Tremarnock Summer

by Burstall, Emma

  ‘Are they all there?’ Liz asked, feigning surprise. ‘All the pots, every single one?’ She glanced at Robert but he was staring steadfastly ahead, absorbing all the details.

  ‘There’s even more!’ said Jean, swaying with excitement as she pointed to four big new containers that Liz hadn’t taken in, bulging with pink, white and red geraniums. ‘Whoever could have put them there? It’s like a fairytale! I keep having to pinch myself to make sure I’m not imagining it.’ She nudged Liz on the arm. ‘You can see them, can’t you? I’ve not gone mad?’

  Liz laughed. ‘They’re there all right; you’re perfectly sane. What did Tom say?’

  ‘Same as me,’ Jean replied breathlessly. ‘He was flabbergasted. Said he needed a stiff drink to recover, but then he remembered what time it was.’ She chuckled before turning serious. ‘What do you think we should do? I mean, I can’t decide whether to be angry or delighted! It’s a complete mystery. Things like this don’t happen in real life.’

  Liz looked again at Robert, and this time he returned her gaze. He didn’t utter a word but he didn’t need to, because the smile in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth said it all. Swivelling back to face Jean, Liz replied that in her view she should just be grateful that the items had been returned intact and leave it at that. There was no need for further action.

  ‘But I’ll have to tell the police, surely? They’re supposedly making enquiries about who took the stuff.’

  Liz said that she thought Jean should just ask them to close the case.

  ‘I mean, nothing’s been damaged, and the thief – whoever he or she was – has even bought new pots and planted them up for you. It’s their way of saying sorry, don’t you think? You won’t be bothered by them again.’

  As she and Robert strolled home, hand in hand, she couldn’t resist a small dig.

  ‘Um, what was it you said exactly about everything backfiring horribly?’

  He attempted to frown, but a bubble of laughter escaped, which he tried to disguise with a cough.

  ‘You were lucky this time,’ he admitted, giving her hand a squeeze, ‘and it’s turned out extraordinarily well. But please don’t do any more crime-solving. There’s only one Miss Marple, as far as I’m aware – and she’s definitely not my wife!’

  *

  During the course of the day, there were other strange goings-on that had the whole village buzzing with gossip and speculation. First, as Liz wheeled Lowenna in her pushchair into the marketplace to buy fresh bread, Ryan, the fishmonger, came out from behind the counter and said that his cousin, who owned the shop, had received a call from a ‘strange girl’ who’d apologised for throwing a stone through the window and smashing the glass.

  ‘She even said she’d pay back what it cost to repair the damage when she could get hold of the money. When my cousin asked who she was and why she’d done it, she hung up. Weird.’

  Later that afternoon, after Liz left the beach, she made a point of going into Rick’s shop, Treasure Trove, to buy ice creams. Lowenna was a little surprised, having just dropped off for a nap, but the sound of Rick’s familiar voice soon restored her good mood, and when Liz thrust a lolly into her hand, she rose happily to the occasion.

  ‘Strange thing,’ Rick said, scratching his bushy grey beard thoughtfully. ‘I got a call from some girl wanting to apologise for knocking over my postcard stand and nicking my wheelie bin. I’d forgotten all about it, to be honest with you. She sounded genuine, quite ashamed actually. I felt sorry for her, truth be told, ’cause she was quite upset and she didn’t sound very old, not much more than a child. I said not to worry; worse things happen at sea. I didn’t recognise her, but she sounded local, like. When I asked who she was, she put the phone down.’

  Liz had never been much of an actress but she did her best to sound astonished: ‘Well I never... how bizarre!’

  Rick had already heard about Ryan’s cousin and Jean’s garden and, like everyone else, he was buzzing with theories. ‘D’you think it’s the same person? It must be! Too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘No idea,’ Liz said innocently. ‘Maybe it’s the Cornish piskies.’

