“How long will that take?”
“Oh, a year or more,” Mary replied.
“That’s a long time for Natasha to be over here,” Bessie remarked.
“Oh, she’s not going to stay here for the entire project,” Mary replied. “She’s spending Christmas here, and much of January, and then she’ll go back to London and start work on something else. The plan is that she’ll fly over once a month after that to make sure things stay on track, but we’ll hire a local project manager to work on-site as well. Between them, things should go smoothly enough, and when everything else is just about finished, then we’ll worry about the great room space.”
Bessie nodded. She’d had her cottage updated and extended a couple of times since she’d bought it, but she’d never done anything on the sort of scale Mary was undertaking. “Well, I wish you good luck,” she said.
“Thank you. I think we’re going to need it,” Mary laughed.
Bessie turned the pages of Natasha’s sketchbook, admiring the beautiful drawings a second time. Towards the back of the book there were a few pages of notes, written in beautiful handwriting.
“What exquisite writing,” Bessie exclaimed.
“Natasha does calligraphy,” Mary told her. “Sometimes she writes out quotes and the like and then frames them as decoration in some of the rooms she designs.”
“I’ve always wished I’d spent more time on my handwriting,” Bessie said. “I’m just not patient enough. I want to write everything down as quickly as I can, but what I end up with is often illegible, even to me.”
Mary laughed. “I know what you mean. I write lists for George of little chores that need doing, but he can’t ever read them.”
“Or maybe that’s just what he tells you,” Bessie suggested.
Mary laughed again and then insisted on taking care of the tidying up herself. “That’s what I love about being out here,” she told Bessie. “There isn’t any staff, aside from Natasha, so I can do a bit of my own housework. I’m sure I’ll soon grow tired of it, but for now it’s quite the novelty.”
Bessie walked the short distance home thinking about Mary’s words. Housework certainly wasn’t Bessie favourite thing to do, but she did love taking care of her little cottage. Having staff would feel uncomfortable to her, she realised as she let herself into her home. She glanced around, noticing that the floors needed a good vacuuming. I suppose it’s just as well I don’t want staff, she thought to herself as she pulled out the vacuum.
Chapter Twelve
Bessie woke up on Tuesday morning feeling like Christmas was suddenly much too close for comfort. After her shower, she dressed and had a quick breakfast of cereal and fruit and then headed out for her walk. It was raining heavily, so she kept the walk short, turning around as soon as she’d reached the holiday cottages.
It’s a good thing I have lots to do today, she told herself as she stood dripping in her kitchen. She hung up her wet things and dried herself off as best she could. She then stood in the middle of the kitchen lost in thought for a moment.
Somewhere, in one of the bedrooms upstairs, she had a box of Christmas decorations. Most years she didn’t bother with them, but this year she felt as if she should make an effort. Perhaps all the beautifully decorated trees at Castle Rushen had inspired her.
As she sorted through several boxes, most of which were filled with books, she thought about the Christmases she’d celebrated over the years. Christmas had been a much quieter affair when she’d been a child growing up in America than it was today. It had been mostly a religious celebration with less emphasis on shopping and presents and more on celebrating Christ’s birth. When she’d first moved back to the island, she’d usually spent Christmas with one or another of her friends and their families. As those friends grew older and married and had families of their own, Bessie began to celebrate the holiday on her own, which she didn’t mind in the slightest.
Bessie firmly believed that Christmas was for families and that those families could best enjoy their holiday if they didn’t have to entertain guests. She had no shortage of places she could go if she’d wanted to; her advocate and his family invited her over every year, as did a number of other friends around the island, but she was quite content at home with a few good books. For the last two years, she’d had Doona over for Christmas dinner. Doona had grown up on the island, but didn’t have any family still living on it. The two women enjoyed a traditional Christmas dinner together and exchanged small gifts in the afternoon, leaving Bessie to enjoy her alone time in the morning and evening. Nothing had been said yet, but Bessie assumed that Doona was planning on joining her again this year.
“Won’t she be surprised when she sees the tree,” Bessie chuckled to herself when she found the right box. It was right at the back, as it had been at least five or six years since she’d opened it.
Bessie carried the awkward box down into the kitchen and set it on the counter. After she cut through the tape she’d used to seal it, she opened it. Inside everything was neatly packed, just as she’d remembered.
The small artificial tree came out first. It was very old, one of the first artificial trees that she’d seen on the island many years earlier. She’d bought it on impulse that year, excited by the idea of having a tree that would last for years to come. It had definitely seen better days, even though it had been only used occasionally. After sliding it into the stand, Bessie did her best to straighten out the branches. With some effort, it began to look a little bit better.
Decorations will hide the worst bits, she thought eventually. She’d been working on the tree with it on the kitchen table, but it was just a little bit too big to remain there. Lifting it down to the floor, she looked around the small space. There didn’t seem to be any good place to put it. Carrying it carefully, she headed into the sitting room, eventually standing it in one corner, partially blocking a bookshelf.
