Holly grinned. ‘You are so adorably naive, sometimes. Perhaps it’s better if you think that, but I still wouldn’t recommend risking it.’
Charlie’s eyebrows shot up as he realised what Holly was getting at. ‘Fair enough. But I’m not as square as all that, you know. I did inhale at university.’
‘Really?’
‘Well… sort of. Spent the rest of the evening throwing up, though, so I guess it was a bad batch.’
‘All the more reason to be cautious of Willowbury residents offering you brownies, then!’ Holly grabbed Charlie’s hand again and steered him back towards ComIncense. ‘I’ve got a picnic for us that I just need to pick up while I check back in with Isabella. And I promise there aren’t any illegal substances in any of it!’
‘Sounds good,’ Charlie replied. ‘After all, “MP eats hash brownie and streaks naked through historic religious ruins”, probably won’t do much for my majority.’
‘Actually, in Willowbury you never know,’ Holly smiled. ‘But perhaps over the bridge in Stavenham they might have more of an issue with it.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Charlie kept smiling. ‘I’m glad I’ve got you by my side to guide me through all this.’
‘I’m glad too,’ Holly said softly. She paused in the street and tugged at Charlie’s hand so that they were close together again. ‘It’s lovely to share this with you,’ she murmured.
As they headed back to ComIncense to pick up their refreshments, Charlie felt a tingle run down his spine. It was as if the stars had all aligned over Willowbury, and he and Holly were at the centre of them. There was definitely magic in the air, this Willowfest weekend, he thought.
28
‘How are you feeling?’ Holly asked as she looked across at Charlie, who was lying, legs stretched out on the picnic blanket, sipping languidly at his glass of mead.
‘It’s all so beautiful,’ Charlie breathed as he looked around at the grounds of the ruined Priory, and as his gaze alighted back on her, Holly smiled at his wonderment. Hanging from the broken lumps of the former building were strings and strings of amber-coloured lights, and atop the tallest pillars and arches were huge altar candles, burning into the darkening sky. They were sitting on a picnic blanket, sharing the last of a bottle of Monk’s Mead from one of the stallholders. They’d spent the day nibbling and sampling their way around Willowfest, but they’d also walked what felt like miles, as well as danced to a variety of different bands and singers in the grounds of the Priory itself. The concert – the headline event of Willowfest – consisted of several of the UK’s biggest folk acts, including a final set by Alan Somerville himself, who was now belting out his biggest hit on the makeshift stage that had been set up in the ruined nave of the Priory.
‘It’s like nothing else, ever,’ Holly replied. ‘Willowfest has its own charm, its own energy. It’s like someone managed to distil all of the best bits of living here into one evening and put it on show for everyone to enjoy.’
‘That’s a great way to put it,’ Charlie took another sip of his mead. ‘It’s like the air itself feels alive. Of course, that could just be the mead!’
‘It’s got quite a kick to it,’ Holly warned. ‘I wouldn’t drink much more after this one, if I were you.’ She drew a little closer to him. It was a warm evening, but she was at the point where she wanted there to be as little space between their bodies as possible.
As Alan Somerville approached the end of his set with a couple of acoustic guitar songs, Holly found they’d finished their bottle of mead. They’d also finished most of the picnic they’d brought with them, as the fresh air had stimulated their late-evening appetites.
‘Snap for the local paper?’ A cheery voice broke into her thoughts. Kyle Jones, the junior reporter for the Willowbury and Stavenham Gazette was standing in front of them with his smartphone and a smile.
‘Sure,’ Holly said. ‘If you don’t mind, Charlie.’
Immediately, she saw Charlie’s back stiffen. ‘That’s fine,’ he said.
Holly felt him shift slightly away from her and, as she watched him, he composed his features into an expression suitable both for the occasion and for the face of the local Member of Parliament.
Holly, amused, turned back to the reporter and gave her best, unguarded smile.
‘How have you found your first Willowfest, Mr Thorpe?’ Kyle asked, tapping his phone to record Charlie’s answer.
‘It’s been a great day,’ Charlie replied. ‘I’m so impressed by everything that Willowbury has to offer.’
‘Thanks very much,’ Kyle said. ‘It’s good to see you supporting a local event. Any comments on the progress of the planning for the motorway junction as yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Charlie replied. ‘But thanks for asking. We’ll keep you posted.’
‘And can I just have your name?’ Kyle turned his attention to Holly. ‘For the caption?’
‘Holly Renton, owner of ComIncense on the High Street,’ Holly supplied.
‘Much obliged.’ The reporter smiled at them both. ‘Thanks for your time.’
As Kyle headed off in search of more snapshots, Holly felt Charlie relax again.
‘You still don’t like being interviewed, do you?’ she said softly.
Charlie shook his head. ‘We had some media training as the new intake, but I’d far rather be the one asking the questions.’
‘That’s a first, surely, in your job,’ Holly teased. ‘A politician who doesn’t get off on the sound of his own voice?’
‘There you go again,’ Charlie said, but there was amusement rather than irritation in his voice. ‘Can we just forget what I do, and what you do, for one night, and focus on who you are, and who I am?’ He pulled her closer to him on the picnic rug. ‘Because I really want just to walk you home and spend the night with you.’
Holly’s pleasurable gasp was swallowed as Charlie’s mouth met hers. From a couple of metres away, neither registered the flash of the young reporter’s camera phone as he snapped a couple of cheeky shots to spice up his Twitter feed.
‘That sounds good to me,’ Holly murmured once their lips parted again. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Absolutely,’ Charlie murmured.
Swiftly, they packed up the picnic basket and then folded the blanket. Alan Somerville was just coming to the end of his last song, and as they wandered hand in hand back through the grounds of the Priory, an almost palpable tension seemed to radiate between them. At once Holly felt that the walk home was too long and not long enough. This was it, she could feel it. All of the yearning, all of the near misses, all of the barriers between them, were about to come tumbling down.
Neither said much as they headed up the slight incline of the road behind Willowbury High Street that led to the back entrance to Holly’s shop and home. The moon was rising, giving them ample light to see by, and Charlie’s hand in hers was warm and dry. Again, she was reminded of that night so many years ago when they’d walked hand in hand through Covent Garden in search of a taxi or a Tube station back to her hotel. His palm had been clammy, then, as he’d seemed as nervous as she was about what may or may not happen after they’d reached their destination. Now, there was no such doubt. Both ached for this night to continue, both yearned for it, and both knew exactly where they wanted to be.