Page 30 of The Lucky Winners

Saturday

We leave the car at home and walk down the steep hill until, as per Simon’s instructions, we reach the first driveway on the left.

We follow its bends until we emerge into a large clearing. I blink a few times. This isn’t what I was expecting.

Simon had described their place as a ‘barn’, which sounded rustic, maybe even a bit run-down. But, as I suspected, given how glamorous they are, the property in front of us is far from that.

‘Not quite the shabby little “barn” we were expecting,’ Dev mutters, echoing my thoughts.

The converted farmhouse sits on a slight rise at the end of the driveway.

Its slate stone walls are currently bathed in the amber light of the setting sun.

It’s more of a manor house, yet somehow still manages to look modest, tucked against the rolling hills and rising woodland behind it.

Dark, polished external beams frame huge picture windows that reflect us staring back at the building.

A wide, slate-paved path leads us to the double front door, which swings open before we reach the house.

‘Welcome! You found us!’ Tilda stands in the doorway, beaming, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her jaw.

She’s dressed in her trademark elegant way – linen trousers, a crisp white shirt and biscuit-coloured suede loafers.

The sight of her makes me feel instantly under-dressed.

Why on earth did I decide to wear cropped jeans and a cotton top to dinner?

Beside her, Simon leans casually against the door frame. He’s smiling, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, dark hair tousled as if he’s simply run his fingers through it post-shower. He looks more understated than his wife in jeans and a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt.

Dev is already moving ahead, shaking hands with Simon, while Tilda steps aside to let me in. ‘Come through and leave your shoes on, they won’t hurt the flagstones.’

The interior is just as impressive as the outside.

The entrance opens into a huge, open-plan living space.

Exposed beams stretch across the ceiling, old and weathered, but somehow complementing the sleek, modern furniture.

Clean lines. Soft leather sofas and scattered rugs soften what must be the original stone floor.

Large abstract paintings look expensive but not ostentatious.

It’s a blend of old and new, perfectly balanced.

‘Your home is amazing,’ I tell her.

‘Thanks. Soon as it went up for sale, we put in an offer at the asking price and snapped it up.’

Simon glances over and smiles at me.

The most delicious smell hits me – a rich, savoury aroma wafting from the kitchen, drawing us deeper into the house.

Tilda gestures for us to follow her, and as we walk in, the kitchen reveals itself, all warm lighting and gleaming surfaces, cluttered in the most stylish way with hanging copper pans and an open larder cupboard.

An enormous cooking range dominates the far wall, its gas burners all alight, with pots and pans bubbling and hissing.

I take a deep breath, trying to place the scent. Garlic, herbs, something slow-cooked, maybe chicken? My stomach growls.

‘Bingo!’ Tilda calls, clapping her hands softly.

A flash of movement, and a Border collie barrels around the corner – black and white, with intelligent, shining eyes. His tail wags furiously as he skids to a halt in front of us. He sniffs first at my shoes, then Dev’s, before trotting over to Simon and sitting obediently at his feet.

Simon pats his head. ‘Bingo likes to pretend he’s a working dog but, really, he’s more of a spoiled couch potato. Aren’t you, boy?’ Bingo looks up adoringly and gives his master a panting smile.

Dev asks Tilda about the kitchen renovations and I crouch, running my hand along Bingo’s sleek fur. ‘He’s so beautiful. We’d love a dog when we’re settled in.’

I look up just as Simon looks intensely down at me, his eyes lingering just a second longer than they should. I feel my cheeks flush.

Tilda’s voice pulls me back. ‘Let’s sit, shall we?

’ She glances at Simon before motioning us towards the dining table at the far end of the room.

It’s large, industrial-style, the kind that’s custom-made from reclaimed wood and meant for big family meals.

Heavy chairs surround it, and the table is fully dressed with linen napkins, heavy silverware, crystal glasses that catch the light.

A slender eucalyptus garland threads its way down the centre, around the dotted tea-lights.

Dev takes a seat while I make my way to the chair next to him, across from where Tilda will sit next to Simon. I can’t help but notice how the space between us feels charged, as if the air itself is static.

We sit down and Simon uncorks a bottle of Malbec with practised ease, pouring a generous measure into each of our glasses.

‘I hope you like my Italian chicken,’ Tilda calls from the hob, her voice smooth and controlled. ‘It’s an old family recipe.’

‘It’s incredible,’ Simon says. ‘My wife is the best cook.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be delicious,’ Dev adds. ‘It certainly smells good.’

I pick up my wine and swirl it a little in the glass.

