Читать книгу Love Among the Treetops: A feel good holiday read for summer 2018 - Catherine Ferguson, Catherine Ferguson - Страница 14

‘You know, what you really need is a USP,’ murmurs Paloma thoughtfully. She stops painting and leans back on the ladder to admire her handiwork. ‘Lovely colour, this Hillside Heather.’

‘USP?’ I glance up from where I’m painstakingly sanding down an ancient brown table in Dad’s old shop. ‘Is that some kind of new-fangled coffee machine? Because I can’t afford that!’

Paloma knows I’m joking and normally, she’d laugh. But she carries on painting as if she hasn’t even heard what I said.

I glance at her, puzzled. Perhaps she’s thinking of her latest graphic design project.

It’s over a week since my unexpected encounter with a naked-but-for-a-towel Theo Steel, and although I’ve pounded the treadmill at the gym a few times since then, our paths haven’t crossed again. Not that I’ve been looking out for him. I’ve had other far more important things on my mind – namely making list upon list and carrying out the thousand and one tasks that are apparently necessary to get a café up and running.

After much deliberation, and getting the opinion of practically everyone I’ve met – from our regular postman to the woman I sat next to on the bus home from a shopping trip to Chichester – I’ve chosen 1st June as the café’s grand opening day.

I’ve already spent a worrying amount of my savings on paint, cutlery and gorgeous flowery china cups, saucers and plates, transforming Dad’s premises into The Twilight Café.

‘A Unique Selling Point,’ I murmur. ‘Something that makes my business different from the rest. I know! It’s the only place you can buy coffee in the village, now that the ice-cream parlour has closed down!’

Paloma turns with a vague, slightly puzzled look.

I frown. ‘Are you all right? You seem … distracted.’

‘Do I?’ She looks surprised. ‘No, I’m fine,’ she says and turns back to her painting.

Distracted or not, I’m so grateful for Paloma’s help with the café.

She’s full of great ideas and common sense, and because she tends to do her graphic design work in the late afternoons and well into the night, she’s got into the habit of coming over to Honey Cottage at around noon most days. As a result, my plans for the café – less than two weeks after arriving in Hart’s End – are starting to take shape. Which is just as well, since I’m planning to open in ten days’ time!

We spent a hilarious afternoon trawling round what felt like all the second-hand shops in Sussex with Paloma driving the big old estate car she inherited from her mum, Linda. We returned with some old tables and chairs, and boxes of crockery, including lots of lovely old-fashioned china teacups and saucers: mostly mismatching, of course, but I’m hoping that will add to the charm of the place.

The furniture was all in a pretty bad state, but Paloma assured me we could work wonders turning it into ‘shabby chic’ designer pieces. I laughed and said there was surely a limit to what you could do with a pot of paint and a bit of sandpaper, but she only smiled smugly and murmured, ‘Oh, ye of little faith.’

Sadly, despite our best efforts, the three small tables and six rickety chairs still look as if they were bought in a junk shop. Even Paloma was forced to admit that – especially after she sat down too enthusiastically on a chair and one of the legs fell off. I’m trying to stay calm at the thought that in just over a week, I’ll be selling cappuccinos and lattes from our splendid but scary-looking industrial-sized coffee machine (bought second-hand on-line from a former café owner in Brighton), while my customers will have nowhere to sit.

But the décor is coming along nicely. It’s going to be fresh and summery and inviting. The sort of place where friends will meet to chat over coffee or fruit teas. Where shoppers will drop in to take the weight off their feet and enjoy a slice of cake while browsing through our selection of magazines. Where frazzled mums will take a breather, watching their toddlers play happily in our mini soft play area. I’m also hoping to tap into the summer tourist trade with an eye-catching sign on the main road through the village, spotlighting our little cul-de sac café. It’s being taken care of by the local print firm and I’m really excited to see it.

A car draws up outside and seconds later, the door bursts open and in strides a familiar figure. My stomach shifts queasily.

Lucy Slater has always enjoyed making an entrance, and her dramatic appearance normally ensures she gets the attention she craves. She’s not conventionally pretty. Her long dark hair is certainly striking but its thick, coarse texture meant it looked bushy and wild when she was a kid. She must spend a fortune taming it these days.

She wears a lot of long, expensive layers in black, oatmeal and white that accentuate her tall, slim figure. Today’s outfit is a loose black trouser suit, the jacket open to reveal a white silk blouse and a dramatic blood-red crucifix necklace swinging as she walks.

