by Sam Short
When his answer came, it came in the upper-class tones of a man who knew what he wanted, and Pepper found herself biting her lip as she listened to his velvet voice. “If I get but one day, sweet Emily, it will be worth twenty-million days of living without you! I would take one day as your husband over ten lifetimes without you! What will you say, Emily?”
Pepper bit harder on her lip. Say yes!
“But you are a pilot, Charles! You are an important man!” argued the woman. “What am I? I’ll tell you what I am. I’m a woman whose hands are dirty each night with the soil of hard labour. I dig vegetables from the ground, Charles, and toss them onto a cart! I’m not worthy of you! What will people say?”
The man’s answer made Pepper jump, and then it made her stomach tingle. “Damn those people to hell, sweet Emily! Should I ever hear a bad word uttered about you, I will defend your honour with my blood, and I will hold your dirty hand aloft and show off the ring you wear. The ring I want to place on your finger! I will show it off with pride! I will say ‘this woman and the women like her are heroes. Without them, men like me could not do the job we do!’ Now, Emily, what will you say? Will you be my wife? Will you make me complete? Will you be Mrs Hayhurst?”
Pepper’s breath caught in her throat. “Say yes,” she whispered.
As the woman replied, sobs broke her words. “But you fly to war again tomorrow, Charles! You may never return! What will I do without you?”
Silence. Had she talked Charles out of it? No! Pepper wasn’t having that! She’d never heard words as sincere as the words Charles had spoken, and what was Emily so concerned about? Pepper hadn’t heard of an RAF pilot being killed in the line of duty for a long time.
And then Charles replied. “Very well, dear Emily. I will honour your decision.”
That was the final straw. With a clattering of metal, Pepper dropped her bike, and rushed up the steps, her advice leaving her mouth before she reached the top. “Marry him, you fool! He’ll be okay! The Middle East isn’t as dangerous as it was ten years ago! Charles will come home safely! I promise!”
The first thing Pepper noticed when she reached the top of the steps and hurried into the lane, was the wild beating of her heart, forged from both the effort of hurrying up the steps and the effect that Charles’s words seemed to have had on her. The second thing she noticed was the vintage car in her path. Its cream and black paintwork shining under the sun, and the glass in its windows sparkling clean, the long vehicle blocked the bridge, causing a mini traffic jam of less than half a dozen cars on either side of the canal.
Then Pepper noticed Charles and Emily. Both of them staring at her open-mouthed, they made a handsome couple. Charles stood tall in his rather old-fashioned RAF uniform, his cap placed carefully on the bridge parapet next to him.
Standing alongside him was Emily, her head level with the broad shoulders of the pilot, her pretty face dirty — no doubt due to her toils in the field she’d spoken of. A handkerchief tied in a knot on the top of her head kept her ash blonde hair away from her face, and she wore brown overalls, the hems of the legs tucked into ugly black gum boots which looked two sizes too big for her.
Then, with a dawning realisation of the embarrassing mistake she’d made, Pepper noticed everybody else crowed onto the narrow bridge. A small group of men and women huddled together as they whispered and giggled — one of the women holding a reflective circle of foil and one of the men standing behind an impressive camera on a tripod.
A tall man wearing shorts held a piece of electrical equipment that Pepper didn’t recognise, and the woman next to him wore a pair of large headphones and held a long pole with a furry microphone at the end. The word boom flashed through Pepper’s mind, but she didn’t know if that was correct or not, and as she saw the man with bouncing shoulder length blonde curls running at her, she didn’t care, either. “Cut!” he yelled, coming to an angry halt in front of Pepper. “Cut! Cut! Cut!”
Recognising him as the man Sergeant Saxon had interviewed before her, Pepper gave him a smile. “Urm… hello,” she said. “It’s Mister Clematis, isn’t it? I saw you at the police station.”
The man gritted his teeth in an angry scowl and shook his head. “Clementine! My name is Oswald Clementine, and I’m the director of the film you just ruined a scene from! One of the most important scenes of the film, I might add! You really are a silly woman!”