  After saying goodbye, she meandered up South Street, licking her ice cream contentedly. She couldn’t help peering into Audrey’s boutique to check if she were there, but her elderly mother was behind the till while Audrey herself was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the mystery caller felt she’d done enough for the day and would complete her task tomorrow. At about five o’clock, however, when Liz was preparing supper, there was another loud hammering on the door and Esme burst in, smeared in clay and with strands of long grey hair dangling limply around her face, for it had started spitting with rain.

  ‘Oh, my Lord!’ she exclaimed and Liz, who had an inkling of what was coming, managed to raise her eyebrows in alarm.

  ‘What is it?’ She ushered her friend into the front room. ‘Are you all right? Can I get you something?’

  There was a flash of lightning, and in no time at all the sky turned black and the rain descended in thick sheets. Liz turned on one of the little lamps, creating a cosy glow, and Esme, still in her pottery smock, settled on the sofa before commencing her tale.

  Audrey, it seemed, had left the shop early with a bit of a headache and had been putting her feet up at home.

  ‘She thinks it’s all the stress she’s been under recently, what with Tony and Felipe – and Rafael...’ said Esme, glancing at Liz, who gave a critical stare in return.

  ‘Anyway,’ Esme went on, undeterred, ‘there she was, minding her own business, when the phone went and there was a strange voice, a girl’s...’

  She looked at Liz meaningfully. ‘It must have been the same person who rang Rick and Ryan’s cousin. Well, she sounded the same, youngish and definitely from round here somewhere.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Liz wanted to know, secretly hoping that Shannon hadn’t messed up.

  ‘She said Audrey was to stop’ – Esme coughed awkwardly – ‘“shit-stirring”. Pardon my French, but those were her exact words.’ She shook her head. ‘Appalling language.’

  Liz looked suitably shocked.

  ‘Anyway,’ Esme continued, ‘when Audrey asked who it was, she replied, “A friend of the truth. That’s all you need to know.” Then she insisted Rafael had nothing whatsoever to do with all the vandalism. She said Audrey was to “lay off” him and pick on someone as spiteful and mean as she was. Imagine that! Audrey was horrified, of course, and now her headache’s ten times worse. I don’t think she’ll recover for days.’

  Liz bit the inside of her cheek hard. It was all she could do not to laugh.

  ‘Poor Audrey,’ she spluttered, picking up a magazine from the floor by her feet and hiding behind it while Esme looked on, puzzled.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s jolly sinister?’ she persisted. ‘I mean, perhaps we have a rampaging madman – or mad girl, rather – in our midst. Who is this mystery person? Who could it possibly be?’

  Liz cleared her throat and finally managed to compose herself enough to speak. ‘I don’t know, but in my view whoever it is isn’t mad at all. Quite the opposite. She’s said sorry and she’s returned Jean’s flowers. As far as I’m concerned, we should draw a line under it now.’

  Esme looked doubtful.

  ‘Audrey will get over it,’ Liz continued, ‘and she was way out of order blaming Rafael. If you ask me, this girl’s sprinkled a bit of fairy dust around the place and maybe, just maybe, things will start to get a bit better from now on.’

  *

  There was little talk in the village of anything else for days. Even the arrival of a B-list celebrity and his family, who were renting a big house on the seafront, failed to arouse much interest.

  Bramble didn’t know Audrey – or Jean or Rick, come to that – but she was kept up to date by Katie, who picked up all the gossip at The Hole in the Wall. When one of the students with a holiday job there quit, Danny asked Katie if she’d be interested in full-time wo
rk and she accepted immediately.

  ‘I think he really likes me,’ she told Bramble on the night that she heard. ‘If only that Tabitha was out of the picture, I’d be home and dry.’

  Bramble didn’t like to point out that Tabitha seemed to be going precisely nowhere and that, as far as she could surmise, her relationship with Danny was very much on.

  ‘Isn’t there someone else you fancy?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Surely he’s not the only one?’

  Katie shook her head firmly. ‘There are a few good-looking blokes around, sure, but no one’s a patch on him. I told you, it’s love. You can’t just switch your feelings on and off, you know.’