“It’s only for a few days,” she muttered to herself, suddenly seized with an irrational desire to rescue the hidden books. “You’ll be fine back there,” she told the books. “I haven’t forgotten you, I promise.”
Shaking her head at her foolishness, she went back into the kitchen to find the tree’s decorations. An hour later the little tree was sparkling and festive. Bessie stood back and gave it a critical look.
It could do with Natasha’s magic touch, but it didn’t look too bad, she decided. Back in the kitchen, she pulled out a few other decorations, which she scattered around the house. At the very bottom of the box she found her childhood Christmas stocking. It was tattered and threadbare, and she was almost afraid to pick it up in case it simply fell to bits, but apparently it was sturdier than it looked and it held together while she inspected it.
It was plain red with a strip of white at the very top, exactly like Christmas stockings ought to be. Bessie was sure that her mother had sewn it herself. Her name, “Elizabeth,” was stitched across the top in tipsy letters that Bessie remembered her older sister stitching for her when Bessie had been about five. Not wanting to put the stocking back into the now empty box and leave it as the only decoration not being used, Bessie wondered what she should do with it. Eventually she set it on top of another bookcase in the sitting room before she carried the empty box up to the spare bedroom and then headed back down to see how it all looked.
Deciding it was just about perfect, Bessie went back upstairs and pulled out rolls of wrapping paper. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of ornaments she’d purchased, she measured the first box and then cut several sheets of paper to size. Some considerable time later she sat back and surveyed the huge pile of brightly wrapped gifts. It had taken far too long, but the job was done and she was relieved. She carefully packed all of the ones for the people at Castle Rushen into a box and then piled everything else under her Christmas tree.
“Now it truly looks like Christmas in here,” she said aloud. While she ate her soup and sandwich, she wondered what she wanted to do wit
h her afternoon. The rain was still pouring down, which limited her options. She’d just finished the washing-up when an idea popped into her head.
I’ll make Christmas cookies, she thought to herself. I haven’t done that since I can’t remember when. While not an English or Manx tradition, Bessie mother had added Christmas cookies, which were becoming an American custom at the time, to their family holiday when Bessie had been small. Over the years, Bessie’s sister had often sent her different recipes that they had enjoyed at their home in the US. Now Bessie pulled down her recipe box and began to look through it.
An hour later, with sugar cookie dough in the refrigerator and butter softening on the counter for chocolate chip cookies, Bessie decided to take a short walk. She walked as far as Thie yn Traie and then turned back for home. She’d only gone a few steps when she heard something behind her. Turning around, she saw someone climbing down the steps from the house above.
“Miss Cubbon? I was wondering if I could have a word with you,” Natasha called.
Bessie stopped and waited for the girl to join her. “How are you?” she asked when Natasha had crossed to her.
“I’m okay, but I sort of wanted a bit of advice,” she replied.
“It’s too cold to stand still,” Bessie said, shivering. “Why don’t you walk back to my cottage with me? We can talk there.”
“I suppose Mary won’t miss me if I’m only gone for a short while,” Natasha said. “She’s gone into Douglas for something, anyway.”
Back at the cottage, Natasha paused in the doorway. “Treoghe Bwaaue,” she read from the small sign at the door. “Is that Manx, like Thie yn Traie?”
“It is,” Bessie told her. “It means Widow’s Cottage.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise you were a widow. I thought Mary said to call you Miss Cubbon.”
“I’m not a widow,” Bessie explained. “I’ve never married. The cottage had the name when I bought it.”
“Oh, I see.”
“But you didn’t come over to talk about my cottage,” Bessie said. “What can I help you with?”
“It’s Richard Teare,” Natasha said. “I suppose I was flirting with him a little bit at Castle Rushen the other night, but he seems to have taken me rather more seriously than I’d intended. He keeps ringing me and I can’t seem to find a polite way to discourage him.”
“Why be polite?” Bessie asked as she put the kettle on.
Natasha laughed. “I’m tempted not to be, of course, but he’s a very wealthy man with wealthy friends and my business relies heavily on word of mouth. I can’t afford to anger him, but I don’t intend to have an affair with him, either.”
Bessie busied herself with teacups and saucers while she thought. “I assume you aren’t answering his calls,” she said eventually.
“I answered the first time he rang. He was talking about having me do some design work in his offices and I could really use the job.”
“But that wasn’t why he rang?”
“Oh, he started off talking about that, but then he asked me to have dinner with him and it became clear that he was hoping to, well, have more than just a professional relationship.”
“And what did you say to that?”
“I told him I don’t get involved with married men,” Natasha replied. “He gave me some line about his marriage being a mess and how Carolyn had been cheating on him, but I said that didn’t matter.”
“Carolyn was cheating on him?” Bessie asked.
“Apparently,” Natasha replied. “He said he’d been all wrong about that, though. He told me that he thought she was having an affair with Christopher Hart, but then he found out it was really Michael Beach that she was seeing behind his back.”
“Really?” Bessie gasped.
“I don’t know how true any of it is, though,” Natasha added. “The man was trying to persuade me to start an affair with him. He might have just been making accusations to try to win my sympathy.”