“Hey, come on, Oswald,” said the RAF pilot, his accent now of Northern English descent and not the upper-class tones he’d spoken in a minute before. “Don’t be so nasty.”
“Thank you, Charles,” said Pepper. “I appreciate your support.”
Oswald Clementine looked at the sky and shook his head. “His name isn’t Charles, it’s Brian! This bridge is currently a film set! The man dressed as a World War Two RAF pilot is an actor, as is the lady standing next to him. His name is Brian, and her name is Jessica. If you’d opened your eyes, you’d have seen the signs at either end of the road warning motorists that this bridge would be closed for two hours today! I’m paying the local council good money to film on this bridge. It’s a prime setting for a film set in the forties, and I don’t have the time or money to waste on interruptions!”
Folding her arms, Pepper narrowed her eyes. “I don’t drive a car, Mister Clementine. I ride a bicycle. I ride a bicycle along the canal towpath if I need to get anywhere. It’s quicker. I wouldn’t have seen any of those signs. You might have considered placing a sign on the bridge. That way I might have seen it and avoided this interruption.”
“But how silly can you be?” said Oswald Clementine. “How could you possibly have mistaken the scripted World War Two era conversation you heard, for a real one? How stupid are you?”
“I think that’s a good thing, Oswald,” said the actress playing Emily, as she pushed past her director and stood next to Pepper. “It proves that Brian and I delivered our lines well.” She smiled at Pepper. “Don’t let him upset you, he’s rude to everybody.”
“No I am not!” said Oswald. “Only to people who deserve it.”
Beginning to anger, Pepper took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I ruined your scene, Mister Clementine, but I’d prefer it if you spoke to me with a more civil tongue in your head. I’m not a piece of you know what on the bottom of your shoe.”
Oswald Clementine closed his eyes, and then he nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a bad day. I had an argument with a policewoman about some expensive lights used for film production which were stolen from me. I’m having other production problems, too, but it’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have been so rude.” He took a step to the side and peered over the bridge parapet. “We heard the noise your bike made when you dropped it. It looks okay from up here. I’ll get Billy to carry it up the steps and check it over for you. A wheel might be buckled.” He turned to face the group of people on the bridge and spoke to the tall, thin man wearing a red baseball cap. “Go on, Billy. Fetch the lady’s bike for her.”
“Of course,” said the young man, with a sigh. “That’s what I’m paid for — carrying bikes for strangers.”
“You’re paid for whatever task I ask you to perform!” snapped Oswald. “You’re my performing monkey! Now, if you want to get that pay you mentioned, you’d better pick the lady’s bike up, hadn’t you?”
Billy huffed. “Right away,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay,” said Pepper. “I can carry my own bike. I’m used to it.”
“Nonsense,” said Oswald, as Billy descended the steps. “Billy will get it for you and check it over for damage. Have you got far to go?”
“No,” said Pepper, beginning to blush under the collective stares of the assembled film crew. She’d long ago become used to people staring at the clothes she wore and the spikes in her hair, but this was worse, these people were staring at her clothes and her foolishness. She pointed along the road behind her. “I live just around the corner. You can see my home through the trees.”
“Just around the corner?” said Oswald Clementine. “There’s only one building on that road for nearly a mile. You must live in the cottage? The cottage with the thatched roof!”
“That’s right,” said Pepper, proud of her new home. “Meadow View Cottage. I moved in a fortnight ago.”
“What a wonderful coincidence!” said Oswald. “I’m so happy you wandered onto my film set today!”
“You are?” said Pepper, raising an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”
“I’ve already apologised for my brashness,” said Oswald. “Please don’t continue to hold it against me.” He took a step closer to Pepper. “I noticed your cottage when we arrived to film on this bridge. I knocked on the door immediately!”
“I wasn’t home,” said Pepper.
