Something inside me has started to boil. Quaint? Quaint?
“Must go. I have no idea where my family have got to….” Demeter gives a bark of laughter. “I know. Absolutely. Well, I’ll keep you posted. Ciao!”
She rings off, scrolls through her phone, taps her fingers agitatedly a few times, and thrusts a hand through her hair. She seems a bit hyper. Probably overexcited at being an early adopter yet again. Eventually she puts her phone in her pocket and looks around with a sweeping gaze. “Oh, hello,” she says as she notices me.
My chest tightens, but somehow I stay outwardly calm.
“Hello there.” I greet her in my broadest West Country accent. “Welcome to Ansters Farm. I’m Katie, the farmer’s daughter. Lived here all my life,” I add for good measure.
Am I overdoing it? I’m just so desperate to put her off the scent.
“I brought you some lemonade,” I add. “It’s homemade—organic, of course.”
“Oh, lovely,” says Demeter, whose eyes lit up at the word “organic.” “Can you bring it up here?”
As I step up to the deck, my hands are shaking. Surely she’ll recognize me. Surely she’ll peer under my cap and say, Wait a minute…
But she doesn’t.
“So, Katie, I have a question—” She breaks off as her phone buzzes. “Sorry, just a sec…Hi, Adrian?” She gives a short, resigned laugh. “No, don’t worry, what else are Saturdays for? Yes, just got here, and I’ve seen the email from Rosa….”
I’m prickling all over. It’s as if I’ve whooshed back to the office. Rosa. Adrian. Names I haven’t heard in months. If I close my eyes I’m there, sitting at my desk, listening to the office buzz, the tapping of keyboards, the squeak of Sarah’s chair on the floor.
And now I’m remembering that last day: Flora telling me Demeter was in trouble. Something about Sensiquo and a deadline. Well, clearly she got herself out of trouble pretty quickly. Flora’s voice rings again in my mind: If you’re shagging one of the partners, you’re never in that much trouble, right?
“OK, well, that’s good news,” Demeter’s saying. “Can you tell the team on Monday? God knows they need the morale boost….Yes…Yup.” She’s striding around the deck now, the way she does in the office when she’s giving one of her rants. “I know; the cow-welfare concept was brilliant. I can’t remember whose idea that was now….”
My eyes open in shock. Cow welfare? That was my idea. Doesn’t she remember?
As I watch her pacing around, completely oblivious to me, a wave of anguish crests over me. That was my idea; my future; my life. OK, it wasn’t a Farrow & Ball everything-perfect life. But it was my London life and now it’s been shattered. And the worst thing is, it didn’t count for anything. She doesn’t remember me at all. There I was, worried about being recognized. What a joke.
Just for an instant, I want to pour lemonade over her head. But instead I stand perfectly still like a wooden dummy, holding the tray, watching her finish the conversation and put away her phone.
“Now.” She turns her attention to me. “Why don’t you put that lemonade down here? I want to ask you about these activities.” She picks up our activities sheet from the table and jabs at it with a manicured nail. “I have an allergy to willow, and I see that the activity tomorrow is willow-weaving. I’m also mushroom-intolerant, so I can’t do the foraging activity on Tuesday either.”
I want to laugh, or explode. An allergy to willow? Only Demeter.
“I see. Well, all the activities are optional, so…”
“Yes, but if I don’t weave willow, what will I do?” Demeter fixes me with gimlet eyes. “Are there substitute activities? Obviously I’ve paid for willow-weaving and mushroom-foraging, so I feel there should be some other option available to me. That’s what I feel. Something rustic. Or maybe yoga? Do you offer yoga?”
God, she’s a pushy cow.
“I’ll sort out an alternative for you,” I say, in my best customer-service manner. “I’ll find you some bespoke activities.”
The word “bespoke” works wonders, just as I knew it would.
“Oh, something bespoke would be wonderful.” Demeter reaches for a glass of lemonade. “Well,” she says, smiling now that she’s got everyone running around after her. “It’s very beautiful here. Very calm. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful, relaxing time.”
—
As I walk back to the farmhouse, I’m a whorl of conflicting emotion. She didn’t recognize me. She looked right at me, but she still didn’t recognize me. That’s good. I’ll be safe. My secret won’t come out. It’s all good….
Oh, but God, I can’t bear her. How do I stay polite all week? How do I do this? There’s a burning sense of injustice inside me that I can’t quell.
I could flood her yurt. Easy. Tonight. Go out with a flashlight, drag the hose along…
No. No, Katie. Stop it.
With a supreme effort, I shut down the stream of revenge fantasies which has started pouring through my mind. Demeter is probably the most influential guest we’ve ever had. I can’t have her going back to London and telling everyone Ansters Farm is crap. We have to give her and her family a good time.
Oh, but…but…
I sit down on a wooden stump, staring morosely at the picturesque view. I need to get my mood in order before I go inside; otherwise, Biddy will pick up on it. After a while, Steve comes into view, and in spite of myself, I smile.