Читать книгу Kisses To Go - Irene Peterson - Страница 7

Early in the morning, the two-note Nazi sound of an emergency vehicle ratcheted Abby from the cozy comfort of her dreamless slumber.

She struggled toward consciousness, shrugging off the sleep she needed to make up for her jet lag. The siren kept blaring. Abby thought Anne Frank, then shuddered herself upright.

The bedside clock read 8:00.

What was that horrible noise?

Slowly, she made her way to the bathroom—the loo—and after she’d splashed her face with cold water got a glimpse of herself in the mirror. A stranger stared back at her with pale skin, sheet scars on her face, and hair styled by someone wielding an eggbeater.

The grating noise ceased.

Abby heard nothing else. She left the bathroom, deciding to throw on her clothes and find out what was going on. Without coffee fueling her, she could think of little else.

Since her clothing choice was limited to what she’d worn the previous day, she slipped, with reluctance, into her jeans and sweater. How skeevy! Perhaps today she could convince Tish to take her into town and find a nice, cheap shop that had clothes suitable for someone with no money. Or perhaps she could get back the money for Lance’s half of the vacation.

With that thought, Abby took off in the direction of the kitchen. Or, at least what she hoped was the right direction.

First things first, she decided. She’d explain about Lance, delicately, of course, because Tish and Mrs. Duxbury didn’t need to know the sordid details. Then she’d explain about her lack of cash and then she’d mention that she could really use the five thousand dollars back—minus some small fees. She could understand that the sudden cancellation might necessitate fees somehow. Everybody always charged fees, but nobody, nobody ever got to keep the entire prepaid amount without delivering services.

And they both looked like the understanding type.

Heh! Tish was an English lady! How about that? Surely she didn’t want for money in any way, not with a house like this!

Abby continued this line of thought as she walked briskly down yet another corridor, then congratulated herself when she came into the so-called new kitchen.

No one was there to greet her, but the door to the outside stood open. Abby could hear voices coming from beyond, in the courtyard. The sounds echoed off the stone walls and cobbles. Hearing what she thought to be Tish’s voice, she made her way through the room to the doorway.

Tugger trotted up to her and nosed her hand for attention. “Eau de Wet Dog” assailed her nostrils.

“Not now, fella,” she whispered.

The rain drizzled down gray and miserable on the cause of all the commotion. Doors thrown open, an ambulance waited to receive the gurney. Abby moved closer to see who lay crumpled on the white, white sheets.

A small gasp escaped as she recognized Mrs. Duxbury’s frail, haggard face.

Mrs. Duxbury noticed her, too.

“Oh, my,” Abby heard her say. “Letitia, our guest!”

Taking in the entire scene, Abby found Tish standing behind one of the uniformed ambulance guys. She leaned heavily on John the chauffeur’s arm. Both their faces wore expressions of fear and worry, Tish allowing tears to flow down her cheeks. John’s hands shook until he stuffed them into his pockets.

Tish went over to the gurney and spoke to Mrs. Duxbury, then turned to the uniformed men and gave them the okay to leave.

“John will follow them, Duckie. Don’t worry about a thing—everything will be all right here. Just let the doctors take care of you and don’t fuss over me!” Tish spoke just loud enough for Abby to make out the words over the clatter and hum of the ambulance and the men collapsing the stretcher and gently pushing it, with the reluctant Mrs. Duxbury, inside the odd-looking vehicle.

When the doors were shut and the men back in the front seat, the ambulance slowly left the courtyard.

The chauffeur turned to Tish. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle things here, young miss?” Worry shadowed his keen blue eyes.

Abby marveled at the way Tish straightened up, the way her posture became composed and so much older in an instant. She wrapped herself in the dignity of her station, almost metamorphosing, for Tish looked every inch a lady, daughter and sister of the earl of Bowness.

John’s head drooped, his shoulders seeming to bow with defeat. “Shouldn’t you ring up your brother?”

Tish’s composure slipped a bit before she answered. “No, that is the last thing I plan to do. Now, run along and see they take care of Duckie!” She shooed him in the direction of the “garridge,” as she pronounced it. That brought a smile to Abby’s American lips. She was living a PBS production and enjoying every second of it.

