Valentine Nook: Chapter 2

“Have you spent much time in England before?” Clemmie asks as we make our way out of the house and down the road.

Except I soon learn it’s not really a road. It’s a lane with no sidewalk and only wide enough to fit one car down at a time.

We’ve already had to move out of the way of a tractor carrying bales of hay and a couple of large, frisky-looking horses being led by a teenage boy. I almost fell into the hedge while trying to avoid them.

I shake my head. “Not out here. I’ve only been to London, and usually, it’s a quick visit with press junkets or award ceremonies. Never longer than a week.”

Clemmie’s blue eyes widen. “Wow, really?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re here for six months?”

I nod again, because technically, that’s the idea as long as the roof stops leaking.

“What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one,” I reply truthfully. I didn’t get that far. I usually have a plan. Perhaps I should come up with something. “I’ve never had time off before.”

I wait for Clementine to be shocked or pick up on my nerves at the prospect of doing nothing, but instead, she loops her arm through mine as though we’re lifelong friends. It creates a comforting familiarity.

“Then you’ve come to the perfect place. You’ll absolutely love it here.”

Her grin is so wide and enthusiastic, the reticence I felt earlier vanishes. Large hedges we’ve been walking alongside give way to a fence lined with the same blossom trees I have in the backyard of my cottage. A little way up is a pale green gate too high for me to see over, but it doesn’t stop Clemmie from pushing it open.

Perhaps privacy isn’t a thing in the countryside.

“This is my brother Miles’s house.”

I peer around the wide open gate to find a cottage as equally cute as mine but with a collection of rain boots and mud-covered sneakers stacked up by the front door. A saddle is resting on a beam in the porch along with a pile of blankets.

“As you can see, he’s not the tidiest. He’s not the quietest either. His parties keep the whole village awake. But he gets away with it because he’s Miles, and because he invites everyone. I’d decline if I were you, though you’ll likely be the guest of honor.”

“Sounds exhausting.” I chuckle. “Is he younger or older?”

“Older. I’m the youngest, and I have four older brothers.”

“Four?” I gasp. “I have three siblings. An older brother and a sister, and a twin brother. I always think that’s enough. I can’t imagine four brothers.”

“It definitely has its disadvantages,” she groans ominously and shrugs out of her raincoat, only to hang it on the gate as she closes it. “I’ll get that later . . .”

It hasn’t been long since the rain stopped, but the heat is already drying the puddles dotted around the ground, and the birds have commenced chirping. It’s warm enough that I’m hoping I won’t regret wearing jeans because while I’m used to the dry Californian heat, this humidity will stick to me.

“Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Miles and my brother Hendricks are identical twins. They used to live in that cottage, but Hendricks became a dad, and their place wasn’t exactly child friendly. He and Max, who’s four, now live in Burlington, our family home across the fields”—Clemmie points in a general direction although there are too many hedges in the way for me to see anything—“along with my mum, and my eldest brother, Lando. My other brother Alex lives across the village.”

There’s something about Clemmie I can’t quite put my finger on. It makes me think her upbringing was different from mine, with her rose gardens and perfect chickens, and the way the tractor driver and the kid with the horses were almost deferential in their greetings to her. And now she’s telling me she still lives at home with almost her entire family.

My parents’ house isn’t small, but with the four of us kids plus six grandchildren, the most I can manage under one roof is a week during the holidays.

As much as I love my parents, the thought of moving back home makes me break out in hives.

“Sounds like a houseful.”

“It is. Especially with the mood Lando’s been in lately. I do what I can to stay out of his way.”

“Why’s he in a mood?”

“He went through a breakup.” Clemmie tuts.

Her deep eye roll tells me exactly what her opinion is and makes me laugh because it sounds like her brother is as dramatic as mine. And considering I act for a living, that says a lot.

I’m about to say as much, but then we turn a bend in the road. Suddenly, I’m walking over a stone bridge under which flows a stream coming from a large fountain at the end of the prettiest main street I’ve ever seen.

