Tempted by Her Fake Fiancé, page 16
‘And that’s a wrap,’ Frieda said at last. ‘I’m going to do a bit of post production at home, Elle, but I’ll send you the link to the private files in a couple of hours.’
‘That’s fabulous, Frieda. Thank you.’ Elle stepped away from him. ‘Thank you, team. We’ve done a great job. I’ll help clear up, then I’m going back to the farmhouse to finish off putting most of this together, so all I have to do is slot Frieda’s photos in.’
‘Go now. I’ll do the clearing up,’ Charlie said, ‘because I didn’t do anything to help, this morning.’
‘Are you sure?’ Angie asked.
‘I’m sure,’ Charlie said.
‘I’ll save you a slice of cake,’ Lisa promised, and patted his shoulder.
It didn’t take long to put the cutlery and glasses back in their boxes, fold the tablecloth and the sashes back into their boxes, and sweep up the confetti and stack the chairs and tables.
Charlie was glad he had the afternoon milking to take his mind off things.
And when Elle texted him later, to ask if he wanted to be involved in choosing the photos, he texted back,
That’s OK, trust your judgement.
So he wasn’t even going to come and help choose the photographs?
Elle stifled the hurt, telling herself to be reasonable about it. It wasn’t so surprising, was it? Today must’ve brought back a million memories of his real wedding—and his loss.
She texted back.
If you want to take a look, here’s the link.
And then she got on with choosing the photos with her parents.
Frieda had done a fantastic job. But Elle just hoped that nobody noticed the expression on her face and guessed what she really felt about Charlie Webb, her fake fiancé and her fake bridegroom.
Ten minutes after she’d loaded the last bit of the website, her phone pinged.
Charlie?
Of course not. She damped down the disappointment and opened her boss’s note.
Website fabulous. Looking forward to toasting our new senior account manager with champagne on Monday. Congratulations, Elle!
‘Was that Charlie?’ Mike asked.
‘No. My boss. I got the promotion,’ she said, and the tears spilled over. She just hoped her parents thought they were tears of joy rather than tears that she was walking away from Charlie. ‘So I’ll be going back to London for definite on Friday.’
‘Elle.’ Angie wrapped her arms round her daughter. ‘I’ll miss you so much. Are you sure you won’t stay? You couldn’t work remotely for the agency from here?’
‘No,’ Elle said, as gently as she could. ‘But I’ll be back soon, Mum.’
‘You can’t stay until Sunday?’ Mike asked.
‘I’ve got tons to do in London before Monday,’ she said. ‘But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. And I promise I will definitely visit more.’
‘Then we’ll drive you to the station,’ Mike said.
Her dad’s pick-up might be jolty and a far cry from the comfort of Charlie’s Range Rover, but at least she wouldn’t have to face Charlie again. Face all the loss.
‘Thanks, Dad. I’d better start packing. Love you,’ she said.
CHAPTER TEN
GOING BACK TO London on Friday morning was harder than she’d expected. Saying goodbye to the animals was hard. She was almost in tears as she hugged the calves. She made a fuss of the sheep, and gave the hens some mealworms that had them thanking her very vocally and Carbon the rooster doing a dance. She had a last walk by the wildflower meadow and in the woods to say goodbye to the swans.
Last time she’d been here, she couldn’t get away quickly enough.
This time—leaving was much harder.
The news had spread quickly, and Elle was shocked by how many visitors she had on Thursday. Rosie, with a pair of the softest gloves knitted from the wool of Bluebell Farm’s sheep. Frieda, with a watercolour of the farm. Nicki, from the willow weavers, with a beautiful woven heart. Lisa, with a carrot cake. Scarlett, with a beautifully styled box full of goodies. ‘It’s from all the café and shop team,’ she said, ‘but it’s also a prototype hamper.’ She beamed. ‘I’m thinking Christmas. And then we can offer seasonal variations.’
The only person who didn’t come to see her was Charlie. She’d thought she might see him while she was saying goodbye to the animals, but he was clearly avoiding her. She’d texted him, to let him know that she started her new job on Monday and was going back to London on Friday, but his reply had been cool.
Congratulations. I’m pleased for you.
Well, that told her where she stood.
Right at the far edge of the friend zone. Where it was civil, not warm.
And it was only when Elle was on the train back to London on Friday morning that she realised how much she’d secretly been hoping that Charlie would drive to the station, sweep her off her feet before she could go through the barrier to the platform, and tell her that he was only letting her go temporarily and he was going to join her in London.
Friends.
That had been the deal.
So she’d go back to London. Back to her lovely, busy life. And she’d try not to miss him.
Though that was easier said than done. Despite meeting up with friends for lunch and drinks over the weekend to celebrate her new job, and getting back into the routine of gym classes, she found herself feeling lonely.
Everyone celebrated in the office when Rav officially announced her appointment as Senior Account Manager; she’d brought in cakes, fruit and bubbly, and Hugo took her and the senior management team out for an upmarket lunch. Everyone oohed and aahed over the lambs and the calves on the Bluebell Farm website, tried doing their own version of Carbon the rooster’s special dance, and came up with terrible puns involving ‘moo’ that she wrote down for future use.
