by Katie Ginger
Tossing the letter aside, he let his head rest in his hands, but his mind wandered to the food festival idea. He was beginning to think it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. They desperately needed something, and it had been presented to him by an extremely capable woman who clearly knew what she was doing. She’d even said he could do as much or as little as he liked. John knew he hadn’t really given it the consideration it deserved and her words on the seafront yesterday had bitten deeply. He was slightly ashamed to admit that perhaps she was right. Was he now saying no simply because he’d said no in the first place? It wasn’t the first time he’d been accused of that. He also had a feeling he’d used his family’s ridiculous concerns as an excuse to say no because he simply couldn’t deal with the additional workload, but he might just have to. If the bank refused the loan, he had no idea what they’d do.
Raised voices from the hallways caught his attention and he lifted his head out of his hands. He could hear Jaz denying someone entry and then a voice he was beginning to recognise carried through the door.
‘I only need a few minutes with Mr Thornhill, Miss Simmons. And I know he’s here because yesterday—’
‘You saw him yesterday?’ There was a strange tone to Jaz’s voice, and he went to help her.
Hetty continued. ‘Yes. And he said he had a meeting this morning and I’m willing to bet it hasn’t started yet because it’s only eight-thirty. So, if you can let me in, I’ll go and see him quickly and be out of your hair in no time.’
John found himself shaking his head as he walked to the study door. A strange smile was pulling at his lips. Hetty Colman was without doubt the most infuriating person he’d ever met, but he had to admit her audacity and tenaciousness were unparalleled.
When he opened the study door it was to see her with a large rolled sheet of paper tucked under her arm, and an enormous A4 folder chock full of papers cradled in the other. There was also that pretty grin on her face.
‘How did you get in?’ asked Jaz.
‘Luckily for me the gate had been shut but not bolted. Otherwise I’d have had to climb it and I didn’t really fancy that much.’
John did actually believe that she’d climb the eight-foot-tall iron gates if she had to and couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.
‘Ah, Mr Thornhill, there you are. I thought you’d be in.’ She shuffled everything about and pushed her cute glasses up the bridge of her nose. The folder looked like it was about to fall open and the papers fly everywhere. Instinctively, John went to help her. ‘Oh, thank you. Do you have a moment?’
An incredulous chuckle escaped him. ‘Yes, I suppose I must as you’ve gone to all this effort.’
Jaz interrupted. ‘You’ve got that auction starting at nine, John.’
‘I know, Jaz, thanks.’ He quickly checked his watch. ‘You’d best come through, Miss Colman.’
John closed the study door and put the folder down on the other side of his desk, near his visitor. ‘Please take a seat.’
‘Oh, no thank you.’ Hetty immediately began to unroll the paper. ‘Right. I’m here to show you that you really should say yes to the food festival.’ He opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand to silence him. ‘Please, just hear me out. This is a map of that field of yours near the road. I’ve marked pitch sizes on it already and where the toilets will need to go, unless we can find somewhere else for them which means we could then get more stalls in. As you can see from the number I’ve marked out, this alone could spell a good profit for us and we can decide if we want to charge per pitch or take a percentage of profits made over the weekend. I personally think there’s more money to be made in taking a percentage of profits. I already know a number of vendors who’d be interested, and I can guarantee you once I actually start rounding people up, we’ll be inundated. People are already excited and talking about this idea. We can make it an amazing weekend—’
‘Miss Colman?’
‘There’ll be a load more tourists around over the bank holiday weekend too because we always get weekend visitors and I’ve got a ton of ideas for other things we can have, and as you can see from my file …’ She opened it and began showing him printed documents in plastic wallets. ‘I’ve already mapped out health and safety requirements, written risk assessments and contracts and—’
‘Miss Colman?’ he said again, a little more loudly this time.
‘Yes?’ She looked up, almost startled. Her eyes were an incredible pale blue.
It was time to admit that this was turning into quite a good idea and for some reason he felt a sense of trust deep down in his belly. Miss Colman was intelligent, focused, not in the least bit flighty or ditzy and he really did have faith she could pull this off. He desperately needed his share of the profits. And though his mother wouldn’t like it much, it would only be for a weekend. There might even be other ways he could capitalise on this too, but he’d have to think about that later. ‘Very well, Miss Colman. You can use our land. The lower field as you’ve already mapped it out.’
A wide grin spread across her face, lifting her cheeks, and her eyes twinkled once more. ‘Perfect,’ she said, with a bright cheery smile. ‘You’ll soon see what an amazing idea this is. In fact, can you meet me at Raina’s Café on Tuesday at ten? Yes?’ She didn’t even wait for him to check his diary. ‘Marvellous.’ Hetty began collecting all her things. ‘Just text me if you need to make it later, but there’s a lot to do, so ten would be best. I’ll even treat you to a coffee.’ She was half out of the door when she suddenly spun on her heel. ‘Actually, better keep the whole day free if you can.’
She flashed another brilliant smile, and like a whirlwind she was out of the door and gone before he knew it. John watched Miss Colman replace her glasses with large, elegant sunglasses then climb into her car. As soon as he’d met her, he should have known that, eventually, she’d leave having achieved exactly what she wanted.
