Free Staying at Daisy's by Jill Mansell Page B

‘Don’t forget I’ve got an hour off at lunchtime,’ Daisy reminded him as she emptied bottles of Schweppes into a row of glasses.
    ‘One till two. I know.’ Clattering ice cubes into a tumbler, Rocky said hesitantly, ‘Are you… um… looking forward to it?’
    Oh God, was that a crass thing to say? He didn’t have a clue. It was one of those weird situations not mentioned in the etiquette books. Not that he’d ever read an etiquette book, but he’d bet a year’s wages it wasn’t covered.
    And now Daisy was looking at him as if he’d just asked permission to change into a tutu and pirouette the length of the bar.
    ‘I don’t know if I’m actually looking forward to it.’ She pulled a face. ‘Depends what this chap’s like, I suppose. He’s the one who was so keen to do this. I just don’t want him to be, well, disappointed.’
    ‘Kind of like a blind date,’ said Rocky, and immediately wished he hadn’t. How did he manage to come out with this stuff?
    But Daisy was grinning.
    ‘You know what you are, don’t you? A hopeless case. Me meeting this chap at one o’clock is absolutely nothing like a blind date. From now on, Rocky, it’s probably better if you stick to doing what you do best. Serving drinks.’
    ‘I know.’ Rocky was humble, mentally apologizing for all he was worth. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Anyway, apart from that, do I look all right?’
    Enough of the apologies. He flicked a practiced eye over Daisy as she did a brief twirl next to him.
    ‘You look awful, a complete mess.’
    ***
    Barney Usher was early. Far too early. The train from Manchester had reached Bristol Parkway bang on time, at eleven o’clock. He had jumped into a taxi and arrived in the village of Colworth at eleven twenty-three precisely.
    Which meant he still had an hour and a half to kill. For Barney it felt like waking up at five thirty on Christmas morning, knowing that your parents had warned you on pain of death not to wake them before seven.
    The fact that he was also feeling slightly sick had been partly due to the fact that for the last twenty-odd minutes he had been enclosed in a cab with his own aftershave. In his nervous state, he had slapped on far too much Kouros. It was a relief to climb out of the taxi and breathe in lungfuls of much-needed fresh air.
    The taxi driver shot him a knowing smirk as Barney, shivering with a mixture of cold and anticipation, paid his fare and added a generous tip.
    ‘Meeting a young lady, are we?’
    Barney, who had been waiting for more than a year for this day to arrive, replied emphatically, ‘Oh yes.’
    But now that he was here at last, he could relax. The village was like no village he had ever seen before, and he couldn’t wait to explore every inch of it.
    The meandering main street was bordered by dinky Cotswold stone cottages. A river ran through the center of the village and hills reared up on either side. To Barney, a born-and-bred city boy, everything looked unbelievably picturesque, like something out of a Disney film. It was hard to believe that real people actually lived here. But they did, they truly did. A real person was at this very moment emerging from her cottage a little way up the street, pushing one of those old people’s shopping bags on wheels and heading for the village store.
    Barney wondered why shopping bags on wheels were always tartan.
    Well, why?
    But at the same time he marveled at how relaxed the old person was. Any pensioner hailing from his own neck of the woods in a rough part of Manchester would be scuttling down the road by now, in fear of being mugged and battered senseless by some psychopath or mad drug addict. This one, by contrast, was actually stopping to stroke a fat tortoiseshell cat on her neighbor’s stone wall.
    It was a complete eye-opener. Barney could hardly believe it.
    Imagine stopping to stroke a cat! It genuinely hadn’t occurred to this old dear that she might be on the verge of being set upon by thugs.
    He took his