Tish turned to watch the ambulance leave the courtyard through the heavy wooden gate, then looked back to the garage, then slowly, as if she had the weight of the world on her young shoulders, made her way to the door where her guest stood, the gallant Tugger waiting at her side.

Abby saw the tears glistening in the younger woman’s eyes, but she also detected the determination in them and in the set of Tish’s lips and jaw.

Before she could say anything, Tish spoke. “Mrs. Duxbury fell this morning. I’m almost sure she has broken her ankle, and I am afraid her hip may have given out.”

“Oh, dear. I hope it isn’t as bad as all that.”

Her hostess hesitated, then plowed ahead. “I’m afraid it is worse…for us. I’m a terrible cook.” Abby hadn’t thought about the ramifications of Mrs. Duxbury’s accident. Of course, there would be no one to cook the meals.

But that wasn’t really a problem, was it?

“If you’re hungry, I’m just the person to come to, you know. I have been known to make a pretty good omelet, and I do know my way around a kitchen. Just a bit.”

“You don’t mind? Just for now?”

Abby’s matter-of-fact, take-charge attitude left little room for discussion. She saw the frown lines leave Tish’s face, practically felt the weight lift from her young shoulders. Smiling as she rolled up her sleeves, Abby started rummaging around, looking for what she would need. Before Tish left the kitchen, she’d found an onion, some cheese, and a suitable bowl. She set about pulling open drawers and cupboards, trusting Tish would leave the cooking to her.

Tish’s mind swam.

The whole plan had gone dreadfully awry.

Without Duckie to help, the “dream vacation” would be very difficult to manage. Her guest expected everything that the advert promised. She would never be able to show her around England and feed her and…and then there were the other problems that had yet to be sorted out.

The money situation kept creeping up, ugly and dark and terribly, terribly there, even though it hadn’t come out in the open yet. She owed Abby five thousand dollars, over three thousand pounds, since that other chap hadn’t come with her. And what would happen when she couldn’t repay her? The gnawing fear she’d kept buried inside once more clawed at her throat and chest. How would she explain that the money had been spent already? That she couldn’t pay it back because it had paid for repairs to the plumbing?

Oh, she was in a bad spot, and it had just gotten worse. With Duckie injured and not there to help stall or work her way around Abby’s kind heart, things could get ugly and uglier. If Abby wanted to, she could bring Tish up on charges!

She hurried through the corridor to her room. As she splashed water on her face and changed into slacks and a clean shirt, she paused only to catch her breath, assume her composed expression, and think one little step at a time. She reckoned she had a day, this day, to get a plan. She’d ask Abby what she’d like to do, maybe take her to the stables, perhaps take the dog-cart into town and show her the abbey ruins…do some touristy things to take Abby’s mind off the little problem of cooking.

No use thinking that she should have spent more time learning how to prepare a few dishes from Duckie rather than riding her precious horses, not now. But she had watched Duckie for ages, sneaking into the kitchen when she should have been studying. At least she knew where things were, and how to make tea and, most important of all, where Duckie kept her cookery books.

Perhaps she could interest Abby in those, with all their wonderful receipts. And with a tour planned for after breakfast, at least she had something going for her. A small plan, maybe one that could be dragged into the afternoon. By then, perhaps John would be back and they could put their heads together.

Surely, they could manage this. John could take them both to Stonehenge, as they had originally planned. And Bath. And through the Cotswolds. They could stop in Cheddar—Abby would like that—and they could take in Stratford upon Avon, with a play in the evening.

As long as she could avoid talking about money, they’d be fine.

Just as long as Ian stayed away.

Some things in life, Abby thought, were just plain strange. Here she was, broke, a stranger in a very strange land, riding in a pony cart with an earl’s sister. She wore borrowed clothes that fortunately were nearly the right size, loaned to her by a genuine English lady. And she was having the time of her life!

The streets were swarming with people, the day being only partly cloudy. Today was Good Friday and they were on holiday. Abby thought back to a time when she and her mother would have been getting ready for Easter Sunday’s meal, making pastries and dying eggs and getting a basket of food ready to be blessed.