I must have been more tired than I thought on arrival here, because there’s no way I noticed this.

It’s seriously stunning and so quintessentially English that it doesn’t look real. It could be a film set, but even the movies couldn’t make anything this cute.

While it’s not busy busy, it’s not quiet. Everywhere I look are people, and out of habit, I pull my sunglasses off my head and slip them on to cover my eyes.

The main street is easily the length of a football field, with a lilac explosion of wisteria climbing up two-thirds of the stone storefronts, which pops against the pale green window frames on each building. Store signs swing ever so slightly in the breeze as customers enter and exit, their bags overloaded with goods.

I spot a couple of black Labradors sitting obediently by a flower stall laden with a rainbow selection of buds and blooms, and a long line snakes halfway down the street from what looks like a coffee shop, but it could be a bakery.

Someone’s tied their horse up outside a store called The Valentine Cook, which sells groceries based on boxes of fruit and vegetables stacked outside, reminding me of a rustic version of Erewhon. And I now understand why New England is called New England if this is what they were trying to replicate.

But the best bit, I realize, is that no cars are driving down it, and none are parked. All the cars passing by have come around the road and headed over the bridge past my cottage.

“Welcome to Valentine Nook.”

I turn to find Clemmie beaming proudly, eager for me to love it like she does.

“You grew up here?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? I can be having the worst day, and I’ll come and sit by the fountain, and suddenly, everything seems okay again.”

I join her as she perches on the edge of the fountain’s stone wall, and I turn to study it. A large cherub takes center stage, aiming his arrow down the middle of the road. He’s surrounded by dozens of woodland creatures and animals all carved into what must have once been an enormous rock.

Around the opposite side, people throw coins into the water, making the bottom glitter in the sunlight, reminding me of the Trevi Fountain in Rome, except smaller.

I can understand why Clemmie loves it so much. I’ve been here two minutes, and I’ve already forgotten my bad mood from this morning and the water dripping from the ceiling.

“Yes, gorgeous.”

“I’m so happy you like it.” Her arm loops into mine and squeezes gently. “It’s one of the oldest villages in England. Been in my family for five hundred years.” Get full chapters from Find✶Novel.net

My neck snaps around. “Whoa, what?”

I’ve never heard of someone owning a whole town before, and the concept of something being five hundred years old is a little hard to grasp, but Clemmie just nods enthusiastically, like it’s totally normal.

“My great-great-great . . . whatever . . . grandfather owned the land and built the village. If you can believe it, it hasn’t changed much, although my father modernized it a lot, bringing in more money for the village and its businesses. And now my brother is in charge.”

“Which brother?”

“Lando, the moody one.”

Shit. I really should have read the information Ashley printed off for me.

“Now . . .” Clemmie pushes up from the fountain wall and points down the road away from the main street. “Down that lane is the village cricket pitch, and a little farther on is Foxleigh Park, the polo club where my brother Miles plays. There’s a game every week, but next month is the big summer tournament, so you must come. It’s lots of fun. Ooh . . .” she gasps. “The Valentine summer fair is in a couple of weeks too.”

“Summer fair. Cool. Polo. Got it. Cricket? I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s kind of like baseball. But also nothing like it. You’ll have to see for yourself,” she replies and catches sight of my confused expression. “Sorry, I know this is a lot to take in. We can do cricket and polo another day.”

I chuckle. “Thanks. Information combined with jet lag is making it hard to compute.”

“How about I show you the shops? And there’s a spa one road over that does the best mani pedi outside of London.”

“Lead the way.”

I soon figure out Clemmie is that person who knows everything and everyone.

It takes us twenty minutes to get about fifty yards because she stops to speak to each person we pass, or rather, they stop her. Three times she gets invited to afternoon tea.

People are so focused on getting her attention that no one has noticed me, and honestly, it’s refreshing, especially when she introduces me as her friend Holly.

“And that’s the vet”—Clemmie pulls me out of my daydream and points at a building across the street—“where my brother Hendricks works, although he’s never there. Usually, he can be found in the middle of some crisis he has to deal with. Goat on the loose, that kind of thing.”