  Bramble was forced to agree for in truth, she was thinking a great deal about Piers, too. The fact that he wasn’t around much only seemed to whet her appetite. It was hardly surprising that she was seeing so little of him, because of course he had a busy job, and he assured her that his scheme for selling some of her land was coming along nicely.

  ‘I’ve been putting out feelers and there’s lots of interest,’ he explained over the phone one afternoon when she was moving her stuff into her grandfather’s freshly painted bedroom. It had taken a while to make a start because Katie had been dragging her feet, but finally, realising that Bramble was determined, she’d knuckled down and they were quite enjoying stacking clothes in Lord Penrose’s old drawers and making the place feel homely.

  ‘Great news!’ Bramble replied, shifting the mobile from one ear to the other and tucking it under her chin. ‘How soon d’you think we’ll get a firm buyer? I could really do with the cash.’

  She had begun to think about getting some paid work as well, but was holding out hope that with enough money from the land sale she might just be able to put the idea off until the manor was in a more habitable state and the dubious roofers had left.

  ‘Don’t fret,’ Piers said airily. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I have a bite.’

  Bramble felt immensely relieved, because the workmen seemed to be spending ages fiddling around, drinking cups of tea and smoking, and as far as she could tell the roof was as leaky as ever. Presumably, Anatole would charge by the day, and it was obvious that they weren’t going to finish any time soon.

  One good piece of news was that, thanks to Liz, her young acquaintance, Shannon, had begun doing some work in the manor gardens, helped – or not helped, depending on your perspective – by her two brothers. In actual fact, the older one, Liam, was reasonably handy with a trowel and seemed to quite like wheeling the rubbish in the big barrow over to the compost heap at the back of the orchard. Conor, on the other hand, preferred to scrabble around in the earth with his toys, getting muckier as the day wore on. He didn’t do any harm, though, and seemed to enjoy watching the others and feeling part of the proceedings.

  Once or twice Liz popped along with her own toddler, Lowenna, to whom Bramble had taken a shine. This was a great success as both children enjoyed chasing each other around trees, eating picnics by the pond and examining ladybirds and butterflies.

  Liz took the smallest children to the beach, too, while Shannon and Liam planted up the flowerbed nearest the back of the house, so that Bramble and Katie could look out from their drawing room on to a display of late-summer blooms colourful enough to gladden the stoniest heart.

  It had been the warmest August that anyone could remember for a long time, punctuated by the odd clearing thunderstorm. Now, with September nigh, and with two weeks having elapsed since Pat’s funeral and four weeks since she’d died, Bramble decided that if they didn’t have their dinner party soon, the weather would turn and they wouldn’t be coming out, glasses in hand, to admire the new flowerbed or dance on the terrace by moonlight as she’d imagined.

  She suggested the date to Katie on Monday, and by Wednesday they’d had firm acceptances for that Saturday from everyone, including the elusive Fergus who admitted, when Bramble dropped off the written invitation at his cottage, that he’d say no if it weren’t for Wilf.

  ‘He’s been going on and on ever since you mentioned it,’ Fergus grumbled. ‘Seems to think it’ll be like a kids’ party. I keep telling him it’ll be really boring, but he won’t listen.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Bramble replied breezily, for she was growing accustomed to her tenant’s grumpy ways. ‘I’ve asked someone called Liz along as well. She’s got two children.’

  She hoped, of course, that by Saturday Anatole’s workmen would at least manage to fix the leak in the roof over the drawing room, though Gus explained that he was waiting on some special tiles from London, so for now there was only a temporary plastic cover.

  ‘You can’t just use any old tiles,’ he said – rather patronisingly, Bramble thought. ‘You need proper ones; good quality, like.’ Then he winked at her through a haze of cigarette smoke. ‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. We know what we’re doing.’

