“She’s very friendly,” Flora said, reaching down to stroke her velvety ears.
“Don’t be fooled by that face,” said Helga through a mouthful of toast, “it’s your food she’s after. You could bribe her to do just about anything with the right treat.”
“She doesn’t look like a big eater,” said Xanthe, taking in her sinuous shape.
“Burns it all off tearing about the place. Loves to run. You don’t have a cat, do you?” she asked suddenly, an anxious note creeping into her normally confident voice.
Xanthe shook her head. “Doesn’t she like them?”
“Oh, she likes them well enough, as long as they’re running and she’s chasing them. This really is the most delicious honey. I’ll bet you have a splendid farmers’ market out here.”
“We do!” Flora said, offering a long-handled spoon which Helga ignored, preferring to upend the honey pot over her toast instead. “It’s on tomorrow. I’ll take you. There are lots of lovely stalls. And lots of good walks nearby too.”
Having drawn a blank on treats from Flora, the dog moved on to Xanthe, who fed her a crust. “She’s very pretty, with those smart black-and-white markings. Did you name her after a magpie?”
“The moment I saw her I thought of one of those darling pied wagtails that flit about near water. Dear little birds. There, I told you she’d settle.”
As they watched, Pie turned a circle three times and then lowered herself into a tight knot, eyes shut, ready for a snooze, on top of Xanthe’s left foot.
“Like a baby,” Helga crooned. “I don’t suppose the real thing will be half as appealing, though of course I’m not allowed to say that, not when I’m about to become a grandmother.”
“Congratulations,” said Flora. “Isn’t Penny living in Australia?”
“She is, and I’m not happy about it but what can I do? She must live her life, and I must embrace long-haul flights. But there, enough about me. Your life is far more interesting.” She took a large gulp of coffee. “Let me see if I’ve got this right: You’ve ditched the odious, cheating Philip, turned your back on London, and headed west for a new business and a new life. Do tell all!”
Xanthe noticed her mother smiling as she answered and thought how it would do her good to have someone she knew so well to talk to for a while. A friend rather than a daughter. Perhaps it would allow her the chance to dip deep into Spinners again to see if anything presented itself as connected to the wedding dress in some way. For the most part the book was silent, revealing its contents on the page to her so that she could slowly sift through them, gleaning what wisdom she could. The memory of the way the book had whispered to her when she had been at Mistress Flyte’s chocolate house was still vivid. She knew the book would only behave in such a way when it chose to; when the time was right. Perhaps, she thought, it would only do so when she was back in the time of the found thing that was singing to her. Maybe if she took the dress out to the blind house—just near it, not inside—maybe that would prompt it to speak to her again. She was wary of heading back to the past without knowing to when she was headed. Also, although the gown was clearly singing, and indeed chiming, there did not seem to be any great danger or urgency attached to it. How could she justify the risk of returning to the past if it wasn’t absolutely necessary? The risk, and the lies. While she was growing in confidence in her ability as a Spinner, she had not yet found a way of disappearing for days at a time without constructing elaborate lies to explain her absence. Lies that she had to tell again and again to the people who mattered most to her, which now included Liam. And Liam was not a person to be easily fobbed off with a half-baked story. The closer they became, the more difficult it would get. Was that one of the sacrifices of being a Spinner, she wondered. Would it be impossible to have a meaningful relationship ever again? Unless, of course, she shared her secret. It had been such a relief to Xanthe when she had told Harley about how she time-traveled. It had stopped her feeling quite so crazy, and given her another mind to put to all the complex questions and dilemmas she faced. She looked across the table at Flora and wished she had the courage to take her into her confidence too. One day, she promised herself. One day.
