Page 104 of Escape to the Country

Chapter 35

The following morning, Eleanor realised how much lighter she felt. She didn’t need to lie any more. She’d hated that job. And for now, she wanted a clean break from London and all the bad memories. She wanted to stay with her family and friends and enjoy their company, be herself again.

The only slight problem was if anyone back in London worked out that she was the girl in the photograph. Because she was beginning to realise that she didn’t want anything to jeopardise her friendship with Tom.

She tried to concentrate on the idea of infused oils instead. She had been wanting to experiment with different oils for a while. So she decided to try out a couple to mix into her basic cream mixture. Perhaps she could try them on her friends at the spa evening they had planned.

The previous evening she had been drawn to the rose petals that had fallen onto the ground, and that had given her an idea. So when she was back at Willow Tree Hall, she gathered up some more loose rose petals on her way to the stable block.

She felt someone watching her and turned around to find Bert the gardener looking on with much amusement.

Deciding that he might be in rare good humour, Eleanor decided to chance her luck. ‘Is it okay for me to pick a small bit of lavender as well?’ she asked, giving him her most hopeful, sweetest smile.

‘As long as you leave some for the bees,’ he grunted at her before turning away.

Back in her workshop, she chopped up the rose petals into fine pieces and filled an empty jam jar until it was almost full. Then she covered the petals with some cheap sunflower oil that she had swiped from her mum’s larder and filled it to the brim. Finally she screwed on the lid and left it on the windowsill in the sunshine.

She repeated the same process with the lavender as well. Except she ran out of sunflower oil for the last two jars. Deciding to modify her own recipe, and thinking what the hell, she covered the lavender with water instead.

For the next couple of days, she would pick up each jam jar and shake it vigorously before placing it back in the warm sunshine.

The day before the spa evening, she took a couple of the oil infusions with her to her new workshop. Using one of Annie’s old colanders, she strained the petals from the oil and then used the leftover oil to mix into her face cream recipe. She made a couple of pots with the rose oil and another few with the lavender.

She looked at the leftover oil. She didn’t think that would be good for anything but the lavender water smelled lovely so she poured that into a container to ponder over what to do with it.

Feeling smug with her efforts, she wandered out of the stable to tell someone but Tom wasn’t working nearby. In fact, they hadn’t seen each other for the past few days. Apparently, he had been holed up in the recording studio and their paths had never seemed to cross, despite her looking out for him at every opportunity. She found she missed having him working nearby. Missed his calming presence and their easy conversations.

With a sigh, she decided to let Annie know what she had been up to instead.

It was a glorious afternoon. The birds were tweeting all around her in the trees high above. White cotton balls of clouds were drifting lazily around in an otherwise cobalt blue sky. In a leafy glade on her way back to the main house, she stopped walking and turned her face up to the sun, warming her cheeks in its rays. Although her hair was scraped back into a ponytail, a loose strand gently battered her cheek. For a moment all she felt was blissful peace. Then she heard her name called out from nearby.

In shock, she turned to see if the face matched the voice. Surely she must be imagining things? It couldn’t be him. Not here. Not now.

But the voice was true. It was her dad.

‘Hello,’ he said, walking through the woods with a wide grin, as if they had seen each other only yesterday. When, in fact, it had been at least a year.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, automatically scratching at her neck even though it wasn’t itchy

He looked ridiculous. Who wore a leather jacket in this heat? And those jeans were way too tight for a man of his age. He had dyed his hair, but the black was much too harsh against his skin. It was slicked back, but she still noticed that it had thinned a little more since last she had seen him.

‘Well, that’s a fine welcome,’ he told her, stepping forward to put his arms around her for a hug.

For a second, she let herself relax against him. The smell of his aftershave so familiar even after all of these years. Then she remembered all the pain and stepped away from him.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

She was about to tell him when Dylan charged up to them. Looking around, she saw Tom appearing through the trees. She tried to tell him telepathically to turn around, but it was too late. Her dad had seen him. She closed her eyes briefly in despair.

Not at all surprised, she watched as her dad immediately turned his back on her and headed over to hold out his hand to Tom.

‘Hi there, Tommy,’ he said. ‘I’m Ken McCartney. Eleanor’s father.’

Tom took his hand and shook it, glancing at Eleanor as he did so. She felt almost certain that he could sense her discomfort.

‘I’ve gotta say, I’m a huge fan,’ her dad continued. ‘And you were brilliant at Glastonbury. I was there, of course. I go every year.’

Eleanor rolled her eyes.