Harriet’s gaze
fell from the stars, and a figure standing next to Clive outside of the pub entrance caught her attention, making Harriet’s heart skip a beat for some inexplicable reason. The light overhead the pair highlighted the woman’s red hair. Next to Clive, she looked tiny, but Harriet had heard more than one villager refer to Clive as the Ginger Giant. Was this Eugenie’s daughter Harriet had heard mentioned just yesterday? The one who returned from America without so much as an advance notice? From the gossip Harriet had heard in the coffee shop earlier in the day, the person in question had been a speechwriter, or spin doctor, for the American candidate who had all but conceded the election even before millions of Americans cast their votes.
Even from this distance, Harriet could appreciate the woman’s beauty. The way she held her head up high, her shoulders back. The confidence. How very American of her. Admittedly, Harriet had always been attracted to strong women, although Harriet had sworn never again after a short-lived fling with an American woman. While the two had spoken the same language, Harriet soon learned they were never on the same page. Simple miscommunications had led to epic meltdowns. True, the passionate make-up sex had almost made it worthwhile, but even that plus soon entered the negative column. Hot sex could only go so far.
The two seemed to lock eyes, a sizzle coursing through Harriet, but she chalked it up to a breeze. Never mind that the air was frigid and the feeling Harriet felt was anything but. Thinking otherwise was confusing, because Harriet wasn’t the type to believe in a moment. The notion was utterly absurd.
It reached the stage when Harriet knew she had to proceed off the bridge or it would become awkward. Or more so, since Clive’s cocked head and expression slowly edged into confusion, at least that was what Harriet imagined. Clive was a simple man, sweet, but not a lot of depth to him.
Why did the thought of ending the stare down with a woman she’d never met disappoint her? It must be the full moon making the sensible Harriet think crazy thoughts.
As if in tune with Harriet’s gawkiness, Clive formed a megaphone around his mouth and shouted, “Harry! You coming or going?”
A blush seemed to creep up all the way from Harriet’s toes to the tippy top of her head, and she imagined steam spouting out of her like a kettle well past the boiling point. She continued her trek to the entrance of The Golden Fleece, trying to conjure up words to explain her action, or inaction, on the bridge.
Clive’s beaming smile eased the transition. “Harry, allow me to introduce my lovely niece, Josie.”
They seemed to be the same age, but Harriet recalled hearing that Eugenie and her brother were half siblings. “I’ve heard all about her.” Harriet stuck out her hand for Josie to shake, relieved she didn’t get overly tongue-tied, a typical curse when around strangers.
“I hope you haven’t heard about me via trashy ads in the Cotswolds rag.” Josie shook Harriet’s hand.
Clive guffawed.
Harriet tried to mask a cringe.
“Harry actually takes part in the ads,” Clive said as if the true meaning behind them were a badge of honor.
Josie turned to Clive. Then Harriet. And then back to Clive. “Oh, I didn’t…”
“It’s not what you think.” Clive waved Josie off whatever track her mind was on, and given the context, Harriet didn’t even want to contemplate it too deeply. “Harry’s the publisher of the local red top.”
Josie jacked up an eyebrow at Clive, her cheeks tinging red. Was it from anger or embarrassment from referring to Harriet’s paper as a sensational rag?
Clive pressed on. “I don’t know if Americans use that as slang for a tabloid newspaper.”
“I’ve heard it before. I didn’t know you were responsible for The
Cotswolds Chronicles
.” Josie’s cutting tone didn’t give Harriet a warm, fuzzy feeling. Somehow, though, the sizzle Harriet experienced on the bridge deepened. Josie was simply the most beautiful woman Harriet had ever laid her eyes on.
“Guilty as charged, although only the ads are scandalous. The rest consists of local stories, but the ads help keep the paper afloat.” Harriet wanted to kick herself after clarifying the point since the hardening expression on Josie’s face made it crystal clear she was unhappy about the missing ginger
ads. Not that Harriet could blame her. They were about Josie’s uncle.
Another whip of wind kicked up.
Clive rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go back inside, ladies. Before my privates freeze off, killing off Harry’s lucrative ad business.” He started to laugh, but it cut out with another gust of wind.
“Charming, Clive.” Josie wheeled about without another word, stepping inside the pub.
