by Lisa Hill
‘Hmmm.’ Pamela took a swig of her tea, rather hoping they could leave it at Edward not finding out. She looked at the photo on the wall again and decided to change the subject. ‘So, how do I go about making contact with Jean?’
Audrey almost spat her tea out. ‘Pardon?’
Pamela set her cup and saucer down. ‘Look,’ she said, crossing her legs, ‘I didn’t have a proper wedding last time around—’
‘You haven’t got a proper divorce yet to annul that marriage either.’
Pamela was swiftly coming to the conclusion that living next door to Lottie was bringing the worst out in her mother. An assertive side.
She chose to ignore it. ‘Anyway, when I am divorced and marry Jack, I want to do it properly.’
‘Pah!’ Audrey’s cup and saucer wobbled as she tried to set it down, whilst laughing. ‘Pammie, you’re sixty! You can’t seriously think you’re going to wear a big, puffball dress down the aisle? Your father’s not here to give you away!’
‘Oh, fine.’ Pamela crossed her arms and bit her lip. She had been heartbroken when, on their fact-finding mission last year, they had to come to the devastating conclusion that her dad had passed away. It had almost made her stop searching for Audrey.
Based on this morning’s conversation, perhaps it would have been better if she had.
‘Oh, Pammie, don’t be like that! So defensive. Look, I’m just saying that, you’re not twenty-one anymore, are you?’
Pamela’s bottom lip jutted out. ‘That doesn’t mean that I’m not entitled to the full works. With a short-hemmed dress, obviously, due to being vertically challenged.’
‘Sounds lovely.’
‘Thank you,’ Pamela said, unfolding her arms. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to just send out the wedding invitations and invite Jean; she’ll think I’m only inviting her out of a sense of duty. I want to get to know her again, be reunited with her, like I have been with you. I really want all my family at this wedding.’
Audrey took a large swig of her tea and clinked the cup back on her saucer. ‘Well, good luck with that, Pammie, because, in spite of my many attempts; birthday cards, Christmas cards, letters of apology, neither Jeannie, nor Mike, have spoken to me since last summer either.’
Chapter Six
Rebecca hovered outside the office door up in the eaves. It had been Drew’s office for so long, it was odd that it was now going to be occupied by James. She fingered the edge of the envelope in her hand and bit her bottom lip, hesitant about what she was about to do. There was nothing else for it; she’d thought of little else all through the Bank Holiday weekend.
She knocked gently on the opaque glass.
‘Come in,’ called James, in his silky voice. Drew’s voice was less charming, more matter of fact. James’ was just like Edward’s.
This was exactly why she needed to leave; she didn’t a constant reminder of Edward.
Or her remorse.
Or guilt.
She gently opened the door.
‘Darling!’ he cried, detaching himself from his laptop and pushing his office chair back. ‘Christ, you can’t swing a cat in here,’ he said, walking around and embracing her.
This was another reason she couldn’t carry on working here. James was an old friend of sorts; all the staff would think she was shagging him. Especially if he greeted her like this every morning.
She turned her face as he brushed her cheek with his stubble. A zing of electricity bolted through her, curiously both exciting and slightly scary at the same time.
‘Take a seat,’ he said, returning to his side of the desk. ‘God knows how Drew put up with this charade for so many years; when I ran these branches before, I used to have the room on the first floor, opposite the kitchen. Why on earth we’re using that as a meeting room is beyond me; I might think about getting Rich to help me move back down there.’
See, she’d see him even more frequently if he was on the same floor as the kitchen.
She had to leave.
‘Are you okay, sweetie, you haven’t actually said anything?’ He looked at her so full of concern, her eyes started to well.
She never cried.
She shook her head vigorously. ‘I’m fine,’ she managed, clearing her throat.
She loved her job, she’d worked so hard to become a branch manager. She didn’t even know where she was going to go when she left Hardwickes. Would she stay in Harrogate or go back down south to her family?
‘Good, well, I’m glad you’ve come to see me as I think we need to structure in some management team meetings. Every Monday. Do you think here in Harrogate, or would York be more central? I guess the parking is better in Harrogate, although the Wetherby office has a coffee house right next to it; we could hold it there, make it a little more informal, what do you think?’
Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, James—’
‘No.’ He didn’t look up from his laptop, where he had been idly scrolling through something on the screen.
‘Pardon?’
‘Don’t think I didn’t see that envelope when you opened the door.’
She looked down at the letter in her shaking hands.
‘But, how do you know what’s in it?’
He shrugged and looked up from his screen, holding her gaze with his chocolatey eyes. ‘I don’t need to know, I can guess. Either you want to put in a request for a transfer, or that you want to leave. I won’t accept either.’
‘Ppffft!’ She snorted. ‘You don’t own me; if I say I’m leaving, you can’t stop me!’