***
That evening, the family gathered in the dining room which wasn’t half as grand as everyone expected it to be. John glanced down the length of the long cherry wood table, easily big enough to seat thirty, though he and his family were settled around just one end. He studied the faded deep-red curtains and the patchy, peeling wallpaper. The only things that still seemed to belong were the antique sideboard and dusty chandelier. How much longer they would get to stay was another matter.
His mother brought in a tray bearing their dinners, with Jaz following, also carrying a fully laden tray. Despite what the town might think, they weren’t sitting up here with butlers and maids. As in any house, the person nearest the front door answered it, and his mother did most of the cooking, though they all helped out when she was tired. Jaz lived in town, but as they’d ended up working late, he’d invited her to dinner. It was the least he could do considering her commitment to him and his family, and that he couldn’t pay her half of what she deserved.
Thoughts of Hetty had lingered in his brain all afternoon, distracting him to the point that he’d thrown down his pen and gone for a walk. He wasn’t looking forward to telling his family about the food festival and had waited till now, so everyone was together and it could all be over with in one go. It wasn’t that he regretted his decision – if it was a success, it would definitely make life easier for them all – but his family would be reticent. How he wished there were easier ways of making money. With his family before him, he swallowed down his apprehension along with a mouthful of roast chicken, wiped his mouth with a napkin and made his announcement.
‘You should all know I’ve agreed that the strawberry festival can be held here this year. In the lower field. The woman organising it is turning it into a food festival.’
The responses came in exactly the order he’d anticipated and with the exact exclamations and protests, from everyone but his father who simply ignored things he didn’t like. The only person he was surprised at was Jaz. She stared at him, disapprovingly, her upper lip curling a little.
She was being less supportive than he’d expected. Once he’d told her of his and Miss Colman’s agreement this morning, she’d asked a million and one questions, doubting if it would make any money at all and if anyone would come all the way out here just to eat. She wasn’t normally this negative, and of all people, he’d thought she would see the financial benefits. At least now, whatever Jaz’s concerns, she was keeping them to herself. His mother, Lucinda, was the first to speak.
‘Why on earth did you do that, John?’ Her long, thin face, drawn and tired from worry, had fixed in an expression of disappointment.
He decided not to say that Hetty Colman had impressed him with her clear-minded, business-like approach, or that there was something about the confident way she moved her body that had flitted in and out of his mind all afternoon. Instead he said, ‘Because we’re going to get a share of the profits and as that well-known advert says, “Every little helps”. It’ll give us some income. Income that we desperately need.’
‘I can’t believe,’ began his brother, ‘that you, the man who never agrees to anything on the spur of the moment, have agreed to this.’ He gave a scornful, incredulous laugh and clenched his jaw.
‘It wasn’t on the spur of the moment. She actually approached me a few days ago. But regardless, it’s a good idea and doesn’t require us to really do anything.’
Lucinda delicately rested her fork on the edge of her plate. ‘Oh, but it does sound awful, John. There’ll be people everywhere’ – her voice was rising with worry – ‘so many people—’
‘It’ll be fine, Mother. They’ll be in the lower field, they won’t come up to the house at all.’
‘But what if they wander about and get lost and end up on the doorstep? And how did this woman get in in the first place?’
‘Mother, I promise, it’ll be fine. Please trust me.’ John took a sip of water from the chipped mug before him. ‘And she only got in because I had the gates open for a delivery.’ Lucinda looked to John’s father, Rupert. He’d barely said a word and was scooping peas onto his fork with a finger.
Felix glared at John. ‘It won’t be enough to solve our problems, John. Just seems a lot of inconvenience for a pittance.’
John couldn’t believe he was going through all this again. He and his brother had endured this conversation so many times before. It was all right for Felix who dipped in and out of the family’s affairs when it suited him. John couldn’t help the feeling of resentment that mounted when Felix became argumentative just for the sake of it. ‘Felix, just because it won’t wipe out all our debts in one go doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it. As far as I can see, there’s no one single way to pay it all off and make us financially sustainable. It’s going to take time and lots of effort.’
‘Well,’ said Felix, ‘I think you’re wrong. I think we could make huge in-roads rather than taking tiny baby steps all the time if we invested what we have left.’ Felix turned to their mother. He was tall and thin like her, but wiry – more like a pencil – especially as his hair was still very dark despite being five years older than John. He was also joining them for dinner as his wife, Elizabeth, was out at her book club and his twin girls had been deposited at dance club. They lived in Swallowtail Bay in a large new-build house that didn’t have any of the problems their parents’ house did. To make it all worse, because he worked as a finance manager for a local insurance firm, he thought he knew everything about money. John couldn’t have disagreed more about investing the entirety of what little they had left, but Felix kept going on and on about it.
A few weeks ago, a colleague had tipped Felix off to a ‘sound investment’ and since then, he’d done nothing but nag their mother, hoping for her go-ahead to cast the deciding vote. No one bothered consulting their father anymore. You could never get a straight answer from him. And as John was against it from the moment it was nonchalantly dropped into conversation one morning at breakfast, Felix was now trying to get their mother onside in a bid to gang up on him.