She left Helga and her mother to catch up and went downstairs to open the shop. The weather was warm enough for her to decide to prop the door open. She stood a moment on the threshold, taking in the day. The fresh spring air brought with it the distant sounds of the town coming to life, birdsong, and the smell of the burgeoning blooms in the hanging baskets outside. Xanthe felt at once more connected with her fellow shopkeepers, most of whom had also thrown wide their doors. Gerri was busy wiping dew from the wrought iron tables and chairs outside her tea shop. The woman who ran the print and framing business a little farther along the cobbled street was putting out a new wooden sign, searching for stones flat enough to stand it on. The newly opened traditional sweet shop at the end of the alleyway was already serving eager children who had evidently made a detour on their way to school. She promised herself she would visit it later and treat herself and Flora to a bag or two of old-fashioned sweets. She heard bells ringing and for a moment thought the wedding dress was calling to her again, but then realized it was only the town clock chiming the hour. She went back inside and turned her attention to the shop, arming herself with a feather duster, methodically working her way around the displays, rearranging items that had been put back in the wrong place, trying to decide where new stock could go, working out which pieces needed to be discounted, and what might make an eye-catching window display.
She was so absorbed in what she was doing she didn’t notice Gerri come into the shop until she spoke.
“You can come and give the tearooms a good dusting next, if you like,” she said.
“I can’t imagine there is a single speck of dust in there,” Xanthe replied, climbing down from the small set of steps that had enabled her to reach the top of one of Mr. Morris’s remaining over-mantel mirrors. “Unless it’s icing sugar, possibly.”
“You’d be surprised. Sometimes I feel I’m barely keeping on top of everything.”
She caught a rare glimpse of strain on her friend’s face. However well Gerri presented a perfectly turned-out image to the world, managing as a single parent with a business to run would surely challenge even the most capable of women.
“Come and see what I found at the auction,” she said, leading the way to the second room. She knew Gerri well enough to be certain she would be cheered up by her new acquisitions for the vintage clothes collection. “Here,” she said, dragging a large cardboard box to the center of the floor space and opening the lid. “How’s that for a cracking little job lot?”
Gerri gasped as she pulled out the first two of the silk scarves. “Oh! These are gorgeous. Some excellent silk here. And they’re in really good shape, most of them,” she added, digging deeper into the hoard. “Look! This one’s Yves Saint Laurent. Imagine throwing it in a box … and that’s a lovely chiffon one.”
Xanthe folded her arms and leaned back against the doorjamb. “You like them, then?”
“I want to take half of them home myself right now! How do you resist keeping the best things you find for yourself?” she asked, hugging tight a shocking pink silk square.
“Being hungry and having bills to pay makes you ruthless. There’s more. Look,” she said, stepping aside to reveal the trunk. This time she let Gerri open the lid.
“Oh! You hit the jackpot here. I know you like older stuff, but nineteen forties is the most popular era for vintage stuff bar none, I promise you. Just look at this little suit! Let’s make a window display with them, shall we?”
Xanthe thought then of how she had imagined the wedding gown one day gracing the shop window. She was keenly aware of the fact that she had deliberately kept the dress a secret from Gerri. Her mum understood her need to spend time with the things that sang to her, even if she only knew a fraction of the reason why. It seemed simpler just to wait. She would share t
he dress with Gerri once she had discovered its story. One way or another. In the meantime, a new window display trumpeting the arrival of the vintage clothing room was a great idea.
“We’ll need more than the clothes … what shall we put with them?” she asked as Gerri ran the silk through her fingers, releasing the faintest aroma of old perfume and mothballs.
“How about we do a forties and fifties mixed themed display? Most of these seem to date from around that time, not that they all have to. It’ll give you a slightly wider reach with other things to make the display. Have you got some stock in the shop that would fit?”
“Ooh, there might be one or two things. Let’s have a quick look.” She grinned. She enjoyed Gerri’s delight as she showed her a table lamp, two leather suitcases, a small collection of enamel signs, some biscuit tins, and a Lloyd Loom wicker chair. They went to stand as far into the bay window as they could, given the Victorian display that was already in it.
