by Mona Marple
Elaine’s belief in her, a belief that she hadn’t been able to return, made Sandy’s eyes fill with tears. “Thanks, Elaine, I appreciate that. I’ve been staying with Coral for a few days, but I think it’s time to come home.”
Elaine nodded. “I moved out, you know, when it first happened. I hadn’t been alone in a house overnight for years, and I was scared to be. I went to stay with my parents, and it was wonderful really as they looked after me and cooked my meals and washed my clothes. But I stayed too long. It’s important, to come home.”
Sandy nodded and stood up. “You’re right.”
She said her goodbyes and let herself out of the cottage, not wanting to intrude on the couple’s time together any further. It was pouring with rain and she ran across to Coral’s car, where her sister sat awaiting the news.
“Well?” She asked.
Sandy gave one last look at the cottage and the secrets it contained. "It's not her."
13
It was nice to wake up in her own cottage again, even if she had only been away for a couple of days. There were sounds that only her cottage made as it woke up in the morning, and she had never realised before what a comfort those sounds were to her.
She lay in bed, the thick mattress wrapped around her, and listened to the water drip in the pipes and churn in the tank as it heated up for the day.
It was 6am, she had woken just before her alarm went off so had switched it off before it started. She always thought that alarm clock alerts were an awful noise to wake up to in the world.
It was dark outside still, and the bedroom was cool when she jumped out of the bed covers. She padded across to the bathroom and jumped straight in a hot shower, enjoying the too warm water on her skin.
Her thoughts turned to Elaine and Jim, and how in love they were, even if they were not admitting it to themselves or other people yet. The thought made her smile to herself.
Arriving at Books and Bakes, she followed her usual morning routine of turning on the radio and checking the leftover cakes, then threw herself into a new experiment: a rainbow sponge cake. The recipe was simple; five different sponge cakes, each one dyed with a different food colouring, to produce a rainbow collection of sponges that would be piled high and sandwiched with strawberries and cream.
She made yellow, blue, green, orange and red sponges and left them to bake, turning her attention to a tray of chocolate flapjack. Flapjack was her earliest baking memory, back when she was at school. She remembered her mum weighing the ingredients out the night before and placing each one in a separate brown paper bag, so that all Sandy had to do was add them at the right time. The flapjacks had turned out delicious in Sandy’s opinion, and Sandy had become convinced that she had a great future ahead of her in the culinary kitchens of the world. When the teacher had declared that her flapjack was not quite moist enough, Sandy’s dreams were ruined and she had sulked with her mum for several days for not sending her with enough golden syrup.
The memory made her smile as she greased a square tin and lined it with parchment paper, then set to work melting butter, sugar and syrup. The smell of warm, melted butter was one of her favourite things about baking, and she inhaled deeply. Oats were next, sprinkled in by hand and then stirred through until mixed well, and then she added some chocolate chips.
Sandy then transferred the whole mixture spoon by spoon into the tin and baked for 15 minutes.
Sandy stood back and allowed herself a moment to relax, then unlocked the front door and prepared for another day.
**
Tuesday was always a quiet day for the shop. Many of the village shops closed for the day because of how quiet it was, which had the effect of making it an even quieter day for the shops that remained open.
A few customers wandered in during the morning for a drink or a browse. Sandy sold five books, feeling that familiar buzz of excitement with each purchase made.
There was plenty of quiet time in-between, though, and Sandy filled that by continuing with sorting out the books. She still had a storage unit out of town half-full with enough books to fill another shop, and she didn’t know what to do with the books or the unit. Her heart told her to expand the books, but the only way of doing that would be to remove the cafe area, which would lose her valuable income.
Her thoughts were disturbed by the bell jingling to announce that there was a customer. She dusted her hands off on her trousers and went to greet them.
“Good afternoon,” Sandy said, approaching the cafe area to see Penelope and Benedict Harlow at the counter, gazing at the menu.
“Hello, Sandy, how was story time? I’m so sorry again, to let you down.” Penelope said, and Sandy wondered how long she would continue to apologise for.
“It’s fine Penelope, I told you not to worry. It was busy as always.”
“And did you enjoy it, dear?”
“Oh! I didn’t do it. I had to run an errand - Poppy Sanders stepped in.”
“The teacher? I bet she did a fabulous job!”
“I hear it went down well,” Sandy said, not wanting Penelope to think that Poppy had been better than her. The story time sessions were a highlight for the village children, but for her tills as well, and she needed that busy time each week to make up for days like Tuesdays.
“It’s very quiet,” Benedict said as if reading her mind. The only other customer was Cass, who was enjoying a salad on her lunch break from her salon. “You are open, aren’t you?”
“Of course. Tuesdays are always like this. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll come over in a second?”
The couple nodded and chose a table by the window while Sandy retreated into the kitchen to wash her hands and put on her apron.
“Two ham salads, please,” Benedict ordered for them both when Sandy returned to their table.
“And I’ll have an Earl Grey,” Penelope added.
“Ah, same for me,” Benedict said.
“Of course,” Sandy said. “I don’t mean to pry, but is everything ok?”
