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“What are those?” I look through the books she’s brought. They appear to be children’s stories.
“Old Ladybird books, fairy-tales.”
“What for?”
“ thought Doris would be able to read them easily and she can read them to him.” She nods at Grandad.
I hadn’t even considered this, but it’s a brilliant idea, and the stories will mean his time sitting quietly with Doris can be made more interesting.
“Also,” Pierre continues. “I wanted to discuss some of the island traditions.” She drops into a crouch beside Grandad. “Hedge? You know Lord M wants us to revive the old brewing festival and I wanted to pick your brain.”
There is no reason to doubt her, she clearly loves him, and everyone has told me about her research into island folk history and how Grandad helped her before. Yet her timing seems too ‘on the nose’, a few days after his accident. Besides, arriving with the books and her idea about Doris all seem too well-timed.
Which means that Dr Mortimer, who clearly never believed me when I said I could manage, has dropped a couple of words in the right ears. Every day since the fall, someone has come to visit Grandad to sit and chat with him. Even Nurse Ann phoned me last night to say she’ll be coming to have dinner with him tomorrow evening so I can have a break.
With Pierre here to chat with Grandad, I have time to deal with another customer then do a bit more research on my phone. What that hipster guy said has made me think. Not mead, obviously, but other honey based products. Back in Manchester, expensive beauty shops always did gift baskets with a selection of items. What could I sell that’s made from honey? According to the internet, honey cakes, biscuits, nut bars, salad dressings, marinades. We could also branch out into candles, soaps, skin care… the possibilities are endless, but I have no idea how to make any of them.
The idea stays with me until after lunch when Grandad lies down for his nap. Pierre is still here, and I tell her some of my thoughts.
“If only I had half a dozen assistants,” I tell her. “I can do honey-based marinades and salad dressings. But not on a big scale.”
“Cakes and biscuits would sell, think honey glazed nuts.” She is excited about the idea, but Pierre is the kind of person who always gets excited about new ideas.
“I’m a very average cook, nowhere near good enough to charge money for anything I bake even if I had the kitchen to produce nut bars.? As for candles and soaps, they all need specialised equipment and I’m trying to save money, not spend it.”
“Talk to Myles, he might be able to help.”
“He doesn’t strike me as a roll-up-his-sleeves and cook kind of man.” I laugh to hide my uneasiness about Myles. Now that Hal and I are together…and my thoughts skip over the definition of this ‘together’… I feel even less comfortable about the tension between the two men.
“Anyway. How was the holiday in France?” I change the subject. “Please tell me it was romantic?”
She gives me a sweet happy smile and her face colours a bit.
“What happened?” My eyes go to her left hand, there is no diamond.
Then my eyes snag on something else. She’s wearing a set of unusual… I don’t know what to call them. “Are these stacking rings?”
Her smile deepens, and her eyes shine as she holds her fingers up so I can see more clearly.
It’s one ring. A thin continuous gold loop circles around her third and fourth fingers. Tiny emerald chips make it look green, like a blade of grass has been threaded around her fingers.
“Last year, before Gabriel and I got together, we did some research into ancient marriage traditions and hand-fasting,” she says. “It used to be an alternative to a legal marriage when the couple weren’t allowed to marry. I remember he tied some long grasses around my hand for a picture and it looked like an engagement ring. He commissioned this ring especially because he said…” She draws in a long breath and her eyes glisten with moisture. “Gabriel said it was then he knew he wanted to marry me but couldn’t tell me because he wasn’t free at the time.”
I glance from the unusual ring to her shining face. “So…you’re engaged?”
She nods happily.
I throw my arms around her. “Congratulations.”
When we break apart, she holds her fingers up and looks at the ring as if she can never tire of looking at it. It’s not a diamond, not even a large emerald. But it is the most exquisite ring I’ve ever seen. “Did he propose in France?”
She shakes her head. “He planned a special romantic dinner in Paris. Booked a restaurant with an accordion player to serenade me. But when we sailed on the ferry to St Malo, it started to drizzle a bit and all the passengers went inside leaving us alone on deck. Suddenly, he got this weird expression on his face, and he said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t wait.’ Then dropped down on one knee. I thought he was going to be seasick. He couldn’t speak, just held out the box to me. As soon as I saw the ring, I knew.” Her voice wavers a bit and she places a hand to her chest and draws in a steadying breath. “I remembered that day last year and how scared I’d been that I was falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. You should have seen us on the ferry. Both of us crying and kissing in the rain. Who needs Paris?” She wipes at her eyes.
Even I feel like crying. “Oh Pierre, I’m so happy for you both,” I say, hugging her again.
A proposal in the rain because a man who couldn’t wait… it sounds perfect.
My thoughts don’t go out of the window and over the line of hazel trees to Low Catch. Hal and I both know he’ll be going back to England soon. So no, of course I don’t think about a similar romantic happy ending in the rain. That’s not in our cards.