‘Try me,’ he said, grinning inanely. ‘Look, Rebecca, you’re the finest agent I’ve ever known and that includes my sister-in-law.’
It was true that Lottie was known around these parts for being Yorkshire’s answer to Kirstie Allsopp. James was giving her a backhanded compliment, of sorts.
‘That’s kind of you to say, but I can’t stay. It was bad enough before—’
‘Before?’
Don’t make me say it.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘If you mean before you had a relationship with my father, I’d prefer we draw a line under that. It’s in the past as far as I’m concerned. He’s doing his thing from Oxford and I’m up here. With you.’ He smiled. Not one of his normal cheeky ones, this was a warm-hearted genuine one, full of support.
She looked away. She didn’t deserve his appreciation. Or his pity.
‘Nevertheless—'
He held his hand up. ‘Nothing you say will make me change my mind.’
Her eyes brimmed with tears again. Oh! This was ridiculous. She was a man’s woman; she liked playing with the big boys. She couldn’t let a teeny thing like emotions get the better of her.
‘Okay.’ He detached himself from the desk and crossed his legs. ‘Let’s give it one month.’
Anxiety began to creep up from the pit of her stomach and startled her. She had been fine when she was in the driving seat, the one giving in her notice. Now James was talking about notice periods, she suddenly felt insecure.
‘For what?’ she squeaked, already knowing the answer.
‘To see if we can work together. If not, you get to leave without a notice period, and I look for someone else.’
‘Okay,’ she nodded. It seemed fair enough. In her head, it just meant she was working out her notice. She didn’t have to attempt to get on with James. In the meantime, she could go and tap up Tommy Wilson-Flint at Hamilton’s, Hardwickes’ largest competitor. He might have a negotiator position going. It would be a step down, but it would at least get her out of the massive hole she’d dug for herself.
‘We are going to work together though, Rebecca.’ James cut through her thoughts, leaning over the desk, intensely looking into her eyes. ‘I promise.’
She suddenly came over all peculiar and couldn’t hold James’ gaze. She was used to men looking at her appreciatively, she’d made a career out of using her body language to sell houses. After Edward, thou
gh, it all felt wrong. A flick of the hair, looking up from lowered eyelashes, a wiggle of the bottom in her heels as she walked away from a viewing. Suddenly it all felt dangerous.
‘Okay,’ she said, standing up. ‘Here, you’d better have this anyway.’ She handed over her typed out resignation letter.
He took it, ripped it in half and dropped it in the waste paper bin behind him. ‘I told you,’ he said, still smiling positively, ‘you’re not leaving, Rebecca Cavendish. You belong here, with us. You are Hardwickes.’
Rebecca nodded and closed the door behind her. She walked along the narrow corridor feeling highly confused. Why did she get the feeling James wasn’t really talking about the business?
Chapter Seven
Louise was just finishing off stocking up the shelves with a delivery of fresh, artisan breads before the post school run rush when the bell jangled above the door of the stores. She looked up to see Tom Thorpe storming in, with a face like thunder; not a newlywed, who should be loved-up in wedded bliss.
‘Tom!’ she greeted him warmly, almost afraid of how menacing he looked. A bit like his character, Daniel Faulkes, – a soldier in Wellington’s Army during the Napoleonic Wars – he played on television. ‘What a surprise, I thought you’d be honeymooning.’
‘We’re off this afternoon,’ he said, looking around him. ‘Johnnie about?’
‘In the stockroom, I expect. I’ll go and fetch him.’ She scurried off, glad to get away from Tom’s glowering expression. Something had really got him stirred up and she rather hoped it wasn’t what she thought it was, otherwise, Johnnie would be in an equally vexing mood for the rest of the day too.
She poked her head through the store room door. ‘Tom’s in the shop asking for you.’
‘Ah!’ Johnnie tucked his pencil behind his ear and closed the stocktake book. ‘Come to settle up, I hope,’ he said, following her back into the stores.
Relief washed over her as she carried the last few loaves out to pop on the shelves. Perhaps it wasn’t about that damned Hardwicke development after all. She’d heard about precious little else all weekend.
‘Tom, hi,’ Johnnie said, taking Tom’s hand and shaking it. ‘Did you enjoy Saturday?’
‘It was wonderful, thank you for all your help.’
‘Oh, no.’ Johnnie folded his arms. ‘Not help, you hired us. I hope you were pleased with our service.’
‘It was excellent, thank you. That reminds me, actually.’ Tom reached into his leather jacket. ‘I’ve settled your final invoice online, but here’s a little extra, just to confirm how much we appreciated all your efforts.’
‘Ah, too kind,’ Johnnie said, taking an envelope from Tom.
‘That wasn’t really why I came here this morning, though.’ Tom lowered his voice. ‘Is there somewhere a little quieter we could talk?’
There came that sinking feeling in Louise’s stomach.
