‘What is it with you two?’ Charlie asked. ‘This is more than just opposing politics, isn’t it?’
Holly sighed. ‘You could say that. When my grandfather was alive, he and Miles had a kind of feud, all stemming back to them being in school. That extended through their lives, and, unbeknown to me, when I put in an offer for the freehold of what was to become ComIncense, Miles already had plans to turn the building into a second site for his bakery. He never really got over that I’d bought the place, and with my inheritance from grandfather, too. Ever since, he’s been trying to discredit me and my shop but has never managed to do so. I suppose he now thinks that because you and I are, well, whatever we are, he’s going to lose an ally.’ She sighed. ‘He and Hugo Fitzgerald were big mates, going back years, and he clearly wants to maintain that connection with the new guy. I figure Miles dislikes the fact that you and I are getting closer and that he can’t count on you, like he did Hugo, to support him if he starts making trouble again.’
‘So that’s what you were arguing about?’ Charlie said. ‘He’s been putting pressure on you?’
‘Not exactly pressure,’ Holly said hurriedly. ‘I mean, he’s not been physically intimidating or anything, more a kind of word-of-mouth campaign to slag me and the shop off whenever he can.’
‘Well, if he carries on, let me know and I’ll do something about it,’ Charlie said.
‘With your MP’s hat on or your, er, friendship hat on?’ Holly smiled.
Charlie drew Holly closer, so they were both standing underneath the archway. ‘With the hat that says I want to be a little bit more than friends,’ he said gruffly.
Despite the rising warmth of the day, Holly shivered as their bodies drew closer. She wanted him so much, despite their being worlds apart ideologically these days. Who knows what would have happened if they’d taken things further all those years ago? Perhaps she’d have become the perfect politician’s wife, with the perfect family, all Boden dresses and sending the children to small, fee-paying schools? However, that was then, and this was most definitely now. Things were different; they were different. But try telling that to her raging emotions. She couldn’t fight her attraction to Charlie any more than she could stop the sun moving round Willowbury Hill.
Charlie’s hand snaked around her waist, closing the final gap between them, and with his other hand, he reached up and gently removed the dark glasses she’d borrowed from her sister. ‘It’s OK,’ he murmured. ‘We’re in the shade enough to hopefully not aggravate your hangover!’
‘I’m not hungover,’ Holly said mutinously but couldn’t help herself smiling. ‘Well, OK, maybe I am a little bit. But I had to get through last night somehow.’
Slowly, gently, Charlie dipped his head until his lips were within a breath of Holly’s own. She felt relieved that, as a consequence of last night’s excess of booze, she’d cleaned her teeth a few times when she’d got up. Their lips met in the gentlest of kisses that again took her back to when they’d first met, but as those kisses became deeper, more passionate, she realised they were heading in a much more grown-up direction.
Sliding a hand around the back of Charlie’s neck, she encountered the waves of hair that curled on his collar. Her knees grew week, and it wasn’t just from lack of breakfast.
‘Is that an apology then?’ Charlie asked as they broke apart.
‘For what?’ Holly asked, trying to catch her breath.
‘For having a public barney with one of my wealthiest but most obnoxious constituents!’
Holly laughed shakily. ‘I guess so.’
‘When can I see you again?’ Charlie asked. His arms were still tightly around her. ‘I’ve got to head back to London from here, I’m afraid, but I should be back tomorrow evening, if you’re free.’
Holly shook her head. ‘I’m going to be tied up tomorrow and all weekend stocktaking, in between opening hours. And getting ready for Willowfest, which is happening the weekend after, of course.’
‘Willowfest?’ Charlie looked blank. ‘Oh yes. What with spending so much time on that speech for the dinner dance last weekend, I’d forgotten that was coming up.’ He furrowed his brow. ‘Remind me exactly what it is, again?’
‘The Folk and Fey festival that takes place here every year,’ Holly replied. ‘Did your amazing agent not brief you?’
‘Folk and what?’ Charlie replied.
Holly pulled away slightly but kept her hand firmly clasped in Charlie’s as they began to walk back to ComIncense.
‘It’s evolved over the years,’ she explained as they headed out of the Priory grounds, ‘but it’s basically a weekend of folk music, fancy dress and celebrations of all things fey.’
‘Again, Holly, I’m none the wiser.’
Holly laughed. ‘Why does that not surprise me?’ She turned and gestured across to the ruined Priory buildings. ‘All this, believe it or not, is thought to have been erected on a cross-section of some of the strongest ley lines in the country. It forms one point of a spiritual triangle, with Stonehenge and Avebury stone circle at the other points. If you do happen to believe in such things, it means there’s a huge amount of spiritual energy in this place, centred on the Priory grounds but radiating outwards through the town.’
‘If you believe in such things,’ Charlie echoed.
‘Well, plenty of people do, around here,’ Holly replied. ‘Otherwise I’d be out of business. Anyway, Willowbury decided about thirty or so years ago, when the town was a bit more run-down and a bit less wealthy, to try to cash in on this huge amount of spiritual energy. Hence, Willowfest was born.’
‘Is it anything like the Reading Festival?’ Charlie asked, shuddering at the prospect of mud-soaked tents and acres of lost wellies.
Holly laughed. ‘Well, there’s music, but it’s on a much smaller scale. Although the guy who first came up with the idea, Alan Somerville, aspires to make it big enough to rival festivals like that one day.’
‘Alan Somerville? Wasn’t he the lead singer of that seventies prog rock band?’ Charlie wrinkled his brow.
‘Yup. The very same. Wrote several of his biggest hit albums while living in Willowbury, in fact. Claims the ley lines allow him to tap into a deep and abiding spirituality that gets somewhat, er, diluted by the more commercial aims of the music business these days.’
‘He’s never been asked to headline the O2 Arena, then?’ Charlie asked playfully.
Holly laughed. ‘Not so far as I know. But he lives in hope. Although I think he quite likes being a big fish in this small Willowbury pond, anyway.’
‘So, what am I to expect of Willowfest?’ Charlie asked.
‘Why don’t you let me show you,’ Holly murmured. ‘Come and be my date for it.’ She drew in closer to him. ‘It starts on the Saturday morning and winds down on Sunday afternoon.’
Charlie smiled. ‘That sounds great, and just what I’ll need after a few days back in London.’ He paused momentarily. ‘I know I’ve got something constituency-based happening on that Friday night in Stavenham, but how about I come over first thing Saturday morning and we can, er, catch up a bit? Then you can show me exactly what Willowfest is all about.’