‘Will!’ exclaimed Ash, slapping his pint on the counter and running for the doorway.
Delilah followed him, Herriot on her heels, the bride and groom abandoning the dance floor and hurrying in the same direction with a large portion of the guests behind them.
‘Will!’ Ash shouted again as they all entered the corridor.
But Will Metcalfe was beyond hearing. Face scarlet with temper, he had a deathlike grasp on Ross Irwin’s neck, the tall ecologist on tiptoes as he tried to escape the farmer’s powerful hold.
‘You’re scum!’ Will was shouting. ‘Beyond scum. You don’t deserve to be walking this earth. And if I ever see you near my land again—’
‘Stop it, Will!’ Ash was pulling at his brother’s arm to no avail. ‘Let him go.’
‘Let him go?’ Will turned, wild. ‘Have you any idea what this bast—?’
‘Daddy!’ Little Izzy Metcalfe, blessed with the same dark features as her father, had broken free of her mother’s grasp and wriggled her way through the adults’ legs to stand staring at him in confusion. The fingers of her right hand were playing nervously with the ribbons on her bridesmaid’s dress while her other hand, somewhat incongruously, had a fierce grip on a rounders bat.
Will released his hold. Ross Irwin coughed, straightened his tie, smoothed down his jacket and nodded at the crowd of people filling the corridor, before turning and walking away towards the rear exit. A swell of voices rose from the onlookers as he left.
‘Show’s over, folks!’ The commanding tones of Harry Furness swept over the growing hubbub and he stepped forward with a big smile on his face to address his shocked guests, who were struggling to take it all in. Two of them caught Delilah’s eye – Kevin Dinsdale watching Will with disquiet, and his wife, Louise, who was standing next to him, rigid with stress, her focus on the departing Irwin. Delilah’s heart went out to them, knowing they would be feeling responsible in some way, knowing they would be hating the friction their plans were causing.
‘At least now we can call it a proper wedding,’ continued Harry, working the crowd with his bonhomie the way he did on auction day, ‘as no wedding worth its salt passes without a contretemps of some sort!’
‘Is that a posh word for a fight, Harry?’ came a call from the back.
‘Aye, happen it is. See how being wed can change a fella. Now get thyselves back on that bloody dance floor. I paid good money for that band and I can’t abide waste!’
Laughter broke the tension as the gathering dispersed, drifting back into the main room as Harry had suggested. Sarah, Ash and Delilah stayed where they were, while Will bent down and scooped his daughter up into his arms, his wife, Alison, walking over to hug them.
‘What the hell, Will?’ Harry turned, the smile gone from his face and replaced with concern. He’d known Will Metcalfe all his life and while the farmer’s temper was legendary, Harry knew it would have taken something extraordinary for Will to behave so disrespectfully at a friend’s wedding. A wedding at which he was the best man. ‘What did Irwin say to prompt that?’
Will shook his head. ‘Little pitchers have big ears,’ he murmured, gesturing at Izzy, who had one arm draped around his neck, her head on his chest and the rounders bat held between them. ‘All I’ll say is life would be a lot easier if Dinsdale had asked Sarah here to do the survey.’
‘A bit more neighbourly, too,’ grunted Harry. ‘Keeping his business local instead of bringing in outsiders.’
Sarah laid a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘It’s not that simple, love. A lot of people don’t want a local connection when having surveys done. It can all get a bit awkward if things are uncovered that hamper progress or add to the development costs.’
‘Anyway,’ continued Will, kissing the top of his daughter’s head, ‘I’m going to take this one home – reckon we’ve both had enough excitement for one day, don’t you think, Izzy?’
Izzy nodded. ‘Weddings are boring,’ she announced solemnly, making the adults laugh.
‘I don’t mind taking the kids back,’ said Alison. ‘Charlie’s playing with some lads on the rugby pitch but he’s ready to go, too.’
But Will was shaking his head. ‘I’ve had my fill of partying. You stay and have a good time, love. Get Lucy or the Dinsdales to drop you back up.’
Alison tipped her head to one side as she passed her husband a set of car keys. ‘As long as you’re okay to drive?’
‘Barely got a sip of my second pint before that bugger soured it,’ muttered Will, taking the keys. He glanced down at his daughter, ruffling her hair. ‘What say we get Charlie and go play a quick game before bedtime with the present Harry and Sarah bought you?’
The proposal was met with an enthusiastic nod from Izzy.
‘Unique bridesmaid’s gift, Harry, I’ll give you that,’ said Ash, grinning as he gestured at the bat in his niece’s small hand. ‘Not many rounders sets doled out at weddings.’
‘Aye, well, I’m not one for gender stereotyping,’ said Harry gruffly. ‘Same for the lass as for the two pageboys.’
Sarah gave a cheeky smile. ‘Nothing to do with the fact it was buy two, get one free?’
The ensuing laughter didn’t faze the auctioneer.
‘Whatever the reason,’ said Will, ‘it’s grand. Izzy’s right attached to it – she’s not let go of it since you’ve given it her. Thanks.’
‘Good to hear,’ said Harry. ‘As for your to-do with Irwin, I’ll catch you tomorrow and you can fill me in on what caused it—’
‘Tomorrow? I thought you were going on honeymoon?’
Will’s question brought the surprised focus of the small gathering onto the groom. Harry shook his head. Cheeks flushing.
‘Not just yet. Got a bit of business to sort first.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re staying to conduct the tup sales?’ Delilah stared at him, incredulous. As one of the top auctioneers in the county, Harry was always in demand when it came to prestigious sales but surely even he wouldn’t put work before his new bride?
