which was to hold tomorrow’s wedding guests, and she reminded herself that now was not the time to stand around daydreaming.
She flicked through the post…most of it was cards for Sophy and John. She put these to one side, on the old pine dresser which her parents had inherited from her grandmother and she from them.
Its wood gleamed softly with the polish of generations, the thick willow-patterned pottery setting off both the dark wood and the sunny yellow décor of her kitchen.
She had lived in this house all her life, had grown up here in this small Dales village where the people, despite the outward apparent dourness, had, as she had good reason to know, a warmth of heart and spirit that they gave generously to those they called their own.
There were Setons scattered all over this part of the world, the name originally belonging to a border family who had gradually spread southwards into the Dales.
Her grandfather had been a hill farmer, farming a land which had been in their family for generations. After his death, her father had sold the farm. It was small and unproductive and, as a lecturer at York University, he had not been in a position to concentrate on his career and to run the farm.
Kate hadn’t gone to university. She had intended to do so…had had her career all mapped out: university, a degree and then a job teaching. Only it hadn’t worked out like that. At sixteen, having just completed her O levels, she had gone south to Cornwall to spend a month’s holiday with an aunt of her mother’s who had just retired from nursing on the south coast, and it had been while she was there…
A battered Range Rover pulled up in front of the kitchen window, scattering gravel. Its driver, a tall, lithe redhead, got out as quickly and impulsively as she did everything else and came hurrying towards the back door.
‘Hi…how’s it going?’ she demanded breathlessly, as she came in. ‘What time does Sophy arrive?’
‘I’m not sure. She said she’d try and make an early start. Coffee?’ Kate invited, smiling at her best friend and business partner.
Lucy Grainger and her accountant husband had moved to the village ten years ago. Kate had met Lucy initially when both she and Lucy had literally bumped into one another outside the Post Office.
On first seeing Kate and Sophy together, Lucy had made the mistake that strangers inevitably made of thinking that she and Sophy were sisters and not mother and daughter. With only sixteen years between them, and with Kate being petite and so very youthful for her thirty-seven years that people thought she was in her late twenties and not her mid-thirties, it was a natural enough mistake, but one that still made Kate wince a little.
When Sophy had innocently called her Mummy she had braced herself for the familiar speculative look, but instead Lucy had simply said ruefully, ‘Oh, dear, trust me…I’ve put my foot in it again.’ And with the self-critical comment had come a look not of pity but of compassion and such understanding that Kate had found herself uncurling from her protective shell and responding to the warm friendship that Lucy offered her.
It had been just over seven years ago, soon after her parents’ death, that Lucy had suggested that they combine their culinary talents and set up a small business catering for everything from weddings to dinner parties.
Egged on by Sophy, Kate had reluctantly agreed. The business had been a greater success than she had ever imagined, giving her not just more financial independence than she had ever expected to have, but also a new and thriving interest in life.
All through her pregnancy and Sophy’s growing years she had deliberately kept to the quiet backwater of life, deliberately seeking its protective camouflage, and now, with Sophy’s and Lucy’s combined exhortations, she was finding that more exhilarating waters were nothing like so threatening as she had imagined.
Sophy, who knew her well, had challenged her initially when she had flatly refused to countenance Lucy’s suggestion, saying firmly, ‘Oh come on, Mama. Don’t think I don’t know what’s behind this. You’re out of date,’ she told her ruthlessly. ‘Or rather in the height of fashion,’ she had added mischievously, watching with a compassion she had learned to conceal as her mother winced. Kate had known quite well what she meant.
‘No one cares any more that I was illegitimate. I certainly don’t,’ Sophy had told her, leaning forward and hugging her warmly. ‘You’re the best mother anyone could ever want. You and Gran and Gramps gave me a far more secure world than most kids get, you know. I don’t care that I don’t have a father…that you weren’t married.’
Maybe not, but Kate did…she always had, and part of her always would, Kate reflected sadly as she poured her friend’s coffee now.
‘Everything’s well under control with the buffet,’ Lucy told her, suddenly practical. ‘I’ve got the girls organised, so they’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ve also told them that you aren’t to so much as lift a finger,’ she added severely. ‘Tomorrow you are going to concentrate on being the most beautiful, stunning mother of the bride there ever was, and not on being a partner in “Removable Feasts”.’ The name of their catering company was a play on the common phrase ‘movable feast’ that had occurred to them in a flash of inspiration.
Mother of the bride…There was a huge lump in her throat, an aching tight pain in her chest…a loneliness that never really went away, as something deep inside her cried, but what about the father of the bride? What about the father Sophy had never had and should have had?
‘I’ve called at the Fleece and checked up on the rooms. Mrs Graves is looking forward to the influx, I suspect.’ Lucy looked appreciatively out of the window at the summer perfection of the lawns and flowerbeds which had been Kate’s parents’ pride and joy.
Kate’s parents’ unexpected death in the plane crash had left her bereft emotionally, but secure financially, just so long as she was careful.
With the money coming in from ‘Removable Feasts’ both Sophy and Lucy had urged her to give herself a few treats—to take a holiday, or splash out on new clothes—but Kate had ignored their advice. Jeans and T-shirts were her normal wear in summer, and jeans and sweaters in winter; she did not live the kind of life that called for expensive fashionable clothes, and as for a holiday…She was happiest here in her natural habitat, where she blended into its protective camouflage. She had no desire to seek out other surroundings, surroundings against which she might stand out as being different, drawing attention to herself.
Sophy often bemoaned the fact that she had not inherited her mother’s silver-fair hair and perfect oval features, but to Kate her daughter, who had inherited from her father his raven-black hair and distinctive bone-structure softened into femininity, had a vigour and appeal that was far more powerful than her own pale delicacy.
Sophy had even inherited her father’s height, at five feet nine standing inches above her tiny mother, who was barely five feet two; those who witnessed the daughter’s protective attitude towards the mother almost always reflected rather enviously on the rapport that existed between them, despite their physical dissimilarities.
Only Kate knew how very painful she had found it at first to look at her tiny daughter and see mirrored in her infant features the features of the man she had loved and who had deserted her.
It made no difference telling herself that she had asked for what happened…that she had been a complete fool and that she deserved what had happened to her. Sophy had not deserved it, and neither had her parents, who