Now, older and less caught up in holidays, she was blissfully touring the unfamiliar countryside in a two-wheeled cart, straight out of Jane Eyre or The Quiet Man. Evidently the English weren’t beating their breasts in church, either, for the small town of Glastonbury hummed with activity. Those on the high street who spotted Tish waved to her, some calling out greetings, a few young people mockingly razzing her about her mode of transportation.

“I usually take the Vauxhall,” she offered in explanation. “I got ticketed for speeding last week, and everybody in town knows about it. In fact, I have to take care of the fine, er, before somebody tells my brother. I can do it today if you don’t mind.” Her cheeks wore the pink of embarrassment, but her smile showed Abby that she wasn’t the least bit repentant.

Abby couldn’t take it all in. This spoke to her historian heart. This was what she’d longed to see! The town was ancient and brown. Stone buildings reflected a time long, long ago, probably during the Middle Ages. Dates carved into the solemn front walls were unbelievably old, from a time when America hadn’t even been discovered by the Spanish. The Vikings might have known it existed, but no one else in Europe would have.

But she noticed that not all the stores were drab and stuffed with tweeds and Stilton cheese. Some sported colored flags and swags in rainbow hues. Over their welcoming doors hung wooden signs proclaiming New Age crystals and Arthurian blades, while bright figures darted in and out, definitely wearing costumes with an Arthurian flair to them. Abby was reminded of knights and fair damsels—exactly the notions the shopkeepers wanted to impart to her. Somebody was on the ball, marketingwise, around here.

Then a woman stepped out of a sleepy little shop with a half door and waved to her. Abby looked at the stranger who had long, light hair and huge, light eyes. Not knowing a soul in England, she turned to ask who the woman was, but Tish was busy negotiating the pony cart. When Abby turned back, the woman had disappeared. With a defeated roll of her shoulders, she resumed sightseeing.

The horse clip-clopped into a small car park. Tish drew in the reins and stopped the cart.

“Here we are!” She laughed. “Why don’t you take a look around the shops while I take care of unpleasant business?”

Trish secured the pony and took off down the street. Abby didn’t hesitate but went straight to find the woman who had deliberately caught her attention.

Heavy wrought-iron and wooden signs marked the various shops along the high street. She remembered seeing the sun and moon behind the woman. The store had no huge glass window displaying whatever goods it sold, but it did have a bell that tinkled a warning when Abby passed through the door.

Normal stopped at the threshold. Long glass counters displayed jewelry, rocks and crystals, books with paper jackets and some bound in leather. Strange piping music swirled around her while thick incense scented the air, but nobody was home. She turned to leave when a woman stepped from behind a curtained-off area.

“Welcome, traveler.”

At first Abby thought someone had come in behind her. The woman smiled while Abby swiveled around. Feeling caught, Abby smiled sheepishly in return.

“Hello. Mind if I look around?”

“Not at all. If you see anything that catches your fancy, let me know.”

Like she could afford to spend any money. But she felt compelled to look around. Most of the stuff meant nothing to her. Decks of Tarot cards she recognized but had no idea of their meaning. The crystals, ranging in color from clear to black, with every color in between, glittered in the showcase. There were pendants and bracelets and lots of marbles with dragons wrapped around them.

She stopped in front of the crystal pendants again. The woman slid gracefully behind the counter.

“They all have meanings, you know.”

Abby started at her voice but recovered quickly.

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about this stuff. I just think the stones are pretty.”

Removing the one Abby had admired from the case, the woman offered it to her. “Feel it. Put it in your hand.”

Reluctantly, she accepted the ribbon that held the stone. As soon as the crystal touched her, it started to vibrate. At least, that’s what Abby felt. Too weird.

“Ah. You picked wisely.”

Abby gave it back. “It’s lovely, but I’m afraid I haven’t any money.”

“You know, the English have an aversion to the word free. One can leave out a basket of goods with a sign on it saying ‘take one’ and at the end of the day everything is still there.”