John placed a forkful of food in his mouth but found it difficult to chew and swallow. Jaz’s shoulders were tensed on his behalf and she threw reassuring glances his way. Lucinda had her head down nibbling delicately, ignoring the disagreement between her offspring.
‘Felix,’ he said sternly, ‘you know full well I disagree with you on the investment. And even if this doesn’t solve all our problems it will at least give us a little income. Maybe enough to make a full mortgage payment or hire a conservator so we can fix up the tapestries and sell them.’
Lucinda dropped her fork and inhaled sharply. ‘John, do we have to?’
‘I’m sorry, Mother, but you know how much they’d fetch if they were repaired.’
Felix leapt to her defence. ‘I can’t believe you’d say that, John. You know how much they mean to Mother.’
Making an effort to control his temper and enjoy his dinner, John replied. ‘I don’t enjoy it, Felix, but it’s the truth.’ He had no idea how much more needed to go wrong with the house for his mother to realise that they were verging on having to sell up and move if they couldn’t come up with something viable. The carpets were threadbare, the paint peeling from the doorframes and windowsills, and the plaster cornicing falling from the ceiling. A clammy wetness pervaded the house from all the pin-mould that was finding its way inside and God only knew what that was doing to their lungs. The gardens were a mess and they’d yet to repair the windows that had cracked under the strain of last winter.
Jaz sipped her water and examined the tablecloth, keeping well and truly out of it. John was forever grateful for her discretion; it was a trait he didn’t thank her for enough. Rupert also kept his head down merrily munching his dinner, pretending the argument going on around him wasn’t happening. Lucinda wiped the corners of her mouth and laid down her napkin.
‘Do you really think this food festival will bring in some money, John?’
The incredible Hetty Colman appeared in his brain. Not just her face, but the sound of her voice and the feeling of assurance she gave. She clearly had a great business sense and knew what she was doing. ‘I do,’ he said firmly. ‘And even if it’s not much, it’ll be in the lower field with very little inconvenience to us. I can’t see any reason why we shouldn’t do it.’
‘Very well then,’ she replied with a sigh, earning John a scathing look from his brother. ‘I’ll just have to lock myself in my room until it’s over.’
Chapter 6
Hetty moved the two coffee cups delivered by their fabulous waitress, Lexi, in one of her amazing Fifties outfits, out of the way of the mass of papers. John, she knew, had been watching her since the moment they’d arrived.
‘Have you been here before?’ she asked hoping to break the tension. Hetty was beginning to believe John Thornhill existed in a bubble of stress that followed him around everywhere he went like one of those cartoon rainclouds.
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s nice though. Food looks good.’
At odd times he looked around the room as if everyone was talking about him, which Hetty was sure they weren’t. Well, possibly the old ladies over the other side of the café were, but she was sure they were only commenting on how handsome he was because she’d heard the words ‘attractive’ and ‘knock-out’ whispered far too loudly.
‘Did you want anything to eat?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘I always have a piece of cake for elevenses when I’m working here. The chocolate mousse cake is delicious. Maybe I can tempt you in a bit.’ The lyrical notes of Raina’s Irish accent sounded out as she served a customer and as John didn’t respond to Hetty’s cake suggestion, she got started. ‘I’ve already brainstormed and listed everything we need to do for the festival. And by we, you know I mean I, because I did say you didn’t have to do anything.’ After a full-on planning session, the likes of which NATO would have been impressed by, Hetty had organised her thoughts, and the small idea she’d begun with was growing magnificently.
&nbs
p; John glanced nervously around and sipped his coffee, then eyed the cup in surprise. ‘Wow, this is good.’
Hetty smiled. ‘Raina’s is the best in town.’
Across the road in the churchyard, the birds were merrily chirping away hidden in the dense leaves. The world seemed so much brighter in summer, Hetty mused. Like Swallowtail Bay had been painted in brighter and bolder colours. The town and the café were full of people she’d never seen before, tourists eager to find the best spot to eat. Hetty enjoyed the warmth of the sun through the window as it fell on her back. For some reason, she was feeling slightly nervous opposite John. It seemed to add to the pressure of the event somehow. But Hetty reminded herself it was like organising anything else. She just had to tackle it one step at a time.
‘Right, Mr Thornhill. I’ve listed all the local businesses we’d like to attend, and any we’d prefer not to.’
‘You should probably call me John.’ He said it with only slight enthusiasm but given how tense he was, she took it as progress.
‘Okay. Then I’m Hetty, not Miss Colman.’
‘Hetty then. Are there some people we’d prefer not to come?’
‘Basically, if they haven’t got a good hygiene rating, I’m not trusting them at a festival.’ John tilted his head and the angle showed off his strong Roman nose.
The Bake House was top of the list and looking at it, apprehension built in her stomach. She’d learned long ago to portion up her worries, putting them in little boxes and storing them away in her mind until she was ready to deal with them. It kept her focused on the task at hand and that was exactly what she was doing now. ‘We’ll also need some entertainment. I was going to ask the local radio station to come along, maybe some local bands, and there’ll be things like guys making balloon animals, that sort of thing.’