Clive raised a brow at Harriet in the way that conveyed whoops
, but from his stiff posture he wasn’t ashamed, something Harriet was never able to comprehend about the gregarious publican.
Inside, Eugenie flicked her fingers in a bossy way for Harriet to come straight to her station at the bar. Harriet suppressed an oh shit
sigh. Just last week, Eugenie had made it clear she wanted Harriet to put a stop to the ads. And the week before. Basically, almost from the beginning, Eugenie had expressed her displeasure.
Sure enough, after Eugenie poured two pints for a couple of blokes, she started in with, “Please, Harry. No more missing ginger
ads.”
Harriet took a seat at the bar. “I can’t turn away paying customers. What would you say if I asked you not to serve all the drunks in town?”
“We wouldn’t have any patrons,” Eugenie stated without irony.
“Exactly.” Harriet nodded to emphasize the point.
“But, Harry, the ads are going to destroy Clive. He’s too stupid to realize he’s playing with fire.”
Harriet couldn’t disagree. “He’s not placing the ads, though.”
“They’re about him!”
Harriet sucked in a deep breath and decided the only course was to change the topic. “Is it nice having Josie back home? I just met her outside.” Not that Harriet had made a great impression. Had she wanted to? Surely, most wanted to impress the likes of Josie, Harriet even more so since Eugenie was none too pleased with Harriet. Maybe going through Josie would be the way to win over Eugenie.
Josie returned from wherever she’d stormed to and took the seat next to Harriet, a copy of the newspaper on the bar in front of her.
Eugenie shook a finger at Harriet. “You’re trying to steer the conversation away from the ads.”
“Very much so.” Harriet bobbed her head to prove her nervousness.
“Mum, it’s not Harry’s fault. It’s the nature of her business
.” Josie sounded like she meant it, and Harriet had to wonder how Josie’s mood had softened so quickly. Or maybe Harriet had misread her earlier.
On second thought, after replaying the comment in her head, Harriet zeroed in on how Josie had said nature of her business.
There had been a trace of condemnation in the pronunciation.
Harriet’s journalistic mind kicked in. Did it have something to do with Josie’s sudden appearance in Upper Chewford? Or did Josie subscribe to the theory that all newspaper people were rabble-rousers? A stereotype Harriet had been battling from the first day on the job. Granted, the missing ginger
ads didn’t do much to counter this belief. But Harriet needed to pay her bills like billions of others on the planet. How many had pure jobs that didn’t have a negative impact on anyone? It wasn’t like her company poured toxins into the village’s water supply.
“I know most right now think the ads are funny…” Eugenie didn’t complete the thought.
Josie swept up the latest copy and read, “Missing ginger. Mrs. Jones yearns to once again stroke her ginger all night long. If found, please send the naughty boy to 23 Nevern Place.
”
Harriet pinched her eyes shut and steadied her breathing.
The sweetest laughter tickled Harriet’s ears. She opened her eyes to see Eugenie glaring at Josie, who it turned out was the source of the merriment.
“I’m sorry, Mum, but it’s kinda funny. Maybe I should advertise my copywriting services to jazz up the ads. I mean, this example proves how just the right pinch of subtlety would have a bigger impact. Sometimes, it’s best to play coy. If a woman placed this ad to lure me back, I would never visit her bed again.”
Did that mean Josie was gay?
“Is that right?” Eugenie asked, a hardness in her tone.
“Not at all. These need someone like me, and I am out of a job.” Josie shrugged.
“Because of Naked Nora! Do you really think getting into the middle of the ginger ads controversy would be the right course of action?” Eugenie’s steely-eyed stare intimidated Harriet.
Josie seemed to take it in stride.
Eugenie stepped away to the end of the bar to take William’s order.
“Is Josie short for anything?” Harriet asked, unable to come up with another conversation starter.
“Nope. Not unless you count it being short for Josie.”
That made zero sense, and Harriet tried to suss out if Josie was intentionally tricking her before responding, “Yes. I mean no… uh, Josie is a lovely name.” Harriet felt her cheeks turn to fry an egg
temperature.
Josie’s forehead crinkled, and her emerald eyes sparkled. “Harry? Is that short for anything?”
“Discombobulated.”