The Harlows glanced at each other.
“Nothing we can’t resolve, dear,” Penelope said after a few moments. “Thank you for asking.”
Sandy wasn’t sure what problems the Harlow family could have, with their inherited fortune, manor house and popularity, but she knew it wasn’t her place to judge.
In the kitchen, she prepared three ham salads, served two to the Harlows and sat down at Cass’ table with the third for herself.
“Enjoying that?” Sandy asked, gesturing to the salad that had hardly been touched on Cass’ plate.
“I try to eat salads,” Cass said. “But when it’s so cold, all you need is a big cottage pie.”
“Do you remember when we used to do things like that here?”
Cass’ eyes grew wide. “Do I? Of course, I do! I lived for Bernice’s pies. Can’t you do that again, Sand?”
“I can when I have staff again. I can’t manage the front of house, all of the baking and then savoury things to cook as well. Jacket potatoes are the limit, just toss them in and forget them.”
Cass nodded. “Do you think things will get better?”
“I hope so,” Sandy said. “I keep thinking that more books are the key. At the moment it’s such a little bookshop, nobody out of town knows about me. But if I had more space for books, word would get out and people would come especially for Books and Bakes.”
“Maybe they’d have their nails done while they’re here,” Cass said with a smile.
“Are you quiet too?” Sandy asked. It was unusual for Cass to close the salon for a lunch break.
“I’m ticking over. I’m going to start microblading, that should get some new business in.”
“What on earth is microblading?”
“Semi-permanent eyebrows, they’re almost tattooed on,” Cass said, inspecting her friend’s bushy eyebrows too closely. “You should try it.”
“Nobody is tattooing my eyebrows. Not even you, Cass.”
“Come over and have them waxed at least? It doesn’t even hurt.”
Sandy pursed her lips. Ever since school, Cass had been the glamorous one. She had gone through a blue eyeshadow stage while Sandy was still playing with dolls. On nights out, when they had got ready together, Sandy had washed her face and self-consciously dusted some blusher over her cheeks and dabbed the mascara wand across her eyelashes, while Cass set out a terrifying amount of beauty products and set about transforming not only the look, but the shape, of her face.
“What do I look like?” She had asked on one such occasion, appearing from the bathroom looking all sallowed cheeks and slimline nose.
“Honestly?” Sandy had asked. “A skeleton.”
“Perfect, that’s the plan.” Cass had replied, returning to the bathroom for twenty more minutes to finalise the look. She had gone out that night with the most perfect, and false, bone structure on her face.
It was like magic to Sandy. Magic she could admire, but magic she didn’t particularly want to play a role in her own life.
“Well?” Cass asked, jolting Sandy back to the present moment.
“Sorry, I was miles away,” Sandy admitted, smiling at her friend and realising how amazing it was that they had grown into such different people but remained so close.
“Eyebrow waxing? I was saying I’ll do the first one free for you.”
Sandy let out a small laugh. She had noticed that her eyebrows were looking a little out of control. “Go on then, but you have to be gentle with me. And don’t think it’s waxing this week and microtattooing next week!”
“Microtattooing? You’re hilarious. I do love you, Sand.”
Cass’ sudden affection made Sandy think back to the argument she had overheard. She had trusted that Cass would tell her about when she was ready, but her friend had remained closed-lipped about it.
“You know, if there was anything going on, any problems, you could tell me,” Sandy said, eyeing Cass. She was about to put a fork of lettuce into her mouth but stopped at Sandy’s words.
“Of course I could.” Cass said, narrowing her eyes, unsure where the comment had come from. “I tell you everything.”
“I think I’ve realised these last few days that nobody tells anyone everything,” Sandy said. “And it’s often the things we most need the support of a good friend for, that we keep to ourselves.”
“Are you ok, Sand?” Cass asked, returning her fork to the table.
Sandy nodded. “I just want you to know you can tell me anything.”
Cass shifted in her seat. “I’d better get back to the salon. Thanks for a lovely lunch, and for looking out for me.”
“I could pop over tonight and see you?” Sandy offered.
“I’m going to have an early night, to be honest,” Cass said, standing up and putting her coat on. “I’m still getting tired.”
“Of course,” Sandy said, knowing that that was true. She had never seen Cass yawn as much as she had since her attack and while she didn’t understand the details of how a bang to the head would cause so much tiredness, the two seemed to go hand in hand. She stood up and embraced Cass, then watched her leave the shop and return across the square to her salon.
“I thought she’d never leave.” Benedict said after a moment.
“Benedict!” Penelope scalded.
“Oh no, she’s a painted delight!” Benedict said, with a laugh. “We wanted to catch you alone, Sandy, that’s all. It’s why we came in today.”
“Oh, I see. Shall I get us all another drink?”
Sandy made the drinks, then pulled up another chair and sat down with the Harlows.
“We’d like to ask you a favour,” Benedict asked.
Sandy tried to hide her surprise. The Harlows never asked favours.
“It’s not really a favour, darling. We have a project we’d like you to work with us on.”