  Hearing voices, his mates joined them and announced that while they were hanging about they’d decided to do a spot of repointing, which was hot work, so they fancied some tea. It was only half an hour since Bramble had made the last cup, but they were already lighting up on the drive and it seemed rude to say no, so she dutifully bustled into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She didn’t even think of asking Maria to do the job for her, fearing that she might have her head snapped off. Maria seemed appalled with the lot of them and was making herself even more scarce than usual, hiding in corners and shooting dirty looks whenever Gus or the others passed by.

  She was having a running battle with them about the downstairs loo, which Bramble was trying to keep well out of. Someone kept putting his shaving things beside the washbasin, and three new toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste appeared each morning in a plastic mug, only to be promptly removed by the housekeeper and plonked unceremoniously on the little table outside. Whenever Bramble passed again, the items had reappeared in the loo, soon to be fished out once more – and so it went on throughout the day, with never a word uttered.

  Personally, Bramble didn’t mind the roofers using her cloakroom for their ablutions, though they did seem to be making themselves very much at home. They’d also taken to washing and changing at the end of the day in the little bathroom at the top of the stairs, and it was probably only a matter of time before they commandeered one of the bedrooms. In fact, they were spending so many hours in the manor that she began to think they might just as well move in, belongings and all, and be done with it. She had a feeling it was what they were angling for anyway.

  On the morning of the party, she and Katie drove to the supermarket to stock up on food and drink, before washing, chopping, steaming, baking and liquidising, until all three courses for the meal were ready and waiting in the fridge to be warmed up or served straight away.

  Bramble insisted that Maria take the day off and go out, although she seemed most reluctant.

  ‘There is nowhere I wish to visit,’ she said in a surly voice.

  Bramble warned her that she and Katie would be making a lot of mess in the kitchen, as well as moving furniture around in the drawing room and putting a loud music list together. This seemed to do the trick.

  They didn’t see Maria go, but guessed that she must have left very early because she wasn’t around at breakfast, although she’d laid the table for them and left out cereal and juice.

  ‘Thank God!’ Katie said, and she glugged milk straight from the jug in an act of brazen rebelliousness. ‘Now we can breathe again!’

  Bramble was forced to admit that it did feel good to be on their own for once – the roofers wouldn’t be back till Monday – though she realised that perhaps she did feel a little warmer towards the housekeeper nowadays. Even so, it was a bit of a shock when Maria reappeared mid-afternoon in a knee-length, moss-green summer dress, wearing her usual inscrutable expression and carrying a bag of shopping.

  ‘You do not have candles,’ she announced, plonking the bag on the dining table, which the girls were about to lay. ‘
The earl always had candles at dinner and he insisted on white. He would not countenance any other colour.’

  Without further ado, she removed her steel-rimmed glasses briefly to wipe them on a cloth from the pocket of her dress, reached for the four ornate solid-silver candlesticks on the sideboard behind her and produced a box of candles from the carrier, which she proceeded to unwrap.

  ‘The candelabra are tarnished,’ she said, turning them around in her hands, one by one, and examining them critically. ‘They cannot go on display like that. I shall have to clean them.’

  Katie made a face behind Maria’s back, but Bramble pretended not to notice.

  ‘Er, thank you,’ she said, thinking that when the housekeeper made up her mind to do something, there was no way on God’s earth that she or anyone else could make her change it.

  After that, the girls laid the table. It felt strange taking the silver cutlery out of the drawer in the old mahogany sideboard, choosing the finest wine glasses that they could locate and folding the linen napkins, which were ironed and laid neatly in a drawer as if they’d been waiting all this time for the new arrivals. Although technically every item now belonged to Bramble, she couldn’t quite absorb it, and felt almost guilty riffling through the cabinets to find what she needed.

  At one point, Maria rematerialised with two newly gleaming candlesticks and told her off for using the wrong plates. There were a couple of porcelain dinner sets and Bramble picked the nearest, decorated with delicate flowers and a gold rim.

  ‘These we use at Christmas only,’ Maria said, taking the pile of side plates from Bramble and carefully replacing them in the cabinet. Then she removed some others and handed them across.