When a huge bouquet of flowers arrived for her at Reception, she looked at the name on the card and caught her breath.
Charlie.
Did this mean...?
Heart pounding, she read the message.
Congratulations on your promotion—very well deserved. Now go and shine. Best, Charlie
Anyone who didn’t know what had happened between them would think this was simply a message from a grateful client. But she knew differently. This was Charlie making it clear that he was staying put and telling her to be happy in London. To shine.
Right.
Shine.
How, when she felt more like a rainy Wednesday afternoon than a Saturday lunchtime with blue skies and a blazing sun?
* * *
Flowers had been a good idea, Charlie thought. And that message. Elle would know what he was really saying, telling her to shine. That he wished he could be different, but he couldn’t, so he wouldn’t hold her back.
The problem was, he missed her.
He missed her helping out with the milking and singing to the cows.
He missed her gleefully telling him random facts she’d found about something on the farm.
He missed her straight talking and her teasing.
And the bed he’d always slept in alone, except for that half a night with her, felt huge and empty. Now, it was nothing more than a place to lay his head.
Without Elle, nothing felt right. Food tasted of nothing. Even the cows noticed, and nudged him and licked his face and lowed softly in his ear as if to tell him to cheer up, it might never happen.
Except it had, and it was his own fault. She’d asked him to go to London with her. He’d said no. So he’d just have to fake it until life felt back on an even keel again.
* * *
‘Earth to Elle?’
‘Sorry, Marce. Busy day,’ Elle said, smiling at her best friend.
Marcie coughed. ‘Busy fortnight, more like. You haven’t been the same since you’ve been back in London. And don’t try to flannel me that it’s because you’re busy in your new role. The Elle Newton I know and love is the empress of project management. You’re the epitome of the busy woman to ask if you want something done. You thrive on it. So what’s really wrong?’
Elle bit her lip. ‘You mean, who’s Mr Wrong, this time?’
‘No,’ Marcie said. ‘Because whenever you get let down by a bloke who was never good enough for you in the first place, you pick yourself up, dust yourself down, and go and find something fun to do. Right now,’ she said gently, ‘I don’t think you’re enjoying anything. Not your new job, not the film we saw last night—you were in another world, not paying any attention to it—not dinner out with the girls, and not cocktails the other night. So what’s wrong, Elle? And what can I do to help you fix it?’
Elle sighed. ‘This is in strictest confidence, right?’
‘I’m your best friend. Of course it’s in strictest confidence,’ Marcie said, looking hurt.
‘I know that. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m all over the place.’ Elle sighed again, and told her about Charlie. ‘And there’s no way of compromising,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t want to be in London.’
‘And you told him you don’t want to be at Bluebell Farm,’ Marcie said, giving her a hug. ‘But, the way you’ve talked to me about the place, I’d say you’ve fallen back in love with it, as well as with him.’
‘I have,’ Elle admitted. ‘But my job’s here. There’s no compromise.’
‘Isn’t there?’ Marcie held up her forefinger. ‘Firstly, there’s this little thing called remote working—you could spend maybe one day a week in London and the rest in Norfolk. If the alternative’s not having you at all, I reckon Rav’s not going to refuse you.’
‘Even with our spotty Wi-Fi?’
‘If it’s that desperate, go into town to send the emails and do the video calls,’ Marcie said, and held up her middle finger to join the first. ‘Secondly, you want to set up your own agency, eventually. Who says it can’t be at the farm?’
Elle considered it. ‘Why didn’t Charlie or I think of that?’ she asked.
‘Because I think you were both too busy falling in love with each other and then panicking your socks off,’ Marcie said.
‘You’re right,’ Elle said with a sigh. ‘We both panicked and weren’t thinking straight.’
‘What do you want, Elle?’ Marcie asked.
‘Everything. I want Charlie, I want to be part of everything that’s happening at the farm, I want my parents, I want my friends, I want my job here, I want a Labrador puppy...’ Her voice faded. ‘But I can’t have it all, can I?’
‘Not all of the time, no,’ Marcie said. ‘But you can have all of it, some of the time. Be with the man you love, make your job more flexible, come and party once in a while in London, and invite us all down to cuddle the lambs and eat too much cake.’
‘All of it, some of the time,’ Elle repeated. Could she?
Marcie nodded. ‘Honey, you need to talk to Charlie. Tell him what you told me. But face to face, not on the phone or even in a video call. He needs to look into your eyes so he knows what’s in your heart.’
Elle glanced at her watch. ‘If I leave in the next thirty minutes, I can get a train back to Norwich and a taxi to the farm. And if Charlie turns me down again...then I’ll get the six o’clock train in to Liverpool Street tomorrow morning and just be a tiny bit late for work.’
‘And if he doesn’t turn you down, I get to be chief bridesmaid and dance under the fairy lights in that amazing barn?’ Marcie asked.
Elle grinned. ‘You most definitely do.’