“Tell me more,” Sandy said.
“We’re going to host a Winter Ball. We’ve talked about one for years and never quite found the right time, but with what has happened in the village, we thought now might be the time it’s most needed.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Sandy said. “But you do know there’s a murderer on the loose still?”
“Nothing unites like a common enemy,” Benedict said. “I say we stand in defiance. We eat, drink and be merry. That’s what the spirit of Waterfell Tweed is all about.”
“Ok. And where do I come in?”
“Catering, of course. We’ll set up a marquee at the manor, and you can sort the buffet.”
“When are you thinking? And how many people?”
“That’s the thing,” Penelope said. “We want to do it next week.”
“Next week?”
“Is that a problem?” Benedict asked.
“It’s not a problem for me,” Sandy said. “It could be an issue with the suppliers. And, I’d have to find staff. My kitchen might not be big enough.”
“We can sort all of those things,” Penelope said. “City suppliers will be used to large orders at short notice, and you can use the manor kitchen to prepare. Have all of the food delivered to us, the housekeeper will take delivery and it will all be ready for you.”
Sandy grinned. She had seen the manor kitchen once before, when delivering a cake for a birthday of Charlotte’s. It was an incredible space, bigger than the whole of her shop, with every kitchen aid and tool she could ever have dreamt of. To prepare food in there must be a joy.
“What do you say?” Benedict asked.
“I say let’s do it. It sounds like just what the village needs.”
“Excellent!” Benedict said, clapping his hands together. “We have a busy day then, dear.”
“We do indeed.” Penelope said. “Let’s begin spreading the word. Tell everyone you know, Sandy, we want as many people there as possible.”
“Is there a budget?” Sandy asked. She hated talking numbers. It was one reason she didn’t publicise that she could also do catering jobs; typically someone would come in and ask her for a price for a job, and she would calculate a fair price for her time and the supplies needed, only for the person to explain their disbelief that a few sandwiches could cost so much. With the cafe, her menu was displayed and anyone placing an order had already seen the price and was happy to pay it.
“Spend what you need to, and charge us fairly for your time. We don’t want you to work the Ball, by the way, that’s why we decided on a buffet. We want you and Bernice to come, as our special guests.”
“I’m sure I can speak for us both and say that would be an honour.”
“Oh, how exciting. I love to plan a party.” Penelope said, then looked down at her jodhpurs and boots. “I must remember how to dress a tad smarter than this, though!”
“And me smarter than this.” Sandy agreed, looking down at her apron. It had been a long time since she had had an occasion to dress for. The thought of trying on clothes filled her with dread. Any incident involving her and a dressing room usually ended badly.
“The whole village together, it will be marvellous.” Benedict said, with a faraway smile. He was in his element when doing things for the village that his family had called home for several generations. The manor was not his, not really, he was trusted to look after it until it passed to his heir. The fortune was similar; his, but not really.
“Will Charlotte and Sebastian be there?” Sandy asked. Charlotte returned home frequently, and even more often than usual lately, but Sebastian had been travelling the world on a gap year for the last three years and hadn’t returned once.
“Charlotte will be,” Penelope said. “Sebastian is in Africa. He’s spending a few months on a project to build schools out there.”
“How amazing,” Sandy said. She liked Sebastian and hoped he returned to the village at some point.
“He has an Instagram,” Benedict said, pronouncing the word as if it was a second language. “I don’t know quite what that means but the housekeeper shows me
photographs on the computer of what he’s up to.”
“It must be the trip of a lifetime,” Sandy said, although she thought that if she had taken a year out at Sebastian’s age she wouldn’t have had anywhere near enough confidence to travel around the world on her own. She admired him for it.
“Yes, it is,” Penelope said. “All good things must end at some point, though. He knows that this is his future. When we hand things over.”
“Oh.” Sandy said. “Will it not be Charlotte who takes over?”
"She has no interest in living a public life." Benedict said. He often spoke of his life in that way, as though he were a performer and the village was his audience. It was a commitment he took seriously.
The Harlow name was an honour to carry.
14
Sandy made the drive to the next town early the morning after her talk with the Harlows. Bernice had accepted the short notice offer of extra hours as they prepared for the Winter Ball, and was opening the shop and preparing the day’s cakes while Sandy made the run to the wholesalers.
It was a crisp but bitter cold day, with a misleading bright sun. Sandy felt foolish driving in her sunglasses and mac, but the car was old and the heating was unreliable. It seemed to be able to either chill the car to a comfortable -5, or warm the interior to a toasty 100 degrees, and nothing in between. Buying a new second-hand car was on Sandy’s list of things to do, as soon as there was more money coming in.
She didn’t visit the wholesaler often, opting instead for a regular weekly delivery that saved her time, and there was no welcome when she walked through the doors.
The Harlows wanted a buffet, but it needed to be an impressive buffet. Cheese and pineapple on sticks wouldn’t cut it.
Sandy had worked late the night before creating a buffet menu and was excited to get to work on it.
She wandered the wholesalers filling a trolley with plates, cutlery, and platters. She had some, but not enough.