Chapter 9

“Thank you all for coming to the coordinating meeting for the annual Love’s Harbour Autumn Fête. I’d like to welcome our new member, Adrian Hardy from Ladywell Farm, who takes the place of Vince…” Eva coughed and everybody gathered around the pulled together tables shifted in their seats, “who resigned due to unreasonable?—”

“Unresolvable, Nan. Unresolvable.” Ryan smiled at his grandmother.

“Ah, yes. That’s right. Unresolvable artistic differences. So let’s all give Adrian a big welcome.”

Adrian met Ryan’s eye, who answered with a shit eating grin. Somebody sniggered. He nodded to the gathering, and shifted in his seat, wedged in between Beryl, the owner of Baps ’n’ Buns bakery, and Joss, the young veterinary nurse with the ever sunny smile who was the official notetaker. He didn’t want to be here, but he’d been powerless to refuse when he’d been literally cornered in the pub’s kitchen when he’d dropped off a delivery. Faced with Eva, indomitable despite her newly coloured candy floss pink hair piled high, and with a determined glint in her eye, he’d had no chance.

“Refreshments are served.” Charles arrived, pushing a trolley heaped with cups of tea and coffee, and plates of biscuits. Adrian accepted a coffee and passed the biscuits along. He’d stick the meeting out, and then speak to Eva quietly afterwards, a firm and definite resignation from the fête committee. He had way too much to do on the farm and?—

The door opened, the bell stopping all chatter. Adrian’s hand froze around his cup.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” Luca smiled at the gathering. “I got caught up — running a hotel is nothing if not unpredictable,” he said as he shrugged off his waxed jacket, not new and pristine like so many worn by the newer locals, but older and worn in. With dark jeans and a fitted shirt in the palest pink, he was effortlessly both casual and elegant.

“It’s starting to rain.” Luca brushed his hands through his hair. “Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to walk.”

A ripple of laughter broke out.

“Luca, I’ve kept a space for you,” a cultured, assured voice said.

Jonathan Something, Whats-It. Whatever.

Adrian had poured all his effort into ignoring the man who sat across from him. He didn’t know Jonathan as much as Jonathan didn’t know him. It didn’t matter that the guy didn’t deserve any of the antipathy Adrian silently threw his way. It didn’t matter that it was unwarranted, irrational, and juvenile. But it was what it was, because Jonathan, smiling, assured, and looking very at home, was a hard, gut punching reminder of everything Adrian had worked hard to try to forget.

Adrian forced himself to take a closer look at him. There was a strong and unmistakable surface resemblance to the man he couldn’t bring himself to name. The swept back dark hair with silver at the temples, the firm and chiselled jaw, the assured air, the confident glint in his pale grey eyes. Attractive, Adrian grudgingly admitted, and fully aware of it.

Jonathan threw his arm across the back of Luca’s chair, his hand resting easily on Luca’s shoulder, and the muscles in Adrian’s own shoulders and neck stiffened. Why shouldn’t Jonathan do that? They were — or according to Harry — an item. It was no business of his. About to turn his attention away, he stopped when Luca looked across, a friendly smile on his lips, as he pulled his chair closer to the table, dislodging Jonathan’s arm. Adrian smiled back, the tension in his muscles softening.

Eva called for attention. “At our last meeting, we talked about striking a balance between maintaining the traditional, rural feel to the fête, and introducing newer ideas to keep the event fresh.” Eva looked around the assembled group, the backcombed pink fluff on her head wobbling with every movement. The woman seemed to have a different style and neon colour every time Adrian saw her; god alone knew how it hadn’t all fallen out. Perhaps she wore wigs? But he didn’t think they made wigs that bad.

“I have a suggestion, if I may?”

Adrian dragged his attention away from Eva. Jonathan’s smile was relaxed and easy. He leant forward and addressed the group, oozing easy confidence.

“We talked about widening the food and drink offering, at the last meeting, beyond mere hotdogs and cake.”

“I like hotdogs, with loads of onions and ketchup,” Joss muttered, on one side of Adrian, as on the other Beryl, purveyor of mere cake alongside baps and buns, stiffened and breathed hard through her nose.

“I’ve been speaking to restaurateurs, both here in Love’s Harbour, and in neighbouring villages. They’re keen to get involved, and offer smaller or tasting portions of their key dishes. It’s standard practice at all the better, more upscale local festivals. Perhaps even The New House’s kitchen could be persuaded to come onboard?” Jonathan smiled at Luca.

Adrian frowned.

Luca’s lips curved downward.

“It’s an excellent idea, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re fully booked and we also have a number of functions lined up, all of which keep the kitchen very busy. However, Alex and Ryan,” he nodded to Ryan, sprawled in a chair next to his nan Eva, “and I all want to support the event. I understand that a feature of the fête is a grand raffle, and The New House would like to offer spa day vouchers as prizes, and an all inclusive lunch or dinner for two.”

