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Chapter 9
Mitch pulled at Trixy’s lead but she stuck her paws into the ground. Eventually his attempts worked and she allowed him to guide her down the path. However, she stopped to sniff at something in the bushes. Due to her size, Mitch was forever worried he would strangle her if he pulled the lead with his full strength.
‘Come on, Trix.’ He tried to lift her up but only managed to raise her back half and her front paws remained on the ground with her head in the bush. Hearing Holly’s voice travel over the shrubs he remained quiet.
‘There’s nothing going on. I can assure you.’
Mitch shook his head and yanked Trixy who yelped. Picking her up he stuffed her under his arm attempting to settle her down so he could comfortably walk away without her wriggling free. Looking over the hedge to the caravan he shook his head. He had been sure there was a spark between himself and Holly. If she was making excuses to that guy, maybe they had a thing going on? Although it did seem a bit soon after the husband.And there was him holding back, wanting to be respectful with her having recently split from her ex. Mitch heard voices approaching and ducked slightly to mask himself from view as Holly walked past towards a black sporty Maserati, which had a thin stripe of the Italian flag colours running up and over from boot to bonnet.
Mitch shook his head. ‘Flash git,’ he muttered.
This was not how he wanted things to pan out. He had planned to ask Holly to have dinner with him and to see if things progressed. He had not had any female friends since Vanessa died, not that he had been short of offers. But this was the first time he actually felt like getting to know someone. His stomach lurched at the memory of Vanessa. The sickly feeling of guilt that never left him. The haunting memory of finding her covered in blood between tractor and barn door.If only I’d been there in time to save her,wasa mantra he repeated so often that at times he thought he would go insane.
Seeing Holly again, all of his carefree boyhood innocence flooded back to him. With Holly he felt like a bloke again with bloke thoughts.Anyway, I’m nothing like him, he thought watching Ethan with his belted jeans, tucked-in shirt and shiny shoes get into his car.If that’s her type, I’ve no chance,he thought as he rubbed his chin, which was already sprouting stubble, he was only ever clean shaven for a few hours of the day.Then there's her husband, another bad penny.Mitch shook his head.I’m best off out of it.As if reading his thoughts. Trixy licked his chin as the Maserati rumbled by, kicking up gravel as Ethan accelerated away.
Mitch strode back to the farm along the stony lane. It was a much shorter trip since he had pulled the gate out, not having to walk via the village road. He knew there’d been bad feelings between his family and Holly’s for years and had no interest in continuing that rubbish. It would die with his uncle as far as he was concerned. Even if Sid would never forgive them, to Mitch all was fair in business, love and war.
The Mendips rose before him at the far boundary of the farm, like a protective barrier between this world and the hell of a life he had endured over the past two years in Essex. Surveying the farm, he considered how different it was from Booth Essex, which was on flatter land.
Reaching his destination, he opened the back door of the farmhouse and stepped onto the stone flanked floors. There were no plush furnishings in this section of the house which was purely functional and held the kitchen, a utility area and meeting room where he addressed the staff. Sidney’s dog had been relocated to the Essex farm. Bruce, the working dog was too aggressive. He could have maimed Trixy – or worse. Security was no issue as Trixy yapped if anything came within sniffing distance of the house. Watching her slurp water out of a metal bowl, he went to the cupboard and fetched a handful of dog biscuits, which he set out for her.
Mitch leaned against the worktop visualising Holly. Her athletic body, her hair that fluttered around her face, making her appear fragile. Halting his thoughts, he turned on the tap, filling a long glass with water and drank it down in one, pushing thoughts of Holly from his mind.Although in business, he realised, Holly would definitely make a great associate. She had bags of energy and determination. He admired her resilience.They’d be good for each other, in a business sense.
‘Nothing more,’ he said to Trixy as she stared up at him, licking her lips.
Mitch crossed over to the private side of the farmhouse with Trixy in tow. Removing his boots, he walked over the threshold into the living room. It was full of his uncle’s lifetime clutter, with a huge red paisley rug covering much of the wooden floor. High-backed chairs and sofas were placed around the room. At the end was a plant-filled conservatory where Sid appeared to be sleeping in a chair. Magda sat opposite him reading a book.
Mitch glanced at the sideboard where he had propped Holly’s painting. He was unsure about where to hang it.It’s a shame about that competition,he thought.Studying the picture, it seemed as if the farmhouse was situated in the centre of a beautiful, colour-filled paradise.
‘What a waste – a real talent,’ he said to himself. ‘Let’s see what we can do,’ Trixy jumped up at his legs. ‘You’re not coming though.’
After letting Magda know he was off out and asking her to mind Trixy, Mitch picked up the painting and left the farmhouse.
Mitch strodealong Wells High Street, meandering here and there to avoid bustling shoppers and sightseers. Whilst there were some young families with prams, most of the visitors were the retired, mooching around, as tourists do. The shops were a mixture of those built from red brick and those in Bath stone. He had been to the Town Hall before, so knew where it was – straight ahead to the Cathedral then hang a right at the pub. He had changed into a pair of jeans and a blue jumper. His Barbour jacket was open as the day was warm. He approached the reception desk with Holly’s bubble-wrapped painting under his arm.
A smartly dressed woman smiled at him. ‘Can I help?’
‘Yes, I’d like to speak to someone about theBeauty of Somersetcompetition.’ Mitch held up the package.
She cocked her head to one side. ‘I’m sorry but the deadline has passed. There’ll be another competition next year though.’
‘I’d still like to speak to someone about it.’ Mitch smiled.
‘Well, um, yes. I’ll see what I can do. Can I have your name, please?’
After Mitch gave his name, the receptionist had a low-voiced telephone conversation then glanced up. ‘Ian Sykes is coming down to see you. Please take a seat.’
Mitch wandered over to the waiting area but did not sit down.
A short, balding man approached. He was wearing grey suit trousers, an off-white shirt and a red tie. He held out his right hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr. Booth.’
Mitch shook his hand.
‘Come this way.’ Ian gestured towards a door.
The door opened into a short corridor leading to a small meeting room. Light streamed in through a huge window.
‘I won’t keep you long.’ Mitch unwrapped the picture. ‘My neighbour painted this for your competition and has had a personal tragedy. Her house and business were burnt to the ground.’