“I noticed,” said Oswald. “But here you are now, and I have a proposal for you! How would you feel about giving Charles a home? A dashing RAF officer like him needs a well-maintained traditional home, and yours fits the bill perfectly! We wouldn’t need to make any alterations, and we wouldn’t invade on your privacy. We’d only film from the outside.” He gave Pepper a wide smile. “I’d give you a small part in my film, too! You could play the part of Charles’s housekeeper — you appear to be in the same age range I imagined her to be in. We could easily hide that hair of yours under a wig! What do you say… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
Pepper frowned. “My name is Pepper, and I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I don’t want people traipsing around my property, and I have no wish to be in a film.”
“Really?” said Oswald, looking Pepper up and down. “You look like the sort of woman who likes to be noticed. I think you’d shine on the big screen.”
“I’m afraid we’ll never find out,” said Pepper, wondering how on earth anybody could get her so mixed up. If Oswald thought she liked to be noticed, he was certainly barking up the wrong tree. In fact, he was in the wrong forest completely, and if she really wanted to hammer home that analogy, he was in the wrong forest on the wrong continent altogether. She gave him a thin smile. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must be going.”
“Of course,” said Oswald. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card which he offered to Pepper. “Please call me if you change your mind. I’d really love to use your cottage. We have another lined up for the scenes in question, but yours is better! Yours is perfect! Be quick though, this film is going to be wrapped up in the next few days.”
Taking the card because of the annoying politeness that seemed to plague her, Pepper shook her head. “I’ll take it, but don’t expect to hear from me.”
“Why don’t you think it over?” said Oswald, with a wink, taking Pepper’s bike from Billy as he appeared at the top of the steps, red-faced and out of breath. “Then make a decision. Anyway, we must be getting on. The light will be fading soon, and for reasons I won’t bring up again, we have to reshoot the last scene.”
Chapter 4
With no noticeable damage having been done to her bike, Pepper cycled the quarter of a mile from the bridge to her home and struggled to prevent a smile of joy as she turned onto the driveway and heard the crunch of gravel beneath the tyres.
She knew there was a danger that the novelty of her new home might wear off in the future, but Pepper was sure it wouldn’t. It was everything she’d ever wanted, and more. Much more.
As she climbed off her bike and stared at her new home, she understood why Oswald Clementine considered it the perfect location for part of his film. With a thatched roof and visible timbers adding contrast to the faded limestone blocks which gave the cottage its thick walls, the building wouldn’t have been out of place on a postcard. It would be perfect as a location in a film set in the nineteen-forties.
The small bedroom windows, peeping from below straw eaves, had been renovated a few months before Pepper had bought the cottage, and were a perfect match for the window frames which would have been fitted when the cottage had been built. The larger downstairs windows were decades old but sympathetic to the cottage’s original architecture, and the new coat of white paint gave the frames a fresh appearance which matched the bright colours of the plants which populated the front garden.
Pepper could name a few of the plants. She knew the tall cones of vivid purple at the end of long stalks were the flowers of a butterfly bush, and she knew that a wisteria painted the drooping splatters of colour which climbed up the southern gable end of the cottage, but most of the plants were merely that to her — plants. Beautiful, gentle, colourful plants.
The long rear garden of the cottage was even brighter and fuller than the front yard, and as Pepper pushed open the tall iron gate adjoining the cottage and wheeled her bike alongside her home, she smiled as her nose deciphered the myriad of scents that perfumed the air.
She gave a contented sigh as she took in the beauty that greeted her. The rose bushes she could name, and the climbing plant adorning the first of three iron archways which led the eye along the garden was definitely a clematis. There were just too many plants to identify, though, and Pepper didn’t want to identify them. She just wanted to know that the plants were okay — that they weren’t deprived of a specific mineral or were not struggling to find water in the summer soil.
Leaning her bike against the small lean-to which kept her firewood dry, Pepper took a deep sniff of the glorious perfumes the plants boasted, and then she listened. She didn’t listen with her ears. That was easy. Anybody could have heard the gentle splashing of the small pond fountain surrounded by floating lilies. And most people could have heard the buzzing of the bees which flitted between Meadow View Cottage’s rear garden, and the vast expanse of wildflowers and grasses beyond the boundary fence that the cottage was named after.