“Wh-what?” Josie cleared her throat. “How does that work?”
“That was supposed to be a joke.”
Josie narrowed her eyes, as if thinking Harriet was trying to make Josie look like an idiot. They’d known each other under thirty minutes, and so far, they were proving conversation was a fine art neither had fully mastered. Ironic given Harriet was a journalist and Josie a speechwriter.
Harriet suppressed a smile. “Harriet Powell, but everyone calls me Harry.”
“Did you mean you or me?” Josie crossed her arms, but there was an endearing smile in place, allowing Harriet to see an adorable dimple in Josie’s left cheek.
“I’m sorry. Are you referring to my name?” Harriet’s mind raced to recall a fact she’d recently heard about dimples. It was on the tip of her tongue.
“No. The joke. Were you saying I’m discombobulated or you are?”
Harriet placed both hands on her chest in a guilty fashion. “Me. Most definitely. I’m not known for being smooth.”
“Are you trying to be smooth?” Josie uncrossed her arms, her smile becoming wider.
Harriet wasn’t sure, but she thought Josie’s long lashes fluttered for a nanosecond. “I… I’m not sure. Sometimes I have no idea if I’m coming or going.” Just like Clive had said earlier.
“But you run the paper?” Josie asked in a way that suggested she wasn’t buying Harriet’s statement.
“Yes.” Harriet delivered another mental swift kick to the arse. “I took it over from my uncle.”
“Ergo, shouldn’t you be informed?” Josie’s smile was becoming bewitching, and Harriet knew she was in trouble. Redheads were nothing but trouble. An American redhead doubly so. She needed to put up a wall to stop the charming ginger from making Harriet think things that would only cause trouble. Harriet’s sole focus right now was surviving.
“You’d think so, but…” Harriet juggled her palms in the air, unsure what she was trying to convey.
“And the paper is struggling enough to accept the ginger ads. From the look on your face outside and your squirming when Mum badgered you, I’m gathering you’re not particularly fond of them.”
“True. The troubles with the paper just reinforce the whole I’m an idiot
thing. Clearly.” Harriet flicked a hand in the air.
Josie didn’t seem fazed by this confession. “Do you write articles or run everything?”
“It’s a one-woman show, meaning I do everything, even when it comes to crafting the crosswords. My passion—”
“Puzzles are your passion?” Josie interjected.
Unaccustomed to being cut off, Harriet replied, “No. Well, in a way, yes. I mean, as a writer, I like words and how they can be used in many different ways. But stories about ordinary folk are my true passion. Every single person has a history that plays a role in the grand scheme of things.” Harriet intertwined her fingers. “All of us have something in common, even if we think we don’t. The crosswords…” Harriet waved. “I find them relaxing.”
“That’s because you know all the answers. What else do you cheat at?” Josie bumped her knee into Harriet’s.
Harriet couldn’t decide if Josie was being friendly merely because she was American or if there was something else involved. Was it wrong to suppose Josie was gay from her ginger-ad comment? It wasn’t like Harriet could come out and ask, “Your comment earlier, was that hypothetical, or did you mean as a lesbian, you wouldn’t sleep with a woman who placed an ad like that?” It would make things simpler if she could. Harriet laughed nervously. “I fear the impression you have of me is going from bad to worse. With the ginger ads and now your assumption I cheat.”
“I’m sorry.” Josie seemed at a loss for words before she confessed, “It’s just in my old job, I spent way too much time hating media types. It’s not personal.”
Harriet nodded. “I know the drill. You were in politics until fairly recently, if the village grapevine can be believed.”
“I was. Not anymore.” Josie’s gaze momentarily looked away.
“May I ask in what capacity?” Harriet was testing the accuracy of the Chewford grapevine. Also, she failed to think of something else to say. What was next? Commenting on the weather?
“You can. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” Josie’s playfulness was back.
Harriet mimed waving a white flag. “I promise I’m off the clock. Not looking for dirt.”
“Oh, I doubt you’d find much dirt about me. For many years, I’d been too busy writing speeches for a woman I thought would become the next president of the US. Now, she’s about to have the worst showing since Alf Landon’s defeat.”
“Who?”
