Читать книгу Trisha Ashley 3 Book Bundle - Trisha Ashley - Страница 13

As usual I couldn’t fall asleep that night until I heard Jake come in, which he did fairly quietly considering the size of his big, black boots. But I still got up extra early next morning, so I had time to pick up the latest chapter from Grumps and pack Chocolate Wishes orders, before driving over to Sticklepond.

I collected the key from the house agents on the way there – the main branch is here in Merchester – and promised Poppy’s cousin Conrad that I would lock it up carefully behind me and return them later.

‘Not that I’ve shown the property to anyone else since the Misses Frinton accepted your grandfather’s offer, of course,’ Conrad said quickly. ‘And even before that, once he’d expressed an interest in buying it, because he told me—’ He broke off, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable.

‘He told you that if you did, he would put a curse on you, one that would render your life unutterably hideous?’ I asked helpfully.

‘Er…yes,’ he agreed sheepishly. ‘Of course, he was joking – I know your grandfather!’

He didn’t sound too sure about it, though.

The Old Smithy is at the very end of the High Street, almost opposite the Falling Star, where I was to meet Felix and Poppy later. As I drove past, Mrs Snowball, the publican’s ninety-year-old mother, was outside the front door donkey-stoning a square of the grey pavement into sparkling whiteness. She’d done it all her life and old habits died hard. Behind her, the meteor-shaped brass door knocker sparkled blindingly in the weak February sunshine.

The Falling Star is much older than the Green Man, the more popular pub at the other end of the village, and since it was once a coaching inn, I suppose it made sense at the time to have the blacksmith nearby.

The Old Smithy itself is a collection of mismatched parts that have been rendered into a vaguely cohesive whole by the application of a lot of whitewash. As I arrived I was just in time to see the museum sign being loaded into a large van, presumably at Grumps’ direction, to be repainted. He must be pretty sure of himself, because I didn’t think he’d exchanged contracts yet, though I could have been wrong – he was infuriatingly secretive.

Following Conrad’s directions, I parked in the small gravelled area behind the museum, which was sheltered by a bronze-leaved beech hedge. I had the most enormous bunch of keys, some of them so ancient as to be collector’s pieces, but luckily they were all labelled.

I started with the Victorian house, which was quite substantial and also, since it was where the Frinton sisters had lived, perfectly comfortable and up to date as regards bathrooms and electrical wiring. If the décor was a trifle on the gloomy Victorian side, then so too was Grumps. But the scarlet Aga in the enormous kitchen struck a surprisingly modern note and Zillah would adore it. By the time she had swathed the windows in bright lengths of fabric in clashing colours, littered the place with lace-edged runners, splashily painted toleware jugs and hideous ornaments constructed out of seashells, it would look like an explosion inside a traditional gypsy vardo, just as our present kitchen did.

A door from an inner hallway gave access to the museum, which was quite big, with a wooden floor and lots of ceiling lights. There were rows of empty glass display cabinets and a fixed mahogany desk near the museum entrance, with a cash drawer and a yellowing roll of admission tickets, all a bit sad and dusty. The room was certainly more than large enough to accommodate all of Grumps’ treasures, even if he divided one end off for his meetings. I hoped it would be the end furthest away from my cottage.

And the cottage was the thing I most wanted to see – so of course I’d left it till last, like you do with the most exciting-looking present under the Christmas tree. But now I found the key for the door and entered what would be my new home with a feeling of excited anticipation.

I went down two shallow, worn steps, straight into what had been the doll’s hospital, with a glazed shop window built out onto Angel Lane, round the corner from the museum. Presumably the Misses Frinton had had the extension done long before planning regulations became so restrictive.

A polished wooden counter ran right across the front of the room and behind it were worktops, a sink and racks of drawers labelled with fascinating things like ‘Teddy Bear Noses’, ‘Doll’s Eyes – Blue’ and ‘Whiskers – Large, Black’.

There were several electric sockets where I could plug in the Bath – the machine that tempered the couverture chocolate – and even a small double gas ring, presumably once used for melting glue, or something like that, but now perfect for a bain-marie, or for making toffee. The place was ideal!

Behind it was a small sitting room that looked as if it had been used most recently for storage, since the one bare bulb dangling from the ceiling shone down onto flattened cardboard cartons littering the balding lino floor. The deeply recessed window facing onto the garden was murky and festooned with furry cobwebs, but had a seat built in beneath it. There was an open fireplace bordered by art nouveau purplish-pink glazed tiles, and a twisting staircase went up in one corner behind what I had thought was a cupboard door until I opened it.

The kitchen had been added onto the back at some more recent point in time, with a very utilitarian white bathroom above it – though I was just grateful it had one at all and not just an outside toilet! But Grumps had said something about the Frintons having had tenants in the cottage in the dim and distant past, so I suppose they had updated it a bit then.

Upstairs, as well as the bathroom, were two bedrooms and a small airing cupboard housing the water tank and an ancient immersion heater – all mod cons provided! And although the cottage smelled chilly and unused, it didn’t seem damp and the thick stone walls would keep the heat in in winter, and out in summer.