No, Pepper didn’t listen for sounds. She listened for vibes. That was the name she gave them — the waves of energy which the plants emitted — the vibes which told Pepper how healthy a plant was. She listened carefully. One plant, somewhere behind the apple tree which would soon decorate the lawn with fallen orbs of bright red fruit, was about to blossom. The tall shrub next to the compost heap, with flowers that reminded Pepper of the foxgloves that grew in abundance on the edges of the meadow beyond her cottage, was happy, as were the lavender plants nearby.
There was work for her to do, Pepper could sense that, but there was nothing that needed doing right away. No plants were in danger of perishing without her intervention.
Enjoying the warm sun on her face, Pepper sighed as the tranquillity was ruined by urgent engine noise in the distance. Reaching new crescendos of volume as the vehicle approached, it was less than a minute before the sound was no longer getting closer but had arrived and was rumbling right outside her cottage.
The engine sounding a little different from the last car the driver had owned, it was still apparent that it belonged to the same pedigree of vehicles that had come before it — high-end sports cars, which in some cases cost more than a house. It was also quite evident that the driver was her sister — late, in a rush, and judging by the sound her car’s engine had made as she’d negotiated the narrow lane, still as foolhardy as ever.
The familiar nervous butterflies which always accompanied a visit from her sister fluttering in her stomach, Pepper made her way to the front yard where the ground-hugging red sports car crouched, looking ready to pounce even as its driver turned off the engine and climbed out of the cockpit.
“You found my cottage easily enough then?” asked Pepper.
The driver leaned into the car and retrieved the handbag which Pepper guessed would be worth as much as an average family car, and then she turned to face the cottage, her long straight hair so golden Rumpelstiltskin himself could have spun it.
She manoeuvred her full, painted lips into a smile, and then spoke. “I know you don’t own a car, but you are aware that cars come with satellite navigation systems, aren’t you? Especially a top of the range Lamborghini! What do you t
hink? Does it suit me?”
If a question was asked of Pepper, it deserved a proper answer. She studied the sleek lines of the car, its deep red paintwork gleaming, and the wide tyres menacing. Standing alongside it, with shimmering waves of heat rising from the engine slats at the rear of the vehicle behind her, her sister looked just as sleek. And as menacing.
Her gym-toned figure wrapped in tight fitting expensive clothing which showed off the curves of her hips and the shapely bulges of her manmade breasts, and the way she stood, with one stilettoed foot slightly forward of the other, gave her the same threatening appearance as the car.
Whether Pepper liked it or not, her sister did suit the car. Or was it the other way round? She nodded. “I suppose it does,” she said. “It’s very nice, Jas. It’s very you.”
Her smile widening, as if Pepper’s answer had ticked all the right boxes, Jas nodded. “And this cottage is very you, Pepper! Old-fashioned, but in a quirky way, and hidden out here away from the rest of society!”
“It’s only a mile from Picklebury,” argued Pepper, “and there’s another house less than a mile away along the lane. It’s not hidden from society, it’s called living in the country. It’s called living a peaceful life.”
“Well,” said Jas, with a grin. “It’s got the same hairstyle as you. Short, spiky, and probably a fire hazard.”
Instinctively lifting a hand to her head, Pepper ran her fingers through the spikes. It had only taken a few squirts of hairspray to mould the short scruffy style she’d worn almost every day for the last thirty-one years. There was hardly any product in it, let alone enough to refer to it as a fire hazard. “You’re just jealous that I’m a free spirit. I wear my hair how I like, and as for the cottage roof — it has a fire-retardant treatment sprayed on it,” she retorted.
“A free spirit?” asked Jas. “You mean you wear the same clothes and hairstyle as a teenage heavy-metal fan would have worn in nineteen-eighty-nine?”