wrought-iron gates. The gates stood open and framed in the far distance was what must be Stourton Hall, the golden honey stones of its edifice glowing almost white in the sunshine. ‘Wow,’ Barnie murmured. ‘That’s one hell of a view.’
Cam started forward, the smooth tarmac beneath the car’s wheels giving way to the crunch of a broad gravel driveway. Although there were no other vehicles in sight, Cam stuck to the left-hand side and kept his speed low. His car wasn’t new by any stretch of the imagination, but he still took good care of it and didn’t want to risk dinging the paintwork. The driveway wound through an expanse of open parkland dotted with enormous trees. The width of their trunks spoke of their age and Cam doubted he and Barnie could span the largest ones with their arms joined. A glistening thread of blue snaked along the edge of the parkland, something between a stream and a river, and a large expanse of water sparkled to the left of the Hall, an ornamental lake, perhaps?
As he followed the road, the Hall disappeared from sight. Whoever had laid the route hadn’t been a fan of straight lines. They turned another bend and were faced with a crossroads. Left was signposted Juniper Meadows Hotel and Spa and Cam recalled Hope’s reference to that being what the Hall was used for now. The sign pointing right was for the distillery and something called The Old Stable Yard. Hope had said she’d be working and would meet them in the car park by the distillery, so Cam headed right.
To his surprise, the car park was huge, with enough room for at least a couple of hundred cars, he reckoned, based on how many were parked there already and how much empty space was still available. He slotted in at the end of the third row and he and Barnie got out. In front of the car park was a large courtyard filled with people wandering in all directions between the collection of buildings that surrounded three sides of it. The row on the left had signs for a shop and a café. There were smaller signs over several open doorways along the back of the courtyard, but they were too far away for him to make out what each one was. A taller building filled the right-hand side, a pair of large arched doors indicating it might once have been a carriage house, though now it housed the distillery. Cam took out his phone and searched through his contacts for the number Hope had given him. It rang a couple of times before her mellow voice filled his ear. ‘Hope Travers.’
‘Hope, hi, it’s Dr Ferguson, uh, I mean Cam. From the university. We’re here. Outside. In the car park.’ God, it was like he’d forgotten how to speak in proper sentences. He risked a quick glance at Barnie, then wished to hell he hadn’t bothered because his so-called friend was grinning like a loon, clearly enjoying Cam’s discomfort.
‘Oh, you found us okay, then? I wondered if you would because sat navs get a bit confused with all the little local roads. We say on the website to stay on the main road until you see the signs for the estate, but I forgot to mention that when I saw you the other day.’
Cam laughed. ‘That was definitely information we could’ve done with, but we made it in one piece with the help of someone in the village.’
‘Great! Well, as long as you made it, that’s the main thing. Look, I know we said we’d meet at eleven but Zap’s having a meltdown over a dodgy batch of rose petals and I need to speak to the supplier and get it sorted out. The café’s open and they do a lovely lemon drizzle cake, or you could have a browse around the workshops if you prefer.’ She sounded tired, and a bit flustered.
‘Take your time, we’ve got all day,’ Cam reassured her.
‘We?’
‘Yes. I brought a colleague of mine along for a second opinion. I hope you don’t mind?’ Cam began to worry that perhaps he should’ve mentioned it earlier.
‘Oh, not at all! Honestly, the more the merrier if it means we can get to the bottom of things. Damn, that’s the supplier on the other line. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’ The phone went dead before he could reply.
‘Everything all right?’ Barnie asked, his earlier smirk replaced by a frown of concern.
‘Yeah, fine. Hope’s got to sort out a problem, something to do with someone called Zap and some rose petals.’
‘What kind of a name is Zap?’
Cam shrugged. ‘No idea, mate. What I do know is that Hope said we should check out the lemon drizzle cake in the café and she’ll meet us in there when she’s ready.’
Barnie slung an arm around his shoulders. ‘Well, this day just gets better and better.’
5
Having extracted an apology from the supplier and a promise to replace the faulty batch of petals with a new delivery first thing on Monday morning, Hope let herself out of the side door of the distillery and made sure to lock it behind her. Even with a ‘Private – No Entry’ sign on the door, they’d had a curious visitor or two poking around where they shouldn’t be on more than one occasion.
Tucking her keys away, Hope reached up and tugged the band from her hair, quickly smoothing the wisps that had escaped and refastened her ponytail high on her head so only the end of it brushed her shoulders. She smoothed the front of her fuchsia-pink Juniper Meadows branded polo shirt, then wondered why she was fussing over her appearance. Cameron Ferguson was here to give the remains she’d found the once over, not her. Heat suddenly suffused her cheeks at the realisation she wouldn’t mind if he did.
Where had that come from?
Sure, he was attractive if tall, blond and bookish was one’s type. Okay, yes, that was definitely her type, but it still didn’t explain why she’d caught herself staring into space on several occasions over the past few days thinking about the slightly roughened touch of his skin as he’d covered her hand with his own. She was being ridiculous. She’d just been on her own for too long and had grown unused to physical contact.
Her previous relationship – if you could call three months of twice-weekly dinners occasionally followed by some rather disappointing sex a relationship – had ended on Valentine’s Day. Rupert had promised her a romantic, candle-lit supper, only he’d left it too late to book anywhere decent and they’d ended up in a Wetherspoons around the corner from his flat. To add insult to his choice of a chicken vindaloo, he’d started bleating on about her not having time to see to his needs properly when she’d taken an urgent phone call about work. Rising from the table, Hope had dropped her napkin next to her half-eaten chicken korma and told him in her sweetest voice that it was very difficult to see to anyone’s needs properly in under three minutes and walked out.
‘You need to get laid,’ Hope muttered to herself as she wove her way across the busy courtyard towards the café. ‘And by a man who knows what he’s doing.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ A woman Hope supposed was around the same age as her mother swung around to give her a shocked glare.
‘I said a couple of these cobbles need to be re-laid,’ Hope said, scuffing her boot over one of the tightly packed stones. ‘There’s always maintenance that needs doing.’ Hope tapped the company logo on her shirt and hoped her face wasn’t as pink as her top.
The woman was suddenly all smiles. ‘That’s why we love coming here – the staff are always so conscientious. I hope your boss appreciates you!’
