Lawrence laughs harder. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘Everything! He’s a spreader. And spreaders are inconsiderate, with no respect for personal space,’ I inform him, sounding far haughtier than I actually intended to. I cringe inwardly.
‘Ha! Well yes, I can see what you mean. But honestly, I’ve not seen him sitting like that at the breakfast table – in fact I think he had his legs firmly crossed, and on the few occasions when we’ve chatted, he actually seemed quite nice. Plus, you have to agree, you aren’t exactly spoilt for choice when it comes to meeting a new man here in Tindledale.’
‘Hmm, this is very true,’ I say, loath to agree, but Lawrence has a very valid point. I grew up with most of the Tindledale men – went to school with them – so any charm or sexual attraction they might have had got lost somewhere along the way, likely when they were busy picking their noses in class or attempting a snog at the end-of-year disco, having scoffed all the prawn cocktail crisps from the finger buffet only moments earlier. Eugh. No, the mystique and magic just isn’t happening. ‘Anyway, like I say, I really can’t be bothered with all that.’
‘Truly? Isn’t it what we all want? To love and be loved! Oh come on, Meg, wouldn’t it be brilliant for you to be wined and dined? A gorgeous creature like you with your peaches-and-cream complexion and curves in all the right places …’ He grins, sounding very corny indeed.
‘Oh stop it, you old smoothy,’ I laugh, giving his arm an affectionate bat.
‘Weell, it’s true, and how marvellous would it be … swept off your feet and whisked away to his restaurant in Mayfair? Very romantic! And he has three Michelin stars, so you’d know you’d be in for a gourmet treat,’ Lawrence adds, brightly, for good measure.
‘Maybe, but what’s he even doing here in Tindledale?’
‘Good point …’ Lawrence pauses. ‘I actually don’t know …’ He looks thoughtful.
‘Ooh, you’re slipping, Lawrence,’ I tut, pretending to admonish him. ‘I’d have thought you would have found out by now – you usually know everything that’s going on in the village.’
‘Are you implying that I’m a gossip?’ He feigns hurt.
‘Of course not, but it’s true, you do often seem to know stuff.’
‘That’s because people confide in me – I can’t help that,’ he smiles, pausing to contemplate, and then adds, ‘There is a rumour going around that Dan is here scouting out the village with a view to opening a new restaurant.’
‘Really? And do you think that might be the case? Has he said anything about it? But where?’ I ask, racking my brains to think of a suitable spot for a high-end restaurant somewhere in the village. There are a couple of empty places – the one next to the fruit & veg shop is probably too small, and there’s definitely a rodent problem in there – I saw the pest control man’s van outside there just last week. But then it’s inevitable in the countryside with all the fields around us; I often have to put the mice powder down to stop them overtaking my cottage.
‘The shop at the end overlooking the village green is reasonably sized,’ Lawrence suggests.
‘Oooh, yes. And it’s double fronted, with lots of space to sit outside, which would be nice in this gorgeous warm weather, and very cosmopolitan, I imagine – sitting underneath a parasol enjoying an expensive bottle of wine with a ten-course tasting meal – that’s what they have in London …’
‘Hmm, but Tindledale is hardly Mayfair.’ Lawrence pulls a face.
‘True. And my fizzy elderflower wine is definitely not a fine Sancerre.’ We both sit silently for a few seconds, pondering the possibilities. ‘But, we have the village green right opposite – perfect for when the movie stars and celebrities helicopter in for their fine dining experience. And I’m sure your actor friends will come. You could call Dame Judi – or what about Helen? You said that she’s a great dinner companion.’
‘Ha!’ Lawrence laughs. ‘But we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves,’ he adds, always the voice of caution. ‘Dan Wright hasn’t actually said anything to me about a new restaurant. We are just speculating. But if he is planning on opening one here, then even better – he can appoint a manager, a head chef or whatever, at The Fatted Calf in London, and then move here. Then you can both live happily ever after together in Tindledale,’ Lawrence finishes with a flourish, ever the romantic, having seemingly worked it all out.
‘Hold on, slow down a minute. It’s nice of you to be so concerned about my love life … or rather lack of,’ I smile wryly. ‘But honestly, I’m fine as I am. I love my friends, my home and my life. And anyway, neither of us will have any time for distractions for the foreseeable future. We have a village show to organise.’
‘That’s true,’ Lawrence says thoughtfully, then suddenly leaps in the air, terrifying Blue, who scampers under the table. ‘I have a plan!’ Lawrence is now channelling John Gielgud – or is it Brian Blessed?
‘You do?’ I ask, eagerly.
‘I most certainly do. Listen Meg.’
‘I’m listening,’ I say, rescuing Blue and stroking his velvety soft ear.
‘Good. Here goes,’ he pauses for impact, ‘we make sure that Tindledale puts on the greatest show of its life!’ Lawrence is pacing around the kitchen now.
‘But what difference will that make to the school?’ I ask, standing up too.
‘Meeeeeg, don’t you see?’ He stops pacing, enthusiasm flooding his voice now.
‘See what?’ I ask, reaching for the wine to top us both up.
‘This is the perfect opportunity.’
‘What is?’
‘Weeeell,’ he starts elaborating slowly, as if formulating the plan in his head as he goes. ‘If this year’s village show is great, we’ll make it into the top ten list in the national newspaper and the whole country will see how wonderful Tindledale is – the perfect place to live! Then everyone will be looking at your school on the Internet … you do have a website, I take it?’ He looks panic-stricken for a brief moment. I nod. The council organised it years ago and it’s very basic, but I reckon I could get it updated. ‘Good, because, let’s face it, every parent wants the best school for their child, sooooo everyone will then want to live here – FAMILIES, with LOTS OF CHILDREN to fill your school. Yes, it’s the perfect solution.’
We stare at each other.
‘And if there’s a Michelin-starred restaurant here too … all the better!’ I jump in, ‘because everyone loves good food – and you could do gourmet weekend breaks, maybe culinary courses too; you could ask Dan to help out – use his restaurant kitchen, perhaps. And soon your B&B will be booked up indefinitely, and with a very long waiting list to boot.’
‘And Kitty and all the other businesses in the village will be thrilled too,’ Lawrence nods, enthusiastically.
‘Yes! Outstanding school. Outstanding food. Outstanding pub, tearoom, butcher’s, baker’s, and all the other stuff the great village of Tindledale
