‘Sorry.’
‘No, I like it!’
He smiled and watched as she went back inside with his empty mug, her mission accomplished. Bill sighed. He still didn’t like the idea, but he’d do it, and the sooner he got it over and done with, the better, so he brushed the earth from his trousers, cleaned his fork meticulously before putting it away in the shed and went inside to change clothes.
He left the house half an hour later, hair brushed and shirt collar straightened by Margy.
‘Just be you,’ she’d told him. ‘She likes you.’
She might not after what he had to ask, he thought to himself ruefully.
Approaching the castle, he felt like a schoolboy called up to see the head teacher. There was something about being in the presence of the castle when one wasn’t invited that was especially intimidating. Perhaps that was another reason why Orla had chosen to live there. It would be a brave person who would just show up and ring that big old bell, wouldn’t it?
Bill had never rung the bell at the front door before, although he had been inside that time he’d helped Orla bring Luke back from the beach. That dreadful day seemed like an age ago now and he couldn’t help thinking how much had changed in that time with both of them becoming such a part of his life now.
And I might be about to ruin it all, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath and ringing the bell.
Instantly, he heard One Ear and it wasn’t long before he heard Orla’s voice on the other side of the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Orla? It’s me – Bill. Bill Wilson.’
‘Bill?’ Orla said. ‘Quiet, One Ear – it’s only Bill.’
He heard the sound of a bolt drawing across and a key being turned.
‘Hello,’ he said a moment later, nodding to her. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could have a word.’
‘Is it about the garden?’
‘Erm, no. Village business, you might say.’
‘Oh, how mysterious!’ Orla said with a sweet smile. ‘Do you want to come in?’
Bill peered around her shoulder at the great cavernous space of the room behind her.
‘Garden, I think,’ he said. ‘If that’s okay with you?’
‘Of course,’ Orla said. ‘I’ll just grab my hat.’
Bill took a few deep breaths as he waited. He would feel more at home in the garden, he thought. It would, at least, be one less thing to be anxious about.
A moment later, and they were sitting on the bench that Bill was fast thinking of as ‘their’ bench.
‘Bill, what is it? You look all tied up in knots.’
He blinked, surprised that his demeanour betrayed his inner turmoil so readily.
After a bit of throat clearing and boot shuffling, he began. ‘I have a question to ask you.’
‘Okay.’
‘A request, rather.’
‘All right.’
‘Now, before I ask it, I have to let you know that I’m dead against asking you this. I don’t think it’s fair and you have every right to say no.’
‘Bill, you’re making me nervous now.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Just ask me!’ she said, her eyes wide and anxious.
Bill took one last deep breath. ‘Mildred Smy – you’ve not met her, I think – well, she runs the village show. Has done for as long as any of us can remember, and she’s a great one for getting people involved – for giving people little jobs to do. One of life’s natural organisers, you know? Well, she’s got it into her head that she wants photos – professional-quality photos – taken of the show this year.’
‘When’s the show?’
‘Next week. And, well, she wanted me to ask if you’d do the honours.’ He paused, a sense of dread filling him, but at least he’d done his bit now. He couldn’t be asked to do more.
‘How did this Mildred know I’m a photographer?’ Orla asked.
Bill shifted uneasily. ‘It’s something Luke mentioned to me at the first horticultural meeting. I guess someone overheard us talking about it, and you know what a village is like – word soon gets around.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘I’m sorry to put you on the spot like this,’ he said, shuffling his boots again. ‘Please say no if it’s not your thing.’
Orla didn’t say anything for a moment.
‘It’s not your thing, is it?’ Bill asked.
‘I didn’t say that!’
‘But you’re thinking it, aren’t you? I knew it was wrong to ask you. I’m so sorry, Orla. I didn’t want to put this pressure on you.’ He stood up, ready to leave.
‘Bill – I haven’t said no yet.’
He turned and looked at her. ‘No?’
‘But I haven’t said yes either. Can I think about it? How long do I have to decide?’
‘Knowing Mildred, not long.’
‘Give me tonight, okay? And I promise I’ll get back to you by morning.’
Bill puffed out his cheeks. ‘It’s more than I’d hoped for. You’re a good woman.’
‘Am I?’
‘Of course you are,’ Bill said, smiling at last. ‘But you obviously need a few more people to tell you that. Maybe you’ll find them at the village show, eh?’ He dared to wink at her, and she laughed.
‘Maybe.’
It was late afternoon when Luke went to find Orla.
‘Hey,’ he said, entering the china room, where she was dusting one of the shelves. ‘Fancy a trip out somewhere?’
‘In the van?’
‘Yep.’
‘Can One Ear come?’
‘Of course.’
‘Let me grab my hat.’
Five minutes later, the three of them were in the van and heading out of Lorford.
‘Had a good day?’ Luke asked her.
‘I saw Bill earlier,’ she told him.
‘Oh, yes? Is he okay?’
‘He had a proposition for me.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘Oh, it was interesting all right, but I’m not sure it’s right for me.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Bill asked if I’d be interested in photographing the local village show next week.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said I’d think about it.’
‘So what do you think?’
‘My initial response was to run for the hills.’
‘I don’t think there are many of those in East Anglia!’
‘No,’ Orla agreed with a laugh. ‘What do you think I should do?’
‘Well, do you want to do it?’
‘Not really.’
‘Then