A laugh escapes so quickly it’s almost a snort. Goat on the loose. I’m definitely not in Los Angeles anymore.

Walking a little farther, we pass by a clothing store, followed by a homeware store that sells locally made pottery, which I know my mom would love. There are skincare and beauty stores, a hair salon, and I spy a bookstore across the street.

I’ll need to buy more suitcases before I go home.

We’re passing one of the older-looking buildings when Clemmie grabs me and pulls me into the entrance.

“Shit, quick,” she hisses as a tall woman wearing a long, billowy patchwork dress marches by determinedly. The sunlight catches on the large crystal around her neck, and the dozens of bracelets around her wrists jangle as her arms power her forward. “Sorry, that’s Agatha. We definitely don’t have time for a chat with her today. It’s impossible to escape, and she’ll only want to talk about Lando.”

The woman seems far too focused on wherever she’s going to pay attention to us, but I peer around the doorway and watch as she disappears past the fountain. Turning back to Clemmie, I find she’s walked inside, so I quickly follow her. It’s like I’ve been transported back in time.

It’s a bar called The One True Love, the inside of which is all old beams and walls made of thick stone slabs, and I can totally believe this was here five hundred years ago.

The first thing I see is an unlit fireplace, as tall as me, with carvings around the outside depicting nature and the same cherubs and hearts I’ve seen everywhere. Heavy-looking wooden tables are crammed together, lining the walls.

The dark wood adds a coolness to the air, and I breathe it in. It’s the sort of place where poets and playwrights from centuries past came with their quill pens and pots of ink to work, but today, they’re full of people eating a late lunch and sipping their glasses of wine.

Colored sunlight beams through stained windows and hits the floor I’m hurrying over to catch up with Clemmie. The bar itself is marked with drink rings and etched with scuffs and scratches. It doesn’t look like it’s been polished in forever even though the beer taps along the top gleam so brightly that I can see my reflection.

Like everything I’ve experienced so far, this bar is both surprising and beautiful. There’s so much character in here that it would probably take my entire six months and more to hear all the stories. I’ve never been anywhere so old.

Behind the bar, however, with his arms crossed over a sturdy chest, is the grumpiest-looking man I’ve ever seen. A thick gray mustache droops down from his heavily lined face, making his scowl seem even deeper.

“Well, look who the cat’s dragged in.”

“Hey, Eddie,” replies Clemmie, rushing forward. To my surprise, she wraps her arms around him in a hug, which melts the scowl off his face.

I think it does. It’s hard to tell behind the facial hair.

As she pulls away, Clemmie’s expression is more guilt than anything else. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s been a busy few weeks since I got home. I haven’t seen anyone.”

He grumbles under his breath. Without being asked, he turns and pulls two large glasses from the shelf behind him, fills them with ice, followed by Diet Coke from the fountain, and slides them toward us. My mouth salivates immediately. There’s nothing like a crisp Diet Coke, and I’ve been dying for one since the plane touched down at Heathrow.

“And who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

Clemmie throws an arm over my shoulders. “This is my friend Holly.”

Eddie pushes his bifocals onto his head and narrows his eyes. “You the American actress who moved into Bluebell Cottage?”

Well, that lasted all of twenty minutes. Guess I’m no longer incognito, but I try not to let the disappointment show.

“Yes, sir,” I reply, giving him my best smile. “That’ll be me.”

“Hmm. Sir. I like that. You’ve got good manners, young lady. I like you. Clementine, however⁠—”

“How do you know about Bluebell?” Clemmie demands.

Eddie’s gaze shifts from Clemmie to me and back. “Your brother was in here grumbling about it.”

Next to me, Clemmie groans, and I blink hard. Grumbling about it? What exactly does it mean? Is he talking about me?

“God. Lando’s such a dick sometimes.”

Lando. The moody one.

The pair of them are looking at each other in the way I know I’m missing ninety percent of the conversation.

“Sorry . . . what’s happening?”