“Yes,” Gerri put her hands on her hips, her face serious and focused, “we can do something really clever with this. Almost a corner of a bedroom with the cases open, as if a glamorous young woman is about to go on holiday. I’ll have another look through our stock and find a dress. Oh, and a swimsuit! Wish I could stay and do it now but I’m late opening up as it is. I’ll come back after closing. Is that OK with you?”
But Xanthe heard little of Gerri’s excited chatter. Her attention had been taken up entirely by what she had seen through the small panes of the old window. There, sitting cross-legged and relaxed, leaning back on one of Gerri’s terrace chairs, sat Benedict Fairfax.
4
“Xanthe? Are you all right?” Gerri could not help but notice the look of shock on her friend’s face.
“I … just a minute,” she said, pushing past and running out of the doorway. However much she had dreaded this moment, she had to face him. This time, she wouldn’t let him melt away before she had the chance to confront him. As she drew closer to him she felt anger growing inside her. Anger which overcame any alarm she might justifiably have felt. This was the man who had tried to send Samuel to his death. The man who had shown himself to be utterly ruthless in the pursuit of whatever it was he wanted. She let the memory of what he had done, of how he had behaved, lend her determination. She was a Spinner now. She was a match for him.
Fairfax was dressed in a curious ensemble, as if his clothes had been snatched from different places at different times. While there was nothing particularly outlandish about his long woolen coat or slim worsted trousers or wing-collared white shirt, they just looked odd together. It was an uncomfortable reminder for Xanthe of how unconvincing her own period costume must have been during her travels back to the seventeenth century. Small wonder people had been suspicious of her. Fairfax’s own disguise was further undermined by the fact that he was wearing a black broad-brimmed hat, and sporting a leather eye patch. She shuddered at the thought of how she had inflicted the wound on him that had resulted in him losing the sight in his eye. It had been in self-defense, but the violence of the moment would never leave her.
“Good morning to you, Mistress Westlake,” he said in a voice as level and light as the day itself, giving no trace at all of the significance of his being there. He did not stand, but lifted his hat in a gesture of respect that was at once both out of place and unwelcome. Xanthe was glad that at that moment there was no one else in the little street and tried to put from her mind what Gerri would be making of the strange encounter she must certainly be watching.
“This is … unexpected,” she said, determined not to let slip how disturbed she was by his presence, hoping he would reveal his intentions without her having to give away anything of herself; of how much she hated having him so close to her own home and those she loved.
Fairfax tilted his head a little. “You surely cannot have believed that I was to be so easily cast aside?”
Xanthe experienced a flashback to the moment she had crouched hidden beneath the scaffold upon which Fairfax had stood, listening to the jeers of the crowd as the hangman placed the noose around his neck and then the astonished gasps as the condemned man had vanished while they watched. “I don’t recall anything being particularly easy for either of us,” she said.
“And yet you succeeded. You secured the continued safety of Appleby and his family. Thanks to your trickery, he escaped his due as a traitor to the crown.”
“I gave you the astrolabe. That was the deal.”
At last a flash of anger fractured Fairfax’s previously inscrutable expression and he sat upright, his tone sharper now. “You speak to me of bargains struck! Were you not the one who broke our agreement? Where in it did you pledge to send me to a time not my own, certain in the knowledge I would be adrift, requiring time and practice to master the device? No matter,” he said, composing himself once more. “Happily, I have learned my lessons well. As you see.” He spread wide his arms, indicating his own solid, real presence there in Xanthe’s time. The very last place she would ever have wanted him to reach.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. “Why now? What more do you want from me? It doesn’t look like you need my help to go wherever—whenever—you want.”
He turned away from her then, evasive, not yet willing to reveal precisely what it was he had come for. The effect was unnerving. “I am not a man to limit my reach when it can be so very expansive,” he said slowly.
She tried to work out for herself what his most likely goal could be. Had he come for revenge? To punish her for tricking him? Or was it the book of the Spinners that had tempted him and made him risk so much?