A babble of excited voices rippled around the table. “That’s very generous. You didn’t tell me this, Ryan. Quick, Joss my love, record that in the minutes.”

Adrian looked down and smiled at Eva’s eagerness, as though she were afraid the offer would be rescinded if it were not officially recorded. He picked up his coffee and looked over the rim, his gaze finding Luca, who’d produced a note pad from somewhere. In his hand he held the slim, silver pen and as their eyes met his lips lifted in a small, warm smile.

“… and also Le Bistro has a wonderful tasting menu which can be adjusted for an outdoor event. Wonderful Proven?al cuisine. And the Harbourside Wine and Deli is arguably the best champagne bar this side of Bristol, if not in the whole of the West Country. There are so many quality options in the village and surrounding area. If we approach this in the right way — and I’m more than willing to be the key liaison on this — we could have a food and drink festival that would be second to none in the region. We should make it a showcase. A destination event, if you like.”

Jonathan leant back, a satisfied smile on his face at the excited babble around the table, as if the argument had already been won.

A destination event. Adrian breathed hard through his nose. This was Love’s Harbour, for god’s sake. The village’s fortunes might have taken a turn for the better in recent years, but it was still a small, tucked away place.

“It’s a village fête.” Adrian’s deep voice cut through the chatter, and silenced it. “Stalls selling homemade jam, sponge cakes, and meat pies. Beer and cider tents. Guess the weight of the piglet, and biggest veg in show competitions. That’s the heart of village fêtes in this neck of the woods, not Proven?al tasting menus and champagne.” Adrian crossed his arms over his chest.

Jonathan didn’t bat an eyelid. “Yes, at its heart, but there’s no reason why it can’t be a little more ambitious. Don’t you think? A little more outward looking. Not quite so insular. Showcasing the best of what the village has to offer, bringing in people with high levels of disposable income from further afield. And they will come, if we get the comms and the promotion on point, all of it benefiting local businesses. I’m Jonathan Owen-Jones.” He half got up and leant across the pushed together tables and extended his hand, forcing Adrian to take it.

“Adrian Hardy.”

“Of course. I knew I recognised Ladywell Farm. I’ve seen your stall at the weekly farmers’ market. As a businessman engaged in the local food industry, you can’t deny the economic power of an event such as this?”

“The point I’m making is?—”

“That we want an event that stays true to its rural traditions, doesn’t deviate too far, but which can still embrace some fresh ideas.” Luca paused over his note book, his pen raised as he looked at Adrian. “That’s right, isn’t it, Adrian?”

“Exactly right. Luca.”

A palpable tension filled the air. Why the hell had he given in to Eva? But he knew. She’d caught him when he’d been distracted, his head too full of Luca Graham when he’d pitched up at the pub with its order, just after he’d returned Luca’s pen.

“So, a foodie festival or a village fête? I want to know what to note in the minutes.” Joss’ light hearted comment was what was needed to break the tension, as a wave of laughter broke out.

“It’s the Love’s Harbour Autumn Festival,” Eva said. She nodded as though answering some internal question. “I like the idea of food stalls from village-based enterprises — the local business community always welcomes increased custom — but they will be a part of the event, not its focus. And being a proud Devonian village, I think a locally brewed beer and cider tent is more in keeping than a champagne bar.”

“Festival? Festival? A festival will attract hippies and other undesirables. Nobody wants that in the village. We don’t want to become another Glastonbury. It’s always been the Love’s Harbour Autumn Fête,” Beryl cried, clutching her hands to her chest.

“I hardly think that’s likely.” Jonathan threw Beryl a look that implied he doubted her sanity. Adrian bent his head forward to hide his smile. It was one point — the only point — in the man’s favour. “But ‘village fête’ does rather conjure up images of the Women’s Institute selling pots of homemade jam and Victoria Sponge cake. Somewhat dated and with limited appeal I’d have thought.” Jonathan laughed, but it fell away when he was met with several pairs of eyes all boring in to him.

Adrian huffed out a short bark of a laugh, not even pretending to smother it. The guy was digging himself into a pit it was going to take a long time to climb out of. Adrian hadn’t been to the fête or festival or whatever it’d be called, for years, and he had no intention of going to this one, especially not when he’d be standing down at the end of the meeting.

“The WI always host a wonderful stall. And the Victoria Sponge sells very well, as do pots of homemade jam. Last year the fête was able to make a very handsome donation to the Devonshire Centre for Distressed Donkeys, and no small portion of that came from the hard work of the WI ladies. Of which I am the Chairwoman.” Beryl wobbled with indignation.

Adrian took a sip of his drink, and met Luca’s eyes across the table, glinting in amusement and making Adrian feel as if they were sharing a secret as the struggle for the heart and soul of the of fête — or the festival — raged around them.

“I do apologise, Beryl, I didn’t wish to offend — I was just merely offering an alternative approach.”

Adrian didn’t think Jonathan looked remotely apologetic, but it was enough to smooth Beryl’s ruffled feathers.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” Eva’s gaze swept the table, daring anybody to argue. Nobody did.