Abby laughed. “Back home in the States, ‘free’ is a sure way to bring in crowds.”

The woman nodded, started to turn away, then came back again. “Would you object to a reading? Free? Gratis?”

“A reading?”

“Your aura is so strong, but I’m sure you must know that. I feel a link here. Would you mind?” The woman, whose blue-green eyes searched Abby’s own, smiled gently. Abby didn’t know what a “reading” entailed, but she was curious enough to go along unless or until things got weirder.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” she began.

“This won’t take long, my dear.”

With a languid, subtle gesture, she beckoned Abby behind the curtain. All very mysterious, all kind of intriguing. Shaking her head, Abby thought Why not? and followed.

Two chairs and a beat-up wooden table filled the room. To her disappointment, there were no astrological charts or wooden palms marked with named lines. No crystal ball, either, but a red scarf across the top of the table and a chunk of rock.

“I don’t read palms or crystal gaze, my dear, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Abby gave a start. Had the woman read her mind?

In response, the lady loosed a low, rippling laugh. “If I tell you I can sometimes read minds, would you believe me?”

“Guess I’d have to.”

She indicated a seat. “Please, sit and relax. It makes it easier for me to do my ‘thing.’”

Her voice was light, cheery. Abby sat, shifting a bit, twitching her lips to keep from smiling, and rested her hands with hesitation on the table.

“What are you going to ‘read’?”

Taking the other seat, the woman stretched out her hand and ran it about two inches above Abby’s face and shoulders, her gaze never lifting from Abby’s.

“Your aura. Now, don’t flinch. I sense such strength in you, dear.”

Abby shook her head. “Not me. I’m not strong. People walk all over me.”

“Ah. But things have changed. You’ve taken a big step. You’re talented, but you must know that. You have an old soul. You have abilities you have yet to realize.”

All well and good, Abby thought. It was nice to know she had talent because when she got home, she was going to have to start all over again showing what she could do. She shuddered.

The woman had to have noticed this. Her tone lowered, drawing Abby in. “You’re going to fall in love with a prince. You’re one who can tame dragons. Such strength! You have power in your hands, in your being, but you don’t even recognize it. Not yet. Not from what I tell you, but you will, my dear. You will.”

Blood rushed to Abby’s cheeks. “I don’t know anything about this. I don’t have any power. I just wish the part about the prince would happen soon. I keep kissing frogs.”

The lady laughed airily. “I know what you mean. But, believe this. Your heart will show you the way.”

Faces from her miserable past flashed through her mind, ending with Lance’s sneering visage. Abby shook her head to make the image disappear.

Something in the woman’s demeanor, in the way she seemed so positive, made Abby take heart, though. It sure would be nice to have a prince to add to her list of near misses, even if it ended like all the others. But she’d never be able to tame a dragon, literally or figuratively, so she smiled back at the woman, extended her hand to have it clasped warmly back.

“Thank you. I hope I live up to your predictions.”

The aura reader/shopkeeper rose and parted the curtain for Abby. “I have every confidence in you, friend. Follow your heart.”

It wasn’t until Abby was outside the shop that she realized that the woman had slipped the crystal pendant into her hand. She stared at it for a few seconds, figured the woman was just being exceptionally nice, and slipped the necklace into her jacket pocket.

Tish caught up with her a few steps beyond the shop.

“Everything turn out all right?”

Tish’s face went scarlet. “I guess so. At least I won’t have to appear before the magistrate. Just got a slap on the wrist and a warning that if there should be a next time, I’ll be fined a tenner.”

“Don’t let there be a next time,” Abby suggested. To this the other woman let out a terse laugh. “Anything is better than appearing before the magistrate.”

In answer to Abby’s raised eyebrow, Tish added, “The magistrate is my brother.”

Still mulling over what the fortune-teller had told her, Abby followed her guide around the Glastonbury Abbey grounds. Tish led her past the admission booth, where the woman inside nodded and gestured them in. Her first impression was once again how very old it was. She stepped into the green, grassy precinct of the abbey itself. And her eyes went to the dun-colored ruins of the stone structure that had housed monks in the twelfth century. Wow.