‘Good. I’m going back to my place. Pack your overnight bag,’ Marcie said, and hugged her.
* * *
A fortnight without Elle.
It had felt like a year.
Longer than a year.
Charlie closed his eyes. He should’ve said yes. Then he could’ve managed here without her, simply counting down the days until Mike and Angie had found his replacement and he could move back to London with Elle. Now, he was counting endless days—and torturing himself with her ElleOfLondon social media accounts. He could’ve been sharing all those things with her, if he hadn’t been so stupid and pushed her away. Cocktails in rooftop bars. Wisteria cascading down Chelsea walls. Geraniums in window-boxes. Swans and deckchairs in Green Park. Coffee in a trendy shop, perfectly styled in a double-walled glass. Street food and dancing on the banks of the Thames.
He didn’t want to live in London any more; but he was miserable at Bluebell Farm without her.
And finally he came to the conclusion that it was time to risk his heart again. Home was where Elle was. If he couldn’t persuade her to come back to Bluebell Farm, then he’d move to London. Better to be with her, than to be without her.
But how did he persuade her to give him a chance? What would convince her that he meant it?
He could write his feelings on A3 cards and stand at her doorway, playing romantic music on his phone and getting her to read the cards one by one.
He could take her to a small theatre where he’d hired a singer-songwriter to play her a love song on a piano, under a spotlight.
He could sing to her himself—as he’d sort of done during milking. Say, The Beatles’ ‘Michelle’, but switching her name into the song instead.
He could take her to a flashy restaurant to declare himself, or for afternoon tea in the glitziest hotel in London. Whisk her off to Paris, to Rome, to Venice.
But somehow an extravagant gesture didn’t feel right. Not when he’d first fallen for a girl in a bluebell wood with a nightingale singing in the background.
Keep it simple, he decided. He went to see her parents and explained to them what he wanted to do, and they gave him their blessing along with her address. Then he caught the train to London. It felt very strange to be back in the city, the place that had held some of his darkest days as well as some of his happiest.
He still hadn’t worked out what to say to Elle; but one thing he did know she liked was flowers. At Liverpool Street, he bought an armful of the prettiest flowers at the flower stand, then caught the Tube to the Oval. His heart was racing as he followed the directions on his phone to the mansion block where she lived.
The building was beautiful, a large Edwardian brick-and-slate building with white windows and balconies: exactly the sort of place he could imagine her living.
He pressed the intercom button and waited.
* * *
Elle wasn’t expecting visitors. She hadn’t made any arrangements to meet anyone, either.
It was probably someone door-knocking for a politician. She thought about ignoring it, but then the buzzer went again.
Whoever it was, they were persistent.
She rolled her eyes. She’d answer with a polite ‘thank you, but no’, and then get on with her packing. ‘Tha—’ she began.
‘Elle. Can I come in?’
She recognised the voice instantly ‘Charlie? What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to see you.’
‘I’m on the ground floor. Turn right into the corridor, and I’m the second door on the right.’
Why did Charlie want to see her? And why was he in London, when he’d said he didn’t want to be there any more?
When he knocked on the door, she opened it and he thrust a large bunch of flowers into her hands.
‘Thank you—they’re gorgeous,’ she said.
‘They’re not great, but they’re the best I could get at the station,’ he said, looking apologetic.
‘They’re perfect. Even nicer than the ones you sent me last week.’ She paused. ‘Can I get you a coffee or something?’
‘No. I just want to talk.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so nervous in my life.’
‘Nervous?’ she echoed, puzzled. Why on earth would Charlie be feeling nervous?
‘Because I’m just about to...’ He blew out a breath. ‘This could be the best thing I’ve ever done, or the most stupid, and I have no idea which.’
‘Come and sit down,’ she said, and ushered him into the living room. ‘I’ll just put these flowers in water.’
* * *
The living room was as Charlie expected: pale walls, wooden flooring with a bright rug, a comfortable sofa, an armchair with a reading lamp and a large bookcase stuffed with books. There was a small table with four chairs, which he guessed doubled as her desk as well as her dining table; and prominent on the wall was Frieda’s watercolour of Bluebell Farm. On the mantelpiece were framed photos of Elle on her graduation day with her parents, one of her parents at Bluebell Farm, and one of Elle with another woman he guessed might be her best friend.
She came back in. ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?’
‘I just want to talk.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve been trying to work out the right words, all the way here, and I can’t find them. But a flashy gesture doesn’t seem right, either. So what I’m saying now is unpolished, but it’s honest. Straight from my heart.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You’ve been gone for two weeks. It feels like a lifetime. So I’m here to say I’m sorry I pushed you away. I love Bluebell Farm, but I hate being there without you. If being with you means being in London, then—even though I never wanted to come back—it’s London all the way. Because you’re here, and you’re where my heart is.’ And then, because he couldn’t hold the words back any longer, he blurted out, ‘I love you.’
She stared at him. He couldn’t read her expression.
Was she pleased, horrified, indifferent?
All his wits seemed to have deserted him.
The time he’d thought crawled so slowly before was now setting a new world slowness record.