‘Well, not quite . . . thing is . . .’ Harry went a deeper shade of scarlet and looked at his wife in desperation.
‘It was my choice to postpone the honeymoon, not Harry’s,’ offered Sarah, lowering her naturally quiet voice even more than usual. ‘It’s all a bit hush hush but I’m pitching for my first major project since I set up on my own, so I didn’t want to go away right now. It’s kind of make or break.’
‘I’m sure you’ll wow them,’ said Delilah.
‘I wish I had your confidence. But I’m up against Ross Irwin.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing? Surely it’s better to be bidding against someone you know well? At least you might have an idea of how he’ll pitch his tender.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘I don’t know Irwin at all, really. He’s just a passing acquaintance. Plus he’s got far more experience than I have.’
‘Experience doesn’t count for everything,’ muttered Will at the mention of the man’s name. ‘You’ll do grand. And now I really must get off before I have a sleeping child on my hands. Apologies for the unscheduled entertainment, Sarah. I’m sure that’s not what you expected when you asked me to be best man.’
His words provoked a shy smile from the bride. ‘No damage done. And besides, Harry did warn me when we chose you. He said the Metcalfes were a “rum bunch”.’ She gave her husband a glance full of mischief and Harry started sputtering for a second time.
‘I didn’t . . . I mean, Will, Ash, Delilah, I wouldn’t . . .’
Will grinned. ‘No offence taken.’ He shook his friend’s hand in farewell, and then leaned in to kiss Sarah on the cheek. ‘I don’t know how he persuaded you to marry him, but I know he got the better part of the bargain.’
Harry placed his arm around his bride, grinning now. ‘Too right, Will. So what say the rest of you? How about we get back in and celebrate that this amazing woman agreed to be my wife!’
They all turned to go but as they did so, through the open back door Delilah spotted a flash of red running across the car park. Elaine. Hurrying after Ross Irwin. Delilah watched her catch his arm, gesturing back towards the rugby club as she spoke to him, the ecologist smiling and shaking his head. A little bit more conversation and they both walked over towards a black Toyota Land Cruiser. Ross held the passenger door open for Elaine, provoking a comment which made him laugh. Then he got behind the wheel and they drove away.
‘Damn it.’ The muttered curse made her turn. Ash was standing behind her, witness to it all. ‘I hope she knows what she’s doing.’ Then he shook his head. Mournful. ‘Come on, Dee,’ he said, moving towards the noise of the party beyond. ‘Let’s get bladdered.’
Rucksack slung across his shoulders, Samson stood on the concourse at King’s Cross Station as the weekend rush hour milled around him, looking at his watch and making calculations. It would be tight. He’d have to pray that his connections went smoothly. But if the gods were on his side, he’d make it to Skipton in time to catch the last train to Bruncliffe.
He pulled out his phone, the string of progressively irate messages vivid on the screen, Delilah rightly airing her annoyance at his failure to attend Harry’s wedding. His failure to let her know he wasn’t going to be there. He started composing a response, telling her of his imminent arrival. Then he paused. Thought about how she’d react if he failed a second time to keep a promise.
It had been so difficult living apart, the last eleven weeks being the longest of his life. Work had been flat out, which should have been enough to keep his mind focused. But in the middle of a stakeout, he’d found himself wondering what Delilah was doing. While sitting at a bar working undercover, he’d seen someone with a Weimaraner and found himself laughing about her daft hound, Tolpuddle, and his penchant for drinking beer. And all the time he was hanging out in the seedier side of London, he’d found himself yearning for Bruncliffe.
Yet this was supposed to be what he wanted. What Delilah had given him free rein to try. A chance to get his career back on track with the NCA and put himself in the thick of the action once more, chasing big-time criminals and making a difference.
Only trouble was, making a difference was taking too great a toll on his life, and his relationship with the woman he loved.
They’d tried spending the weekends together a couple of times, but it hadn’t gone well. Twice Delilah had come down to London; twice he’d had to leave her in his tiny flat while he was called up for an operation at the last minute. As for the one occasion he’d ventured back to Bruncliffe, he’d been so tired, he’d ended up sleeping most of the time.
Things hadn’t been made easier by the way they were with each other during those snatched days together. It was like they were strangers all over again. Awkward. Feeling the need to be on their best behaviour. Which admittedly took more effort for Delilah, he thought with a grin. It had all been so stilted. So forced. None of the natural camaraderie they’d established over the eight months they’d been working together.
Samson was getting tired of having to excuse himself from things, too – the fell race he’d trained for, the sheep judging which he’d been strangely looking forward to, Delilah’s thirtieth. So far she’d been great about all of it, saying that she understood. But when he’d seen photos from her birthday party at the rugby club, Delilah being feted by friends and family, he’d found himself thinking that while she might be okay with him not being there, he was feeling left out. As though the best part of life was passing him by.
DS Green had been right. He needed time to re-evaluate. A week to decide whether this existence lived across two worlds was worth continuing with. Or whether he needed to make a final choice, opting for a future with Delilah in Bruncliffe, or one without her, working for the NCA.
The departures board overhead flickered, announcing his train was ready, and Samson began weaving through the Saturday evening crowds, people making way for him when they saw the large bruise blooming on his left cheek from where it had made contact with the road, a constellation of cuts and grazes completing the look. Just as well they couldn’t see the mess down his left side, from ribs to knee, the skin already turning numerous shades of purple. Ignoring the wary glances, he walked towards the platform deep in thought, wondering if the next time he was on this concourse, he’d be back in London for good.