Finally I went out through the kitchen into the garden, which was surrounded by a tall wall of mellow bricks, with matching paths in a herringbone pattern, slimy with damp and disuse. Large, half-moon beds ran around the walls and there was a big central round bed in which was a tree – plum, I suspected. It looked half dead, but plum trees love to fool you like that.

It was all very overgrown, and at this time of year it was hard to tell what was there. It would be exciting to see what came up in the spring, and to clear and replant parts of it. There was certainly lots of room for my pots and my little greenhouse – there was even sufficient space to have a bigger one, when I could afford it.

I absolutely loved it – it was like having my very own Secret Garden – and I decided then and there that I would have the back bedroom overlooking the courtyard, leaving the front for Jake, even though it was slightly larger.

When I finally looked at my watch it was already noon and I had been there for hours, although it felt more like minutes! I left hastily, retracing my path through the Old Smithy and the house, locking the doors behind me, one by one.

When I emerged the road was momentarily deserted, though to the right I could just see Felix’s swinging sign for Marked Pages, the first of the High Street shops. They were increasing steadily in number: as well as the Spar near the Green and an old-established saddlers, there was now a new café-cum-craft gallery (Witch Crafts), a delicatessen and a couple of gift shops. Another teashop was in the throes of being renovated.

The Shakespeare find at Winter’s End a couple of years ago had really revitalised the village, so Grumps was lucky to have got the Old Smithy, especially at what seemed to be a very advantageous price. I wondered how he’d managed that.

There was no sign of Felix and Poppy until I crossed the road to the Falling Star and saw them waving at me from the bow window of the snug. Mind you, if I didn’t know them so well, I wouldn’t have recognised them behind the thick bull’s-eye glass panes, because they looked like dubious sea creatures seen dimly lurking in green waters.

As usual I tried to avoid stepping on the clean square of pavement as I went in, because it seemed an unlucky thing to do. Mrs Snowball was now sitting behind a tiny reception desk under the stairway (the inn lets rooms, mostly to business reps), knitting something voluminously pink and fluffy while watching a portable TV. She looked up at me, described a suspiciously pentagram-like shape in the air with one needle, and grinned gappily.

Oh God, not another of them? She’d never done that before!

Slightly shaken, I turned right into the snug, where Felix was now at the bar buying me a ladylike half of bitter shandy (I was driving, after all). He turned and gave me a hug – a tall, loose-limbed man with soft, light brown eyes, floppy hair and the sort of nose that has a knobbly bit in the middle. It’s a nice face, in its way, but you can’t call it handsome.

‘Hi, Chloe – you look lovely,’ he said warmly, though I was just wearing jeans garnished with cobwebs and the odd streak of garden slime, but he’d probably just said exactly the same to Poppy, because he’s nothing if not kind. I sometimes think I’m imagining that he’s trying to move our relationship onto a new, more romantic footing and actually I do truly hope so, because I like things just the way they are.

‘Is that my drink? I’ll carry it, then you can manage the other two,’ I said, kissing his cheek. He smelled, not un-attractively, of old leather book bindings.

‘Look what Felix found for me!’ called Poppy, gaily waving a paperback copy of I Had Two Ponies by Josephine Pullein-Thompson. ‘The last one of hers I hadn’t got!’

‘Great,’ I said, sitting down next to her. She smelled of sweet hay and horses, and I expect I was permanently chocolate-fragranced, with just a hint of scented geranium, so anyone with a good nose could guess blindfold what the three of us did for a living.

‘I thought I had a Heyer for you, Chloe, but the cover was torn,’ Felix said.

While Poppy loves old children’s pony adventure books, I collect vintage Georgette Heyer hardbacks in those lovely, misty, dream-like paper jackets. Felix also looks out for the rarer volumes Grumps would like to add to his already huge, esoteric and eclectic library, which is probably where most of his income goes.

Poppy was almost as excited about my moving to the Old Smithy as I was. ‘But I still think it was mean, not letting us view it with you.’

‘I just wanted to see it on my own the first time,’ I explained. ‘I’ll have to come back and measure for curtains and furniture, so perhaps if you can both get away, you can see it then?’

‘I’ve been in the museum and the doll’s hospital, but not for years,’ Poppy said. ‘So, what’s the rest like?’

I described it all in detail, but I may have dwelled rather longer on the garden than the rest of it put together. Anyway, they both generously volunteered to help me clean and paint the cottage.

‘Or anything, really, that you need another pair of hands to do,’ Poppy added. ‘Now, do you want to hear our news?’

‘Our?’ I looked from one to the other of them, with a raised eyebrow. ‘You’re getting married and you want me to be bridesmaid?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Poppy giggled.

‘It would be nice to settle down with someone, though, wouldn’t it?’ Felix suggested rather pointedly. ‘Just not Poppy!’