“I suppose so,” Bessie said thoughtfully.
“Anyway, I don’t suppose you have any advice for dealing with him?”
“I don’t, really,” Bessie told her. “The best thing you can do is avoid him, but if you really want that job with him, that won’t be easy.”
“I do really want that job,” Natasha said fiercely. “It could open a lot of doors for me if he tells people he hired me to fix something that Christopher did for him.”
“Did Mr. Hart leave behind a lot of unhappy customers?”
“Christopher did elaborate designs that told a story or painted a picture or some such thing,” Natasha explained. “But a lot of what he did was totally impractical for day-to-day use. He charged ridiculously high prices, though, so no one was about to start making changes after he’d finished, at least not right away.”
“I can only suggest that you try to limit any meetings you have with the man to very public places,” Bessie said. The kettle boiled and Bessie poured them both tea.
Natasha sipped hers before she answered. “I can certainly try,” she said. “I’ve told him I’m really busy at Thie yn Traie for now, which is true. We’re meant to be meeting in the new year. Maybe he’ll have found someone else by then.”
“Maybe you need to hire an assistant and make sure he or she goes to any appointments with you,” Bessie suggested.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Natasha said. “Richard suggested that we meet in London in January, which worries me. I think he’s more likely to cheat on his wife when he’s in London.”
“I’d have to agree with that. I’ve never heard any rumours about him cheating on Carolyn, but if he was doing so when he was off the island, I probably wouldn’t hear.”
Natasha nodded. “He seems smart enough to keep his extramarital affairs away from such a small island where everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
The pair sipped their drinks and talked about the weather and Natasha’s plans for Christmas.
“I was going to go home, but Mary invited me to stay at Thie yn Traie and keep working. It was too good of an offer to pass up. I’m hoping to get ahead on my plans there so I can start work on my next job as soon as possible.”
“What’s next?”
“I have a small office redesign to do for a company in Birmingham that just moved to a new building. It isn’t going to win any awards or garner any excitement, but it’s the sort of little job that keeps me going between the big assignments that I love.”
“It isn’t a career I ever considered, but it seems like it would be really enjoyable,” Bessie told her.
“It’s cutthroat at the top,” Natasha said. “You have to be single-minded and focussed if you want to get to the sort of position that Christopher Hart held.”
“And are you hoping to get there?”
“Oh, yes. I’m planning on it. I want to be doing television in the next twenty-four months and securing really big, high-profile clients in between. I’m hoping this job in Birmingham is my last little job ever.”
“Well, good luck to you,” Bessie told her. “You did wonderful things at ‘Christmas at the Castle,’ and your plans for Thie yn Traie are lovely. If I could afford it, I’d have you make over my cottage before you get too famous.”
Natasha laughed and looked around the snug kitchen. “It could do with a total makeover, of course, but it really does suit you just the way it is.”
When the girl had gone and Bessie was rolling out sugar cookies, she wondered what Natasha had really wanted. Bessie couldn’t imagine why the girl would have come to her for advice on dealing with Richard Teare. The information she’d shared was interesting, and Bessie thought she ought to pass it along to John, but she wasn’t sure she trusted that any of it was true. She frowned as she slid star and Christmas tree cutouts into the oven. After setting the timer, she grabbed her telephone.
“John, it’s Bessie. I had a strange conversation today that I think I should share with you,” she said when her call was connected.
“I’ll stop by after work,” John offered. “I have a few things I want to talk with you about as well.”
“I’ll have Christmas cookies for you,” she replied.
“I’ll bring Chinese food, then, shall I?”
“That sounds good,” Bessie agreed.
Bessie mixed up and baked chocolate chip cookies and then made some icing for the sugar cookies. She couldn’t remember now what she’d even bought the small bottles of food colouring for, but she was glad that she had them. A thin layer of green icing covered her trees and she used yellow for the stars. She debated spending a bit more time on them, maybe doing something more elaborate on the trees, but then thought she might try one first. As she wiped away the crumbs from around her mouth, Bessie decided that the cookies were perfect just the way they were.
She was still tidying the kitchen when John knocked on her door a short time later.
“It smells like butter and vanilla in here,” John remarked as he set the box of food down on the counter.
“Or it did,” Bessie laughed. “Now it shall smell like sweet and sour chicken instead.”
“You must tell me about Christmas cookies,” John said as they sat down with full plates and fizzy drinks. “Is it an American tradition?”
“Yes, indeed. I’m sure it originally comes from some European tradition or another, but the Americans have really taken it to heart. When I was a child, my mother would bake both cookies and mince pies and Christmas cake, but my sister stopped doing anything other than cookies when her children were small.”
“Cookie is just the American word for biscuit, isn’t it?”
“Yes, although American cookies tend to be sweeter and more indulgent than a typical biscuit,” Bessie replied. “You don’t usually get chocolate chip biscuits or iced sugar biscuits, do you?”
John shook his head. “Chocolate-covered digestives are nice.”
Aunt Bessie Joins (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 10) Page 19