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Dominic is already putting the meal on the table when I return. On my plate, there’s a succulent chicken breast, crispy roast potatoes, buttered carrots and a heap of cabbage. All my lover has are some slices of chicken and a spoonful of his own gravy.
‘You should taste the rest of it,’ I say as I tuck in. ‘Mrs Duston’s right, you’re a very good cook.’
‘I forgot this,’ Dominic says. He jumps up from the table and goes to the fridge. ‘Mr Codling-Bentham gave me this.’
He puts a bottle of Bollinger on the table.
‘Wow, champagne. Very good champagne.’ I suddenly feel light and reckless. ‘Shall we open it?’
Dominic nods.
‘Have you opened fizz before?’
‘No. Never.’
‘Here, let me show you.’ I stand next to him as I strip the foil, unscrew the wire and then wiggle the cork to the edge of the bottle, where it releases with a satisfying pop. ‘That’s how you do it. None of this denting the ceiling business.’ I grab two glasses and pour it out. ‘Just a taste,’ I tell him. ‘A tiny taste won’t hurt.’
Dominic, unsure, lifts his glass to his nose. ‘The bubbles tickle.’
‘We should toast something.’
I put my glass against his. ‘To us,’ I say.
‘To us, Just Janie,’ he echoes.
Then, as I sip the chilled bubbles, I come over all light-headed. ‘Let’s get married,’ I say. ‘As soon as we can. Let’s get married.’
‘Mike told me that ladies like men who can cook,’ he teases, ‘but I did not think that it would work so quickly.’
I think of Mike and wonder what he’d make of me proposing to Dominic like this? I’m sure he’ll be happy for us. Absolutely sure.
‘Shall we do it? Will you make an honest woman of me?’
Dominic laughs. ‘Yes, Just Janie. I will.’
Chapter Seventy-One
My last three clients disappear on Wednesday afternoon. A perm, a cut and colour, and a wash and finish. All cancelled. Kelly decides to let me go home early. Business is still flat in the salon after Christmas and Steph is here and has gaps in her appointments in case there are any walk-ins. I also think that Kelly appreciates how many extra hours I worked before Christmas, even though it was for purely selfish reasons.
I used to love the perfumed fug of the salon but these days I’m finding it quite claustrophobic and I can’t wait to escape into the fresh air again. Today, is a perfect day and it makes me believe that spring is just around the corner. The sun is bright, doing its best to warm the air but just unable to take that last sharp nip out of it. The pale blue sky is dotted with wisps of milky cloud.
It’s nearly three o’clock as I turn into Nashley and although Dominic isn’t at home, I know exactly where he’ll be. I put on my walking boots and warm coat and head out straight away to find him. Marching through the village warms me up and by the time I get to the Codling-Benthams’ home, I’m panting from the exertion.
I find Dominic in the garden, lifting piles of leaves into a huge wheelbarrow. There’s a battered old radio by his feet and he’s singing along to ‘I Predict a Riot’ while he works. Not quite the same as the songs of love and nature that he’s used to, but he seems to enjoy it nevertheless. Archie is flat out, fast asleep under the barrow.
‘Hey,’ I say as I come up behind him and kiss his cheek. ‘Got off work early. Think you can get away?’
My lover pulls off his gardening gloves. ‘I have been very busy.’ Together we survey his handiwork. ‘I am sure they will not mind.’
He’s probably done ten times more work in a day than the ancient gentleman who usually potters about here.
‘Thought we’d go for a little walk,’ I tell him. ‘Show you some more of the area.’
Dominic gazes around him. ‘I would like to know more about the trees and plants and birds,’ he says. ‘It is important to me. In the Mara, I would know every bird, every animal, all the trees. Here, I do not know any of them.’
‘I’m not sure I know that many of them either,’ I admit, ‘but I’ll give it a go. We’d better tell the Codling-Benthams that you’re leaving for the day and we can see if we can borrow a wildlife book from them.’
Dominic hefts a slightly startled Archie from his resting place and slings him around his shoulders. He picks up his stick too and then we go up to the house and wait patiently while Mrs Codling-Bentham fusses over Dominic and searches for a suitable book for us to take on our walk. She presses a rich fruit cake in a tartan tin into Dominic’s arms and Mr Codling-Bentham supplies a bottle of fine port to accompany it.