‘Yes, because the three of us are so like family that it would be like marrying a sibling,’ she agreed. ‘Completely out of the question.’

‘It certainly would be,’ I agreed heartily, and Felix looked gloomy.

Poppy said, ‘What I meant was the news from last night’s emergency Parish Council meeting.’

‘Did you tell them that Grumps had bought the museum?’

‘No, though I expect we both looked totally guilty. Luckily, something else was distracting Miss Winter, because she usually has eagle eyes. You remember I told you that the bishop was trying to find a non-stipendiary vicar to take over All Angels?’

I nodded. ‘Have they found one?’

‘Yes, and the brilliant thing is that he’s buying the vicarage too!’

‘And he’s the kind of vicar you were telling me about, who doesn’t need to be paid?’ I asked. ‘A freebie?’

‘Well, in effect,’ Felix agreed. ‘Basically, it’s someone who’s been ordained but is either still following another career, or so rich he doesn’t need a salary. Hebe Winter is terribly pleased about it, but the bishop didn’t say a lot about the new vicar except that he used to be some kind of pop star. And she seemed to think that when he came to look at the vicarage he should have called in to see her too, so she was a bit narked about that.’

‘I expect he came when the estate agents had that open day and perhaps he hadn’t even made his mind up to move to Sticklepond then. But isn’t that exciting news, Chloe?’ Poppy’s cheeks glowed and her eyes, the soft blue of washed-out denim, sparkled. ‘An ex-pop star! I thought it might be Cliff Richard, but Hebe says that’s daft.’

‘It is daft. Everyone would know if he’d taken holy orders,’ Felix pointed out.

‘Yes, but then who on earth could it be?’

‘I think one of the Communards got ordained,’ I offered.

‘I didn’t know that,’ Felix said.

‘You’ll have to come to church and see him when he arrives, whoever he is,’ Poppy suggested.

‘Come on, Poppy, you know I haven’t been inside a church in my life! Grumps would have forty fits, the earth would tremble and the spire crumble to dust.’

‘No, I’m sure it wouldn’t. Remember the angel in the churchyard?’ she reminded me. ‘I think she was trying to tell you something, so perhaps you should try it and see.’

‘What? Which angel?’ Felix demanded. ‘Have you two been keeping secrets from me?’

I hesitated. We’d never discussed the angel with anyone except Granny, and at this length of time it was hard to know how much of what we remembered was real and what imagined.

‘Oh,’ I said as lightly as I could, ‘it was something that happened when we were little girls. Poppy had come to stay for a couple of nights because Janey was in hospital and since Mum was away too, we were in a bedroom in the main part of the house, near Granny. The window looks down over the wall into the old churchyard and the first night we both saw…well, we saw a white figure. With wings.’

‘An angel,’ Poppy agreed positively.

‘But surely the churchyard is full of white marble angels?’ suggested Felix. ‘Two over-excited and tired little girls, late at night…the imagination does play tricks.’

‘The angel was moving and we could see her clearly even though it was a misty night – swirly mist, like in horror films, only this wasn’t frightening.’

‘Her face was a bit scary though,’ Poppy put in.

‘Scary?’

‘I didn’t really mean scary – just sort of beautiful, but remote,’ she explained. ‘And then Chloe’s granny heard us whispering and came in, and when we told her and looked for the angel, she had gone.’

‘There had to be a rational explanation,’ Felix said.

‘No, it was a holy sign,’ Poppy insisted. ‘We were going to stay up and watch for it again the next night, I remember, but your mum came home, Chloe, so we moved back into your room in the flat.’

‘You know, I’d forgotten that! And Granny said she didn’t think we would see it twice anyway.’

‘Oh well,’ Felix said good-naturedly, ‘I can see you both believe in it, so I’ll have to believe it too. But I see now why you have a thing about angels, Chloe.’

‘We all have guardian angels, Felix. I told you that when I read the oracle cards for you.’

He looked over his shoulder nervously, as if his might be standing right behind him. ‘Let’s have another drink,’ he suggested.

‘Not for me. I have to get back and type up some letters for Grumps, and then make a big batch of Wishes because my stock of hearts plummeted what with Valentine’s Day coming up – I had loads of orders this morning.’

‘And the blacksmith’s coming out any minute now,’ Poppy said. ‘Honeybun’s cast one of his shoes and it’s hardly worn, so I want to walk the paddock and try and find it before he gets there.’

‘I suppose I might as well go back and open the shop up then,’ Felix said. ‘I’m thinking of putting a sofa into the front room and a coffee machine to attract people in – what do you think?’

‘It’s a good idea. And you can leave out leaflets for Grumps’ museum when he opens, and we can have information about your bookshop on display,’ I said. ‘Mutual publicity.’

‘Oh, but just wait until Hebe finds out about the witchcraft museum!’ Poppy said, shuddering. ‘Sparks will fly!’

‘I sincerely hope you’re wrong,’ I replied. ‘I get enough of that with Jake and those firesticks he’s borrowed from a friend!’