The Wedding Cake Tree by Melanie Hudson Read Free Book Online Page A

We’re off at the next junction. Through Bedale, into Wensleydale and then we’re there.’ He glanced upwards through the windscreen to look at the clouds. ‘I checked the forecast this morning. It’s going to be sunny tomorrow.’
    He was obviously in the need of a little tour operator boost, so I assured him that I could see it was a beautiful landscape – behind the mist, the drizzle and field after field of miserable-looking sheep.
    By seven thirty we entered a sleepy village called West Witton. The car tyres scrunched over a gravel drive and we came to a halt in the car park behind the hotel – a seventeenth century inn, according to the sign. The stonework on the outside of the building was freshly whitewashed and the windows – tiny lead mullions – had a lamp positioned on each of the sills.
    We left the luggage in the car and dashed through the – by then – torrential rain, and fell into the hotel through a rear door. The hotel was heady with the scent of burning oak but the effect wasn’t overpowering, just welcoming and atmospheric. We followed voices down a passageway and found an intimate, candle-lit bistro. A middle-aged lady with the look of a farmer’s wife about her backed through the kitchen door and entered the bistro carrying a tray. She spotted us loitering in the doorway and, after serving a couple their dinner, shooed us back to the reception area to register.
    ‘ Mr Finn is it?’ she asked with a broad smile; she didn’t wait for a reply but bustled breathlessly behind the desk.
    ‘ Two nights, two rooms, dinner and breakfast.’ A matter of fact statement as she opened the large leather-bound bookings ledger.
    Alasdair took the lead and completed the registr ation form for both of us. I stood behind him like a nervous honeymooner. The lady – June – was completely amiable and not a little bit wink-wink, nudge-nudge. No doubt it was the intimacy of the hotel and the loved-up couple in the bistro that made the atmosphere romantic, and me a little uncomfortable.
    We followed June up a tight staircase and waited while she unlocked the doors to adjacent rooms , then stood awkwardly in our respective doorways as she edged her way back down the stairs. Stopping abruptly, she looked back up the staircase and said, ‘Nearly forgot; you two still want dinner in your rooms then?’
    ‘ Oh, yes please.’ Alasdair turned towards me to explain.
    ‘ I phoned ahead yesterday to say what time to expect us. I thought you would probably have had enough of me by now.’
    ‘ Fine, perfect. I’m really quite tired.’ I nodded my approval.
    ‘ I’ll just pop to the car and get the bags.’
     
    Alasdair was right to suggest we part company for the evening. After dinner I felt weary and flopped backwards onto the bouncy double bed. It had been such a peculiar day.
    Just twenty -four hours before, I had been at home in London preparing for my trip to Barnstaple and then, somehow, I found myself cajoled a few hundred miles north to what I presumed to be my dead mother’s childhood home – crazy. But, it was turning into quite an adventure already and I had to admit that, despite my reticence, I was enjoying the company and the time away.
    I had been pushing myself too hard. In the past month I had chased from one photo shoot to another, so it was nice to relax and let someone else do the thinking for once. Had Mum known a break was what I needed? Some time away from the madness of my photographic work?
    Then there was Alasdair.
    Grimes was right, Alasdair was easy company. He had an air of authority about him but in an unassuming way. His manner was such that it was impossible not to warm to him – airport staff, the airline steward, car hire fellow and now June – they all accommodated his wishes with a smile. Although I had been in his company for no more than a few hours, I felt he was the sort of man one could become stranded with in the middle of the Sahara Desert and within twelve hours