The sun, which had been hiding behind clouds on and off all morning, chose that moment to break through and shine with early spring intensity.

The gaping ruins of the abbey took on a mystical glow.

Fitting for Good Friday, she thought. Tish stood still, her tour guide chatter temporarily cut off as they viewed the ragged, painfully broken church.

It almost creeped Abby out. A shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature ran through her as she peered into the wreckage of the once great building. Hundreds of souls had lived and worshipped in this very place on so many other holy days.

A slight buzz started humming in her ears, growing louder by the second. Dizzy. Wow. She swayed toward the guard railing.

Get out! Get out!

She left Tish admiring the artist’s rendering of what the chapel had looked like 900 years ago, going out onto the carefully tended lawns that surrounded all the buildings. Only when she was beyond the stones did the humming cease. What is going on?

The spring-bright grass beckoned visitors to walk upon its soft carpet. Free of the buzz and hum, and feeling like herself again, Abby ambled along, avoiding contact with the stones embedded in the earth that marked the buildings’ foundations. Eventually, Tish caught up with her and they continued in silence together until they came upon an iron marker.

“Here lies King Arthur and his Lady Guinevere,” Abby read aloud. After a pause, she turned to Tish. “He’s not really buried there.”

Tish giggled at Abby’s astonishment.

“So they say,” she replied. “You’ll like this story. About nine hundred years ago, the abbot of Glastonbury decided he needed a bigger church. While some of the monks were digging around here, they dug down sixteen feet and came upon a huge stone. They dug all around it—mind you, it was huge—and levered up the stone. Underneath, they found a leaden cross with the name ‘Arthur’ written on it. And beneath that, they found the skeletal remains of a huge man and a woman.”

Abby did some mental arithmetic. “That’s about six hundred years after the real Arthur, if there was such a man, was supposed to have lived. How did they know it was him?”

“That’s just it,” Tish answered. “It could have been anybody, or it could have been nobody. The only thing that said it was Arthur was that cross. That was brought to London, of course, and it was still in existence in the 1700s, so the guidebooks say, then it disappeared. But I guess it worked, as far as good publicity. The abbot got the new church, all right, and that, after all, is what the whole thing was about.”

Tish’s whimsical expression spoke volumes.

“Oh, I see. There was no way to prove it was Arthur’s body, and no way to disprove it, either.”

“Right.”

Abby stared at the marker. “What about you? Do you believe it is Arthur and Guinevere’s grave?”

Tish shrugged elegantly. “Me? I think he’s buried on the Tor up there. If I know my history, in the old days, this whole area used to flood terribly. Legend has it that Arthur supposedly went to the island of Avalon, to heal until he was needed again for England. The tor is the highest point around here. If this area flooded, the tor would look like an island, now wouldn’t it?”

“Hmm. Dunno.” Changing the subject abruptly, Abby asked “Do you ever feel strange when you come here, Tish?”

Her guide frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

Abby wiggled her fingers. Averting her eyes from Tish’s, she continued. “Weird. Like you were buzzing. Humming inside. Slightly electric?”

Tish tilted her head slightly, considering. “No, I’ve never felt that way. Do you?”

Abby dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “Nah. Just a silly tourist question. Forget it.”

The next morning, as Abby’s gurgling stomach told her to get into the kitchen and make some breakfast, she thought that she’d better not delay discussing her money situation with Tish any longer. Tying the sash of the borrowed dressing gown tightly around her waist, she entered the vast kitchen; inhaled deeply of the spicy, clean scent that never left the room; and opened the stainless steel door of the restaurant-size refrigerator to see what ingredients were available.

She heard footsteps approaching, and while she straightened up, two strong arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her out into the open.

A man’s deep voice came from behind her ear as his head snuggled into her neck.

“Ah, Duckie, m’love! What miracles are you about to conjure?”

Abby shrieked.

Immediately, the arms released her; she spun to face her attacker and give him a piece of her mind. And looked directly into the face of…the man from the airplane.

“You!” he growled.

“You!” Abby shouted.

They both said, “What are you doing here?”