‘Are you … leaving me?’ Her voice cracked.
Ivan looked aghast. ‘No! Oh, God, Lucy – no. Of course I’m not. Jesus. Come here, darling.’ He wound his arms around her and pulled her close. ‘It’s just … I’ve really tried, sweetheart. You can’t say I haven’t.’
‘We’ve only been here ten months, for God’s sake. Can’t you give it more time?’
‘They need someone now,’ he said gently. ‘I’m so sorry, darling. I promise it’s true that they approached me. I didn’t go looking.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said sharply, turning away.
‘Running a B&B just isn’t me, Luce. I’ve realised that already. I mean, I love the village, and what we’ve done to this place. But I need more than this.’
‘You need more than us?’ she exclaimed.
‘No, no – not you and the kids. I mean living here, being so cut off from the world, worrying about have we got enough sausages and do we need new pillows, and did we remember lime marmalade, one of the guests asked for it last week, and maybe it’s time we started offering evening meals—’
‘Sorry your life has become so limited,’ she snapped as her tears spilled over.
‘It’s not limited. It’s fantastic!’
‘So fantastic that you’re moving back to Manchester, away from us?’ She was shouting now; she couldn’t stop herself. Thank God their children slept soundly at night.
‘Listen.’ He grabbed at her hand. ‘I’ll only be away four nights out of seven. I’ll set off on Monday mornings and be back on Fridays, and it’ll make our weekends all the more special.’
So it was all decided then, she realised. This wasn’t a discussion about whether or not he should accept the job. His mind was made up and, whatever her feelings, it looked as if she would be running the B&B virtually alone.
‘We can get someone in to help here,’ he added, as if reading her thoughts.
‘We can’t afford that,’ Lucy said flatly. ‘We’re only just managing to stay afloat now.’
‘Yes, but we’ll have my salary again, won’t we? It’ll be less pressurised, love. Think what a relief it’ll be, having that security again – that regular money coming in. I know it’s looking good for the next few weeks, but what about winter? There’s hardly anyone booked in past October—’
‘I could go all out to get more floristry work,’ she said quickly, hating the desperation that had crept into her voice.
‘But there won’t be any flowers then, will there?’
‘I know, but I was thinking of doing Christmas arrangements and selling them locally – even over in Heathfield. There are plenty of shops that sell that kind of thing. Winter foliage, wreaths, there’s tons of scope for seasonal decorations with holly, fir cones, berries …’ Lucy stopped, her cheeks flushing. ‘I know it won’t make much money,’ she added, ‘but I have a feeling it could grow and become a bigger part of our lives.’
‘I’m sure it could,’ Ivan said distractedly. ‘I think you’re so talented, Luce. It’s amazing that you’re doing this too, on top of everything else you’ve got going on here. But it’s not about that. It’s more about …’ He paused. ‘My future, I guess. My working life.’
She rubbed at her eyes and put down the bunch of teaspoons she’d been holding tightly. ‘You really want this job, don’t you?’
Ivan nodded.
‘And it’s definitely yours, if you decide to accept it?’
‘It is, darling, yes, but please don’t worry. I’ll still be with you, in every way. You and me will always be a team.’
She inhaled slowly, letting his declaration settle in her mind, and looked around the country kitchen they had planned so carefully. In the past few weeks she had already scrambled hundreds of free-range eggs on that hob. She was immensely proud of what they had achieved, even at this early stage; the glowing online reviews, and a guestbook filling with positive comments. So she would not fall to pieces if Ivan had made up his mind to accept the job. She had wanted Rosemary Cottage far too much to let her dreams crumble now.
Lucy smoothed down her long dark hair, which fell in loose waves over her shoulders. ‘Okay, then,’ she said firmly. ‘Go ahead and accept the job, if it feels like the right thing to do.’
Ivan cleared his throat and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I know I should have talked to you first, but … I already have.’
Two weeks later, Ivan launched into his new routine of heading off to work at six every Monday morning and being gone until Friday evening. Lucy could hardly believe this had been thrown at her, with virtually no warning – but then, that was the way his business worked. It was full on, all-hands-on-deck and, admittedly, Ivan was being well rewarded by his employer. However, it required a big adjustment on Lucy’s side. Apart from the wrench of saying goodbye, there were practical aspects to consider; specifically, how could one person simultaneously serve up home-cured Yorkshire bacon to guests whilst chivvying two boisterous children into getting ready and ferrying them to school?
It was impossible, of course, and as Lucy felt uncomfortable relying on her still-new local friends, she decided to enlist some help. In stepped Rikke, the Danish woman in her late twenties who worked part-time at Della’s bookshop as well as giving swimming lessons in Heathfield, and harp recitals locally. She quickly proved herself to be quite the godsend.
Marnie and Sam adapted fairly easily to their dad being away during the week. It’s not that they didn’t miss him; more that children tend to exist in the here and now, and often possess a talent for simply getting on with things. Whereas they used to cause havoc whilst getting ready in the mornings, ‘losing’ their shoes and suddenly finding themselves splattered with hot chocolate, they would now be eerily helpful and ready in good time for Rikke to pick them up. They would probably have been ready at five a.m. – with shoes polished – if required, so keen were they to impress her.
Within a few weeks, Lucy had managed to adjust too. ‘It’s amazing what you can get used to,’ she told Della when she’d popped into the bookshop one bright and breezy late October afternoon. ‘If someone had told me Ivan would be away during the week, I’d have said it’d be a disaster for us. But in some ways …’ She paused.
‘It’s made things better?’ Della suggested.
Lucy winced. ‘I feel terrible for saying it, and of course I miss him. But I must admit, he was getting pretty grumpy with the day-to-day stuff.’
‘What kind of stuff?’ Della asked with a wry smile.
‘Oh, the change-overs, mostly. Cleaning rooms, scrubbing loos.’ She paused and smirked. ‘Ironing sheets …’
‘But guests can’t have wrinkled sheets,’ Della exclaimed in mock horror.