But it’s her eyes that draw the most attention. They’re green with flecks of silver, and their tone changes like the sea, depending on her mood. A dark circle around the colour of the pupil gives her an eerie, other-world look, and she accentuates them with so much thick black eyeliner and mascara, I swear she must have shares in the make-up company.

They might be Lucy’s best feature, but those eyes gave me nightmares when I was a kid.

She ignores me and walks over to Paloma. ‘Nice colour,’ she says, standing on tiptoe to examine the paint tin perched on top of the stepladders.

‘Hillside Heather,’ says Paloma obligingly. Then she looks back at me and we shrug as if to say neither of us has a clue why Lucy is here.

She starts chattering on about the merits of plain white versus colour on a shop wall and Paloma says she thinks a little colour gives a room warmth and makes it seem cosier, which is exactly what I want for my café. Not that it’s any of Lucy Slater’s business.

A second later, Jason walks in, swinging his car keys. He smiles warmly at me and, seeing Lucy bending Paloma’s ear, wanders over to see what I’m doing.

‘It’s a bit rickety.’ I feel I have to apologise for the state of the chair. ‘But we’re hoping that with a makeover …’ I shrug.

He considers the chair on its spindly legs from all angles. Then he grins. ‘Do you think it would take my weight?’

I groan. ‘Oh, don’t!’

‘Rowena’s got a load of furniture and crockery to sell, you know,’ he says.

‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.’ Rowena, a lovely woman in her fifties, ran the busy ice-cream parlour on Hart’s End High Street for the past three years, but recently decided it was time she retired. The shop has been vacant for a couple of months now and every time I walk past its blank façade, I feel sad. ‘That’s a great idea. Thanks, Jason. I’ll phone her and find out what she’s done with it.’

‘You should. I spoke to her the other day and she was thinking of putting it all for sale on-line, but if you get in quick, you might find some stuff you can use at a bargain price.’

I smile and offer him a mint, which he takes. They happen to be his favourite brand, and we exchange a look, acknowledging this. Even after all this time, there are so many little things I remember from our time together. I can’t help but wonder if Jason feels this, too.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Lucy giving us shifty looks, so I turn away from Jason and get back to my sanding. I don’t want to get him into trouble. She’s probably desperate to know what we’re talking about.

‘So, I brought some curtain material for you to look at,’ says Lucy, finally announcing the reason for her impromptu visit. She comes over with a plastic bag from a high-end fabric shop and shows me the material inside. It’s a vertical stripe pattern in pretty pastel shades of lilac, pink and blue. ‘Paloma mentioned you were needing curtains and I remembered we had this curtain material that we never used. You can have it if you like it. I could measure up and make the curtains for you.’ She glances around at the room’s four large windows, two ranged either side on opposite walls. ‘Consider it an opening gift.’

I’m confused. Why is Lucy being nice to me?

I shake my head. ‘I couldn’t possibly – unless you let me pay you.’

‘I said you can have it,’ she says, snippily, looking anywhere but at me. And it suddenly occurs to me that maybe she finally feels guilty for making my life a misery at school. ‘I bought it to deck out our summer house, but I went off it, so it’s going spare.’ At last, she meets my eye. ‘Do you like it?’

Feeling pushed into a corner, I nod. ‘It would tone in with the colour on the walls perfectly.’

‘Right, well, have it. As I said, I can run up some curtains and bring them back in good time for your opening day.’

‘Well, I will definitely pay you to do that,’ I tell her firmly.

‘Okay. Fine. I’ll stick the money in the charity fund. You open on 1st June, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ I paste on a smile. ‘Gosh, news travels fast. I’ve only just decided the opening day myself. However did you find out?’ I swivel my eyes at Paloma, but she shrugs, disclaiming all responsibility.

‘Oh, it’s all round the village.’ Lucy waves her hand impatiently. ‘You can’t expect to keep anything quiet for long round here.’

‘Right, well, thank you.’ It costs me to say it. I hate being beholden to bloody Lucy Slater. Whatever Paloma might say about me being paranoid, I still can’t help being suspicious of her motives in suddenly being nice. But I suppose people do change sometimes …

‘It’s fine.’ Lucy waves her hand dismissively ‘We’re going to be moving soon, to a much larger property in Lake Heath. Five bedrooms. Triple garage. So we’re hardly likely to need that.’ She looks down her nose at the stripy fabric, which – frankly – is a godsend to me. Then she links arms with her man, gazing up at him adoringly. ‘We can’t wait to move, can we, Jason?’