“Exactly! He ran against Franklin Roosevelt in 1936. FDR received ninety-eight percent of the electoral vote.” Josie shook her head. “Nora’s showing might be even worse, meaning a scumbag will sit in the oval office, proving that my profession is just as bad as yours.” Josie’s cheeks turned fire-engine red. “I didn’t mean to include you in that. It seems I can only sound brilliant when putting words into someone else’s mouth. And now, I’ve implied I think I’m brilliant.” Josie bonked her head with a palm.
“Do you know what one of Tony Blair’s closest advisors was called?”
Josie flinched some about the sudden change of subject, or so Harriet thought. “Can’t say I know it off the top of my head.”
“Sultan of Spin.”
Josie laughed.
“Have you ever been called something like that?”
Josie’s laughter subsided. “I take it you don’t hold political types in high esteem.”
“What? I didn’t mean it to sound bad.” How had Harriet meant it? “I was just referring to your job. Having to spin things for your candidate. Distorting people’s perceptions.”
“Distorting!” Josie rested her chin on her hand. “I don’t know how to take that, and considering I was fired for being unable to wipe the image of my candidate stripping for her husband… I guess that means I don’t merit such a clever but evil nickname like Sultan of Spin.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up your firing.”
“Is this tit for tat? Since you know I’m not fond of media types and the desire to showcase salaciousness, even with advertising.” Josie’s expression softened a little, and there was a feistiness in her eyes that Harriet admired.
“I didn’t intend for it to come across that way. Maybe we should both get a crowbar to dislodge our feet from our mouths.”
“Sounds painful.” Josie laughed, showcasing that dimple again.
Harriet motioned to Josie’s cheek. “You have a dimple. Did you know only twenty percent of the population does? I learned that fact after interviewing a woman in Gatbury just the other day. People love them, but in reality, they’re a defect caused by shortened muscles.”
Josie slanted her head, started to speak, but then snapped her mouth shut, clearly unable to come up with a response.
Harriet rushed to say, “Not that you’re defective. Just your—no… people love dimples. Many who don’t have them, want them. There was a woman who developed a contraption that was intended to create dimples by pressing… knobs or something into a person’s cheeks.” Harriet squeezed the sides of her cheeks, wishing she hadn’t rambled, but how else could she repair the damage? Calling Josie defective when she was anything but.
“Did you always want a dimple?”
Harriet had this uncontrollable desire to place a finger on Josie’s dimple, but Harriet sensed this wouldn’t be the right thing to do or admit at the moment, so instead she opted for, “I wouldn’t get surgery or anything.” Why, oh why had Harriet blundered into this dimple morass? It wasn’t like Harriet was always this moronic when around a beautiful woman, but there was something different about Josie. What Harriet couldn’t figure out yet was why she was acting about as suave as a monkey grunting and scratching his armpit at a wedding. Harriet puffed out her cheeks, realizing much too late she shouldn’t have drawn any attention to her dimple-less cheeks.
“My mum always said my dimple would get me into trouble, but she never told me the truth: I’m defective.” The glimmer in Josie’s eyes let Harriet off the hook some.
“Really, I didn’t mean it that way. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I feel like I should clear the air. I was trying to compliment you.” Bloody hell, it was going from dreadful to insanely horrible.
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. And now that we’ve reached this truce, perhaps it would be best for me to say good night and get some rest. I’m trying to catch up from always being on the go the past decade.”
Disappointed Josie was saying good night so soon, but not surprised the woman wanted to escape, Harriet tried to mend some of the damage. “Americans and their drive for success. It astounds me the energy you all have.”
“Until we collapse, that is.” Josie yawned, covering her open mouth with a palm. “Goodness, I’m fading fast.”
Harriet couldn’t help thinking how beautiful Josie looked with her guard completely let down. “Perhaps next time we can chat about something other than ginger ads, dimples, Alf Landon, Sultan of Spin, or politics in general.” Because Harriet couldn’t handle these topics without looking like an arse.
“Gosh, are there other things in life to talk about?” Josie asked with mock-sincerity, or so Harriet thought. “Until next time, Harry the Local Scandalmonger.”
“Good night, the Sultana of Seduction.” Harriet couldn’t believe the words left her mouth.
“Now there’s a nickname I can get used to.” Josie grinned ear to ear.