“I have nothing to give you,” she said with a shrug. “This is not your time, Fairfax. You will be found out here, exposed as a fraud. This is my world.”
“Indeed. Thus far,” he added, cryptically. “Oh, I have no power here, in this chaotic, modern era of yours, I grant you that. I have not established myself in this time. It is not here that I wish to reside. No, I have settled well in a period more fitting, a time that offers more opportunity and will not demand questions of me which I am not able to answer. It is there, in my chosen moment, that I require your allegiance.”
“You still expect me to want to be with you? To what? Marry you? Work with you? Trust me, neither thing is going to happen. Ever.”
“Xanthe?” Gerri’s voice interrupted their conversation. “Everything OK?”
Xanthe turned to see her standing in the shop doorway, her hand shielding the morning sun from her eyes. “I’m fine, Gerri. I’ll be right there,” she called back.
Fairfax got to his feet. He tugged his jacket straight and picked up the silver-topped cane that he had laid upon the table beside him.
“I made the mistake of underestimating you once, mistress. I am not in the habit of repeating my missteps. I am aware, also, that you are a woman of strong opinions and a willful disposition. I have considered these … shortcomings. They present a temporary hindrance to my plans, nothing more. They simply mean I must do my utmost to convince you of the wisdom of complying with my wishes and the unfavorable consequences of refusing me. For the moment, I bid you good day.”
So saying he brushed past her, close enough that she could smell his heavy cologne, and feel the warmth of his body. This was no phantom. Fairfax was very real and presented a very real threat, though precisely to what end she was not yet certain. She watched him stride up the street, waiting until he had gone and her jangling nerves had steadied before going back to the shop. Gerri greeted her with raised eyebrows.
“Another ex-boyfriend?” she asked.
“Good grief, no!” Xanthe busied herself adjusting a stack of leather-bound volumes in the window. “An old friend of my father’s. A business acquaintance,” she added somewhat lamely.
Gerri’s momentary silence suggested she was unconvinced. At last, obviously accepting that Xanthe did not want to talk about the stranger further, she commented, “If you don’t mind me saying so, you do kno
w some rather peculiar-looking people.”
When Xanthe merely shrugged, the conversation turned back to the planned display before Gerri noticed a customer heading for the tea shop and hurried off.
* * *
However much she tried to concentrate on running the shop it was impossible not to dwell on Fairfax’s threat. For threat it was, even though he had neither told her specifically what he wanted from her nor what he would do if she refused. Beyond him demanding she travel back through time with him, he had given nothing away. Now she was back to waiting. Her first thought was to talk to Harley about the fact that he had shown up again. She needed to say aloud all the possible things that were going round and round in her head. Like the danger her mother might be in. Or Liam. Or even Harley himself. How much did Fairfax know about her life? How closely had he been watching her, and what was he planning? She felt if she didn’t get a chance to thrash it all out with Harley very soon she would drive herself mad with thinking and wondering. Flora and Helga had taken the dog out for a walk by the river and Xanthe found herself checking the grandfather clock in the shop, wondering where they had got to. Her mother enjoyed getting out for a stroll but her crutches meant she couldn’t go far. They had been hours. What if something had happened? What if Fairfax had already got to Flora? She was soon distracted, however, by the busyness of the shop. There was nothing approaching a pattern to the number of customers who came in to browse in the months between Christmas and spring. Randomly hectic days happened, and this, it turned out, was one of them. She sold a set of wine goblets, an occasional table, two pieces of militaria, and a travel clock all in the space of an hour. A pair of teenagers came in, which were not the usual type of customers she had come to expect. They giggled a lot and looked at the antiques in astonishment as if they had never been in such a shop before. She kept a close eye on them, wondering if they might be a little light-fingered. A tall woman in a full-length tweedy coat came in at the same time.
The Garden of Promises and Lies Page 5