The Wedding Cake Tree by Melanie Hudson Page B

you leave the hotel and noticed your boots were gone. I remembered I still had your waterproofs in my rucksack and realised you would be drenched. So I came to look for you, just in case.’
    ‘ But I could have been anywhere.’ I turned my torso so that I could face him. ‘I can see how logic made you assume I had gone back up the hill – Mum’s letter, sunset and all that –but how did you know I would veer off the track?’
    ‘ Because I knew.’
    Our conversation came to an abrupt halt when a perilously close flash of lightning illuminated the nylon of the makeshift tent; our faces glowed bright orange for a second, and then darkness. The only chatter between us afterwards was to count the seconds between thunder and flash.
    After about half an hour the storm abated, my bones no longer shook and my wrist throbbed less aggressively. Alasdair took the executive decision to lift the sheet from our heads. I blew into my hands and danced on the spot whilst Alasdair packed the sheet away. It was completely dark and I wondered what would have happened if Alasdair hadn’t found me. I shuddered at the thought.
    ‘ Still cold, Grace?’
    ‘ No, not too bad now. I was just thinking about what that ram might have done if you hadn’t turned up.’
    ‘ Probably nothing,’ he said, hurling his rucksack onto his back. ‘Their baas are worse than their bites.’
    Hi s head torch illuminated a wink and I chuckled all the way back to the village – the long way that time.
     
     
    Chapter Twelve
     
    It was around ten by the time we reached the hotel, and I had never been so happy to reach a destination in my life. June fluttered around me like an anxious mother hen, got the local vet who was drinking in the bar to look at my wrist and, satisfied I had survived without any broken bones, ordered me upstairs to take a soak in the bath. I looked back towards Alasdair as I mooched up the stairs.
    ‘ I’ll wait for you in the snug, if you’re not too tired.’
    Looking down at his amiable face, I couldn’t believe how patient he had been. I must have looked worn out, standing as I was, like a scarecrow in Alasdair’s over-sized clothes, because he changed tack suddenly.
    ‘ Actually, maybe the next letter can wait till tomorrow.’
    ‘ No way, I need a drink!’’
    ‘ What about your wrist though? You should take some ibuprofen or that sprain is going to hurt like hell in the morning.’
    I gave his advice precisely one second of thought. ‘Mine’s a brandy and ginger. Give me precisely ten minutes.’
    I started up the stairs but heard his voice shout out after me.
    ‘ Grace!’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Although it really suits you, maybe Yorkshire isn’t quite ready for the shemagh look just yet.’
    I turned around to see Alasdair pointing at my head. My hand instinctively rose to touch the fabric of the scarf. I laughed – I had forgotten I was wearing it. I removed the shemagh in one fluid movement and threw it down the stairs for him to catch.
    ‘ You’re right, Alasdair. A shemagh is a good piece of kit.’
     
    After my bath I sauntered back downstairs to meet up with Alasdair, but I noticed someone who caused my eyes to pop out on stalks. I needed to grab my camera, and quick.
    Ten minutes later – looking particularly pleased with myself – I stepped into the snug and found Alasdair sitting alone by the fire; my brandy was waiting on the table.
    ‘ No June?’ I asked.
    ‘ She’s shut up shop for the evening. We’re to help ourselves at the bar, write down what we’ve had and she’ll tot it up in the morning.’
    I sat down on a high-backed chair at the other side of the fireplace to Alasdair and smiled a contented smile.
    ‘What’s up? ’ he said. ‘You look like your lottery numbers have just come up.’
    I took a swig of my brandy. ‘And so they have, Alasdair. So they have! You will never in your life guess who I’ve just seen in the bistro!’
    ‘Who?’ he asked, smiling, clearly