* * *

“Come over to the pub and have a drink,” Ryan said, pulling on his jacket, “you look like you need it.” He grinned, as though reading Adrian’s mind.

How the hell had he got talked into judging the biggest veg in the village show, duly noted and carved in stone in Joss’ minutes? He was supposed to be walking away, not getting more embroiled. He’d have the word with Eva he’d always intended to, but she was trying to calm down a hand flapping, agitated Beryl.

Adrian hesitated. He should be getting back, he had an early start the next day, just as he did every morning, but walking into an empty, silent house left a sour taste in his mouth in a way it hadn’t done for a long time.

“Sure, just the one.”

Ryan slapped him on the shoulder. “Luca? Jonathan? Come over for a drink? It’s on the house, to mark the conclusion of another successful meeting.” Ryan laughed, his eyes bright with mischief. “He’ll learn,” he said under his breath. “The Grannies won’t allow too many liberties to be taken.”

Adrian answered with a low chuckle. The Grannies Grapevine, a coterie of Love’s Harbour’s older, long standing residents, and not all of them grannies, or even women. They were a silently acknowledged and formidable force to be reckoned with.

“He’s not been in the village that long, but he’s okay,” Ryan added.

Adrian doubted very much that Jonathan was okay. “Who the hell is he, anyway?”

“Just another newcomer, really. But he’s keen and is already making waves. He’s got himself on the organising committees of a few of the bigger village groups.” Ryan snorted. “He’s already ruffled a few feathers with all his fancy London ways,” he said, laying on thick the rich, local accent.

“Alex had some dealings with him in London, where Jonathan owned a marketing and communications agency. Apparently,” he said, lowering his voice, “according to some gossip Alex picked up, a few years back the agency wasn’t doing too well and Jonathan persuaded his business partner to sell him his half. With the other guy out of the way, Jonathan took the agency in a new direction. The rest, as they say is history. The agency went from strength to strength and Jonathan became a big noise in the sector. Alex also said there was talk of some sharp practice in the way he got the other guy to sell. He doesn’t know what, though, or whether it was just somebody stirring it. Fast forward a few years, Jonathan sold up, made a fortune, came here and bought into the rural living dream.

“I’m not sure it’s enough for him, though, because he still does consultancy work for the new owners. Just to keep his hand in, as he puts it. I reckon he’s got ambitions to be a big fish in Love’s Harbour’s small pond, but he’ll get taken down a peg or two if or when he does something to piss off the Grannies. I said he was keen,” he said quietly, “and the thing he’s most keen on is Luca.”

Adrian looked across. Jonathan was talking to Luca, his lips just a breath from Luca’s ear. Keen. The word was fingernails dragged down a blackboard. Whatever it was he was saying, Luca was listening intently. Jonathan placed his hand on Luca’s upper arm, his thumb sweeping in a gentle stroke, leaning in closer to whisper something?—

Fuck it, he was going home.

“I’ve a conference call, I’m afraid,” Jonathan called across, his lips twisting in regret.

Good luck with that. It was a bitchy thought, but Adrian didn’t care. The internet signal in the village, and for some miles around, dropped out more than it dropped in, and had defeated many a newcomer over the last few years, sending them hightailing back to London or wherever they’d escaped from.

With a quick kiss planted on Luca’s cheek, and a tight smile for Adrian, Jonathan left.

“Luca?” Ryan asked.

“I should get back. It was a nice evening when I left so the walk seemed like a good idea, but—” A rumble of thunder cut his words off. The weather, very warm and humid for the last couple of days, had broken. Luca’s face fell.

“I’ll take you back.” Adrian said the words before he could think. His chest clenched in surprise, whether at his offer or Luca’s wide eyed gratitude, he wasn’t sure.

Christ. First volunteering, although press ganged was more like it, for the veg competition, and now offering to take Luca home… What other lunacy would he surprise himself with this evening?

“That’s settled then. I’ll see you over in the pub.” A second later, Ryan was gone.

“You don’t have to do that,” Luca said. “It’s a bit out of your way. I can call Barry’s Cabs.”

“It’s okay, and it’s not out of my way. Or not much. And Barry’s lethal behind the wheel.”

“A bit like me, you mean?” Luca’s brows arched upwards.

“Well…”

“Please, do us both a favour and don’t answer that.” Luca smiled up at him. Eyes the colour of a summer sky, bright and clear, dark pink lips, the plump lower one turning red as Luca bit down on it. They were nice lips. More than nice. And so damn kissable. Adrian caught his breath as something hard slammed into his chest.

“We’re locking up now, guys.”

Adrian jumped, and swung around. The pulled together tables they’d sat around had been put back into their normal pattern, along with the chairs. He hadn’t even noticed.

“We’d best go,” Luca murmured.

Nodding his agreement, Adrian followed Luca to the door. Looking over his shoulder, Declan was watching them leave, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.