The Chic Boutique On Baker Street. Rachel Dove

being a native like myself, I would venture that you could be of some assistance, don’t you?’

      Ben didn’t get a chance to reply before she went on. ‘Amanda, you are closed on Sunday, do you have plans?’

      How did she know that? Amanda thought of her impending day off. My day off? Oh, hours of being sat in PJs probably, scouring Pinterest on the laptop, checking my bank balance and crying intermittently. This didn’t seem like the thing to say, so she just whispered feebly, ‘Er no, not really.’

      Agatha bristled with pleasure, not seeing Taylor’s eye-roll to Ben.

      ‘That’s settled then. Benjamin, you have a day off too. Why don’t you take the girl on a tour, show her the sights of our lovely village?’

      Ben cleared his throat, turning to Amanda, an embarrassed look on his face. ‘Er, well, I have a lot on at the moment, I will have to check my …’

      Amanda looked up at him and waited a second till her heart stopped doing jumping jacks in her stomach. A day with him! No chance!

      ‘Benjamin Evans,’ Agatha said, her best scolding voice in full flow. ‘You have better manners than that.’

      Ben visibly sagged, his shoulders drooping. Turning to Amanda with a ‘she is making me do this’ face, he said glibly, ‘Of course, I would be delighted to take you on a tour.’

      Amanda wanted the ground to swallow her up. She dare not even try to get out of it now. Agatha and her mother would get on like a house on fire.

      ‘Er, yes, well that would be lovely.’ She paused. ‘If you and Tracy are not too busy, of course.’

      Amanda couldn’t think of anything to get out of it. A day with Ben would be bad enough, but watching the couple being all loved up while he sat there plotting her grisly death seemed a lot less appealing.

      My Lord, Agatha thought to herself, I could bang this pair’s heads together! Don’t young people talk any more? There was a lot to be said about Facebook statuses, that was for sure. Even an old fogey like me knows that. The two of them had enough tension to implode the universe. She half expected them to start pulling each other’s hair.

      Agatha spoke up, cutting through the miscommunications. ‘Tracy?’ she said, trying hard not to yelp in frustration at the duo. ‘Well, Tracy will be busy, dear, with her boyfriend. But I am sure that Benjamin here can manage the tour on his own.’

      Taylor sniggered again, louder this time, and Agatha jabbed him with a pointy elbow. He made an ‘ooof’ sound as she connected with his torso, and he spluttered twice before turning to the rear door. Agatha stared at the couple before her as though nothing had happened. They are like moody teenagers, she thought to herself.

      ‘So, shall we say 10 o’clock, Ben, for you to pick Amanda up?’

      She turned to the door, seemingly thinking all was arranged, got in and looked expectantly through her open window as Taylor returned to his seat, red-faced.

      Ben muttered quickly, ‘Yes, that would be fine. Amanda?’

      Amanda looked into his eyes and nodded.

      Agatha nodded back, a smile of accomplishment lighting up her features. ‘All settled then, and I shall see you next week, Amanda. Drive on, Taylor,’ she said in a clipped tone, obviously still ticked off with her driver. Taylor shrugged good-naturedly at her as he pulled away, but Amanda and Ben were oblivious to all, as they still stood, staring at each other.

      Ben eventually broke the silence, his voice cracking as he spoke. ‘Wear something warm, OK?’ he said gruffly.

      Amanda nodded, turning to her doorway. Male chauvinist pig, he probably thought she would turn up in heels and a ball gown, like some feckless damsel. She would show him.

      She felt a warm, manly hand grab hers and she turned back to him in question.

      ‘Sorry,’ Ben said, his grip easing slightly. ‘I just wanted to ask, do you like chickens?’

       Six

      The next couple of days went by in a blur. Amanda worked hard at the shop, finishing her projects and cutting out fabric for cushions and scented drawer liners, the items she was hoping to sell to the tourist trade. At night, the TV stood quiet, Mr Darcy left unwatched, as she frantically put together her flat into some semblance of the home she wanted. All but three of the packing boxes were now crushed and sat by the door for recycling, her sheets were all unpacked and put away. She had even been to the local grocer’s and filled her fridge with some proper food, things that required more than the pricking of plastic and the ping of the microwave. The shop had even made some sales, not enough for her to relax, but she had noticed a small trickle of townsfolk and was cautiously optimistic about things picking up once word had got around.

      And here she was, Sunday morning, the date of her tour with Ben. It wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. She hadn’t slept well the night before, mentally and literally scanning her wardrobe for the appropriate outfit. Dress warm, he had said, so eventually she had decided on her favourite pair of faded blue jeans, a nice top and a slick of lipstick. She had even bought a pair of walking boots for the occasion, although she had needed to go back to the shop for a pair of thick socks, realising that her Betty Boop trainer ones wouldn’t quite fit the occasion. In the city, she had never really worn socks, other than for the gym, and she much preferred to be barefoot or wear simple pumps or heels. Now her feet felt heavy, encased in thick wool and hard rubber. She had been clumping around the flat since she got up, just to wear them in. She felt like a spaceman, but she was going to show the Cockapoo shampooer next door that she was not just some city slicker, and she had a right to be here.

      The trill of the doorbell downstairs made her jump. He was right on time. Amanda headed for the buzzer, flicking her gaze to the mirror as she went past. She looked like a giddy schoolgirl, all flushed cheeks and shiny eyes. This is not a date. Be cool. Aloof.

      She pressed the buzzer and opened the door. Ben was halfway up the stairs, and she resisted the urge to meet him halfway.

      ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling. ‘Ready to go?’

      Amanda smiled, her small rucksack—also new—hanging from one shoulder. ‘Yep,’ she said, grabbing her warm parka from the hook on the way down. Locking the door downstairs, she was very aware of Ben’s gaze on her, and she willed her arms to work the key into the lock. Ben now stood by the side of a dark blue jeep, and he opened the passenger side for her. She settled into the seat, as Ben took her bag from her and put it into the boot without being asked. Country manners, Amanda scoffed.

      Ben slid into his leather seat at the side of her and started the engine. ‘So, I thought we could maybe have a picnic on the fell? I just need to call at my place first, to make lunch. That OK with you?’

      Her head whipped around in suspicion. ‘A picnic? Just us?’

      Ben kept his eyes on the road, his cheeks colouring. ‘Yes, well, Agatha thought it might be a good idea.’

      She nodded slowly. She felt a pang of embarrassment. This was like a pity date, she realised. Take the poor lonely girl out and feed her. She folded her arms tight across her chest. Fine, she would play along. It was just one afternoon, then he was out of her life. She could avoid him easily enough.

      Thank the Lord for the nice weather, Amanda thought to herself. It was slightly cold, but the sun was warm and the sky clear. ‘Sounds lovely,’ she said, throwing him an over-the-top smile. ‘Do we need to shop first? I didn’t bring any food.’

      Ben shook his head, pulling away from Baker Street in one smooth movement of the wheel. ‘No, I have that covered.’

      A short drive later and they pulled into the drive of a large house. The shopfront next door said Evans Animal Practice, and was painted