Paula Martin's Violet strewn barn dance

Situated beside a vast lake, the rustic barn lit with a hundred flickering lanterns holds sway over the nearby landscape.  A gentle breeze wafts from the water, cooling the heated bodies inside.

Mary leans over the buffet table, fairly slavering about the wondrous repast. “Look at this! Oh Yum!” She points to a delicacy. “What is that?”

Rum nicky pud

Lyn dips a finger in and takes a wee taste. “It’s Cumberland rum nicky pud with crème fraiche!”

 
 “And this?” Patsy waves at a  stack of pale brown objects.


 “Don’t you know anything?” Lyn chuckles. “That’s  Cumbrian oakcakes  I adore them!”

      Sharon sniffs, a smile wreathes her lips.  “Everything smells heavenly!”

Cumberland sausage

 

Oh the delicious odors emanating from the plates! Makeshift tables of rough sawn boards set atop sawhorses are lined with Cumberland sausage and mashed potatoes, mushy peas, Westmorland mutton and potato pie with chips, more mushy peas, Lancashire Hot Pot with beetroot, red cabbage and pickled onions.

Lancashire hotpot

 

Pie, chips and mushy peas

 







 
 - and for dessert - Grasmere gingerbread,



Kendall mint cake

  









Cumberland rum butter pudding, Quiggins triple chocolate pudding and Kendal Mint cake. 


In a far corner, the bulk of the males are busy sampling the local libations - Damson and sloe gin and blackberry liqueur. An assortment of local beers are offered but Hawkshead Brewery Prime Ale and Nettle beer seem to be the drinks of choice.
       
 “This is my kind of place!” Patsy claps her hands. “I grew up in farming communities and a barn dance was regular fodder.”

Paula joins the group. “You haven’t been to a barn dance until you’ve been to one in England’s Lake District. I plan on getting you all on the dance floor and doing the Cumberland Square Eight or Strip the Willow! Oooooo, it will be so fun!” 
       
   “Dancing,I’m all for that” Sharon exclaims. “Ladies, the night is young and the men are too! !”

Handsome Oliver strolls over leading Nibbie on a chain, Hampy tucked under his arm and Cuddles perched on his shoulder. 

“Let’s just see if these young men can keep up with us mature women.”  Mary struts onto the dance floor eyeing the selection of males. She points to a smiling young man holding a mug of ale. 

“You there! Let’s dance!” He sets down his mug. “That’s a nice set you’ve got there!”

“Wha….!” Mary exclaims, blushing.

“Your pets,” the young man explains.

Oliver ties Nibbie to a post then sets Hampy and Cuddles down.  He offers Sharon his arm. 

“The first dance is yours my lady!”

A mountain of a man dressed in a kilt grabs Lyn, literally hauling her onto the dance floor. Lyn’s eyes bug out! She trips but he catches her with ease.

“Let’s dance little lady,” he roars. Dragging her behind, he throws himself into the crowd.

“What about me?” Patsy scans the available dance partners. “I need a guy who can keep up with me!”

From the center of the male pod, a hand tentatively lifts. “How about me?” a squirrel voice squeaks.

He steps forward. “He looks like a chicken” Patsy whispers to Paula.

“Yes, he does,” Paula laughs. “But take if from me, he’s a dancing fool. I hear he’s won more contests than this room has people!”

“Grap your partner!” The caller yells. The musicians play a few lively chords. “Cumberland Square Eight!”

          “Wahooo!” Patsy chortles grabbing her partner’s hand. 

          Mary bumps into her. “This is so great!”

          Paula cheers from the sidelines. “I knew you’d love it here!”

          

BIO
Paula Martin has always lived in North West England. She had some early publishing success with short stories and four novels, but then had a break from fiction writing while she brought up a young family and also pursued her career as a history teacher for twenty-five years. She has recently returned to writing fiction, after taking early retirement. Her contemporary romance, ‘His Leading Lady’ was published by Whiskey Creek Press in June 2011, and her latest, ‘Fragrance of Violets’, is released in February 2012. A third novel ‘Her Only Option’ will be published later in 2012.

'Fragrance of Violets' is released by Whiskey Creek Press in Feb 2012. The title is from a quote by Mark Twain: “Forgiveness is thefragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.”

It’s a story of two people who have to learn how to forgive both themselves and each other. It’s set in the English Lake District which I know and love, and this setting inspired a lot of the story. I’m sure the village, which I’ve called Rusthwaite, will be immediately recognisable by anyone who knows the Lake District!

Blurb:

Abbey Seton distrusts men, especially Jack Tremayne who destroyed their friendship when they were teenagers. Ten years later, they meet again. Can they put the past behind them? Abbey has to forgive not only Jack, but also her father who deserted his family when she was young. Jack holds himself responsible for his fiancée’s death. He’s also hiding another secret which threatens the fragile resumption of their relationship. Will Abbey ever forgive him when she finds out the truth?

Excerpt from ‘Fragrance of Violets’

Abbey swung her car into the car park and pulled up beside the shop. After she’d unlocked the side door and switched on the light, she returned to the car and opened the boot.

She’d just lifted out the first box when a voice startled her.

“Want some help with that?”

She spun round in the direction of the voice. It was dark but she didn’t need to see him. Her mouth went dry and her hands tightened on the box.

“No, thanks, I can manage.”

Jack Tremayne stepped into the dim light cast by one of the car park lamps. As her eyes adjusted, Abbey caught her breath. His dark sweatshirt stretched across wide shoulders and broad chest, and mid-blue jeans encased his slim hips and long legs. No longer a teenage boy, but a man whose compelling figure exuded confident masculinity. Something deep inside her turned a double somersault.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Resentment at her involuntary reaction to him lent an extra sharp tone to her voice.

“Welcome to Rusthwaite,” he said with amused irony.

“You aren’t welcome here,” she retorted. “Not by me, not by anyone.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’m back, and I intend to stay.”

Shock ran through her like a cold shower. “You’re staying?”

“Why not? It’s my home.”

“The home you betrayed,” she said bitterly.

“That was eight years ago. People forget.”

As he took a few steps towards her car, the light spilling from the shop doorway illuminated his face. His blond hair seemed to have darkened to the colour of light sand and was brushed back instead of the tousled look she remembered. But several stray strands escaped over his broad forehead, and her glance took in his handsome features – the blue eyes, the high cheekbones, the well-defined jaw, the perfectly shaped mouth and the cleft above his chin.

A quiver rippled through her but she ignored it. “No, Jack,” she said, as calmly as she could. “This village hasn’t forgotten. People here won’t ever forgive you.”

“What about you?” His eyes challenged her, forced her to remember the night everything had gone wrong between them.

She returned his look with a defiant glare and tried to distance herself from the unwanted sensations inside her that threatened to destroy her composure. “I don’t think you and I have anything further to say to each other. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to unload this shop stock.”

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“Absolutely sure.”

“Okay,” he said briefly as she turned away and took the box into the shop.

When she returned to the car, he’d gone. She stared through the darkness towards the main road, but he’d obviously walked quickly. There was no-one there.

She made herself concentrate on carrying the boxes into the storeroom and stacking them tidily, ready to be unpacked the next morning. But as she put down the last box, she realised she was shaking.

Meeting Jack Tremayne again had catapulted all her feelings into total disarray.

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