“Nothing . . . nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Clemmie turns to me, her expression full of frustration. “Lando just didn’t know we’d put Bluebell Cottage up for rental, and he’s kind of annoyed. But, like I said, he’s been in a mood for months. He’ll get over it eventually.”

“Oh.”

I pick up one of the glasses and take a large mouthful because I don’t really know what to say. I feel bad that he’s annoyed, but on the other hand, I had nothing to do with the rental, and I’m paying ten thousand dollars a month, so he probably needs to lighten up.

“And Eddie won’t say anything about you being here, will you, Eddie?”

Eddie looks like he couldn’t care about anything except making sure his beer taps are polished.

“Secret’s safe with me,” he replies, and I’m pinned once more by his steely gray eyes. “As long as you remember this is the best pub in the village, not The Cupid’s Arrow.”

“Got it. I can remember that for sure.”

“And you’re joining our cricket team for the summer fair.”

“Um . . .”

“Eddie, leave her alone. She’s only just arrived,” Clemmie chides playfully and picks up her Diet Coke. “And please can we grab a couple of bags of salt and vinegar? I’m showing Holiday around the village.”

Turning around again, Eddie removes two of the smallest bags of chips I’ve ever seen from a basket and passes them to Clemmie, who shoves them in her pockets.

“Don’t leave it too long next time,” he grumbles.

“We’ll be back tomorrow. Now I have a new buddy,” Clemmie replies.

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” I add, reaching for my purse. “What do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s put it on my tab.” Clemmie nudges me gently. “Come on, I want to show you something I think you’ll like.”

I figure Clemmie’s taking me to another store or another part of the main street, but five minutes later, we’re walking through a field toward a cluster of huge oak trees. My sneakers have soaked through from the rain clinging to the long grass, but I forget all about it when we reach the center.

A tiny waterfall about twenty feet high drops into a perfectly round rock pool.

My gasp echoes around us. It looks like something you’d find in the rainforests on a remote island off South America, not in the English countryside.

I make out a small ledge behind the waterfall, which, over time, has carved a couple of steps leading to the pool. The water is crystal clear—no moss, no leaves or dirt. Nothing. I can’t tell how deep it is, but at the bottom, I can see a large pink rock, the exact shade of the blossom trees.

There’s a magical quality to it. Although that could be because Clemmie’s whispering and the buzz of Diet Coke has gone straight to my head.

I’m genuinely speechless, and it’s totally worth the fences we climbed over to get here.

As if reading my mind, Clemmie says, “There’s a much easier path leading from the gate at the back of Bluebell Cottage. If you ever want some privacy outside of the cottage, you can come here.”

Having seen how busy the village is, I’m surprised at how quiet it is.

“Do people swim in it?”

“No, it’s on our private land. If anyone’s here, they’re trespassing, but you’re welcome to,” she replies, sitting down on the grass verge and patting the spot next to her. “No one ever comes here, though.”

“What is this place?”

Removing the packets of chips from her pocket, she rips them both open with her teeth until they’re flattened out and places them between us.

“It’s Cupid’s Waterfall. He’s the symbol of our village, and legend has it his parents came here for a quickie.” She giggles through a sip.

“Oh, that’s the cherub I’ve seen everywhere.”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles, laying back. “It’s kind of cute but totally cheesy.”

Leaning back, I prop myself on my elbows and close my eyes. “Nice story, though.”

It’s probably the warmth of the sun, the birds chirping, and the crunch of chips as we slowly eat them, all combined with the tranquility of this place, but for the first time since I arrived in England, I feel truly relaxed. Content, almost.

“Anyway, you’re welcome to swim here or read books, whatever you want, but if you’d rather a proper swimming pool, come over to Burlington. I plan to spend the entire summer on the sun lounger while contemplating my life choices. I promise it doesn’t rain every day.”

Clemmie closes her eyes, and her breathing evens out as she drifts into a nap. I lie next to her, thinking about what she said because contemplating life choices sounds exactly like what I need too.

And perhaps doing them in the English countryside makes staying here not such a terrible mistake after all.