‘Your hair looks different,’ Tilda says, when she comes back to the table. ‘I haven’t seen you wear it like that before.’

We’ve only seen each other a few times, but I smile and say, ‘Takes me a bit of time to curl and pin it up like this, so I don’t bother very often.’

‘Looks lovely,’ Simon says, interrupting Dev, who’s saying something to him.

I mumble a thank you and hide behind my glass for an extra second or two.

I can’t shake the feeling that Tilda’s eyes are on me, studying me, assessing me. I take a sip, the wine rich and velvety on my tongue.

She stands up, refusing my offer of help. ‘Food is on its way.’

The meal is served and small-talk at last begins to flow between us. Dev has questions about the area and seems at ease with the banter. He’s always been a more sociable person than I am, but I’m determined to push out of my comfort zone and make the most of getting to know people here.

Finally, on my second glass of wine, my neck and shoulders begin to loosen. ‘This dish is so good, Tilda. You must give me the recipe.’

‘I’d be happy to.’ She smiles. ‘My gran passed it down to me.’

‘Ah, the best kind of food,’ I agree.

‘What about your family, Merri? Did you grow up in Nottingham?’

I put down my fork, my appetite instantly waning. ‘That’s right,’ I lie.

‘Do you have any brothers, sisters?’ She picks up her wine.

‘No, just me,’ I say quietly.

‘It must’ve been a big upheaval, moving so far away from what you’ve always known to come here.’

‘Yes, it was,’ I say, relieved the conversation is moving on. ‘I miss my best friend, Paige. We worked together at the medical centre in Colwick. We were both healthcare assistants.’

I glance at Dev, currently accepting a third glass of wine from Simon.

Tilda nods. ‘And what did your parents do?’

‘They were … just ordinary people. Like me.’

The room falls quiet for a split second until Dev laughs loudly.

‘She’s too modest by far,’ he says. Only I would be able to tell, but his words are a little soft around the edges.

A telltale sign he’s well on his way to having had enough to drink.

‘She’s amazing. Somehow she survived a nightmare foster family. ’

‘Dev!’ I hiss, mortified. I feel heat rising from my neck and know, in a minute or two, my nervous prickly rash will be gushing like the tide into my face. He has a tendency to over-share when he’s had a drink and I hate it. Especially when it’s my information he’s throwing around.

‘Sorry, I … Sorry.’ He takes a large gulp of wine and falls quiet.

‘I had no idea, Merri,’ Tilda says gently, topping up her own glass. ‘You must have such strength of character to overcome something like that.’

‘It’s … You just get through it.’ I stand up. ‘I need the bathroom, if that’s OK.’

Tilda points out the downstairs cloakroom and I walk away, my back to them. The conversation has died and I can imagine Dev mouthing, ‘Sorry,’ to them both. Away from prying eyes, I splash water on to my face and dab it dry with a tissue.

Dev has already had too much to drink and I wish I could make my excuses now and leave.

I flush the loo and force myself to head back to the dining area. I stop short when I see Tilda waiting by the door.

‘Are you OK, Merri?’ She looks regretful. ‘I’m sorry I put my foot in it back there.’

‘You didn’t,’ I say, glancing at Dev who’s already deep in another conversation with Simon. ‘He gets like this sometimes if he’s had a few. There’s no harm done.’

‘I’m glad.’ Tilda smiles, clearly relieved. ‘Come on, let’s go and sit down. I’ve got something special for dessert.’

I’m not remotely hungry now, but Tilda has gone to a lot of trouble to cook for us. I push thoughts of going home out of my head and follow her back to the table.

‘Here she is!’ Dev breaks off his conversation. ‘My wonder woman!’ He stretches a consolatory hand out to me and, as both Simon and Tilda are watching, I give it a squeeze before picking up my glass.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Bingo, who has been lying quietly under the table, jumps up, barking wildly. His ears are flat against his head, his tail rigid, and he’s staring at something by the glass doors. I glance over, heart pounding, but there’s nothing to see. Just the dim light from the hallway.

‘Bingo, quiet!’ Simon commands, but the dog doesn’t stop. He’s growling now, low and threatening, his body tense, hackles raised.

Tilda stands abruptly, knocking her chair back. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ she snaps, her calm facade cracking for the first time. Her eyes dart to Simon, then to the doorway.

Dev shifts uncomfortably, glancing between us, unsure of what to do. ‘Do you think there might be someone out there?’

‘Like who?’ Tilda frowns.

But Simon is already on his feet, moving towards the door.