‘Of course, come through to the back. Darling!’ Johnnie called out to Louise. ‘Can you watch the till for five, please?’
‘I need to get the coffee machine on; the school run mums will be in any moment.’
‘Five minutes, tops, darling; this man’s got a honeymoon to get to!’
Louise rolled her eyes. At least from the till she would be able to overhear their conversation in the stockroom.
She made the decision to leave the till unattended for a minute; if she didn’t crank the barista machine up in the tearooms, she was risking many grumpy mothers desperate for their post school run, caffeine fix. By the time she returned to the till, the stockroom door was shut and there was an anxious Hilary Preston-Jones pacing by the fruit and veg.
‘Ah, Louise! Not like you or Johnnie to leave the till unmanned.’
‘Or unwomaned,’ Louise said flatly, not in the mood for any of Hilary’s demands this morning. Her and the girls used to have a laugh on Saturdays over who would come in with the most preposterous request; Hilary Preston-Jones or Pamela Hardwicke. It was like both women were out to prove there must be something they didn’t stock at the stores. Hilary had once come in for manuka honey, then Pamela arrived later the same day for beeswax candles. But since Pamela had got together with Jack, she’d mellowed, and her demands had dissipated along with her previous, highly-strung demeanour.
Leaving Hilary to be the clear leader of ‘Most Pernickety Customer of the Year’.
‘What?’ Hilary flinched at Louise’s quip. It was a warm spring day again, but Hilary was standing there in her usual camel winter coat, buttoned up with her traditional, leather, brown handbag tucked in the corner of her arm. Her greying, short permed hair was immaculately in place and her lightly made-up eyes looked like they were boring into Louise from behind her dainty varifocals. Everything about Hilary oozed organisation and efficiency; whatever she wanted, she wouldn’t want to hang around.
‘Sorry, Hilary,’ Louise said dejectedly, realising that last comment was out of character. It was just that she was becoming jaded by their lifestyle at the stores and the fact that if you had a penis, there seemed to be certain time-consuming jobs which weren’t applicable to you. ‘Having one of those Mondays and being facetious.’
‘You don’t need to apologise for being feministic around me, Louise. You should know how passionate I am about the Womens Institute. You should come along; I hear your cake went down very well at the weekend, perhaps you could come and do a cake decorating workshop with us?’
Feeling exhausted from the weekend and the ongoing saga of never getting a full day off from this place, Louise couldn’t think of anything she would like to do less. Instead she smiled and nodded. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, in a vague, non-committal, voice, the cogs in her brain ticking that perhaps that was what she needed? To get out of these four walls? To stop the monotony of getting up at 5am every morning to make fresh scones and not finishing for the day until 7pm when she then had to go upstairs and make supper for everyone. Perhaps Johnnie could make the dinner one night per week and she could put her feet up, or, as Hilary was suggesting, join some group or club? She wrinkled her nose. Perhaps not the W.I. though; there might be groups around the country with younger members, but she was pretty sure the average age of Clunderton W.I. was about seventy-four.
‘Have a think about it. We could do with some fresh blood. I might have to think about delegating quite a lot of the organisation to my Vice Chair for a few months.’ She leaned over the counter towards Louise. ‘Going to be rather busy with VOCAB methinks,’ she whispered. ‘That’s why I’m here, actually. Johnnie about?’
The door to the stockroom opened as a flush of icy, cold blood trickled through Louise’s body.
VOCAB.
‘Ah, Hilary!’ Johnnie breezed out, followed by Tom who was looking less tempestuous than he had upon his arrival.
‘I was just asking Louise where you were.’
‘I was talking to Tom about,’ Johnnie dropped to a whisper, ‘VOCAB. He’s our first recruit.’
Tom’s eyes scanned the stores. ‘Could you keep it quiet though, please, Mrs Preston-Jones? If the press finds out they’ll have a field day and it’ll just be more publicity for Hardwickes, which I’m keen to avoid.’
‘Oh dear, fallen out with Drew and Lottie then?’
Louise watched a glimmer of satisfaction twinkle in Hilary’s eyes, as she thought she was being privy to a nugget of gossip.
‘No, not Drew; this isn’t his fault. It’s that smarmy brother of his; turning up at my wedding and announcing his plans. Little git; chip off the old block, I’d say.’
Louise had briefly met James Hardwicke on Saturday and, although a charmer, he was nothing like his lecherous father, Edward, as far as she could see.
‘Your secret’s safe with me, Tom,’ Hilary gaily carried on. ‘I’ll make sure none of that pesky pepperoni find out about our plans for VOCAB.’ She tapped the side of her nose.
Louise stifled a giggle.
‘Pepperoni?’ Tom and Johnnie chorused, quizzically.
‘I think Hilary means, paparazzi.’
‘Yes, thank you Louise,’ Hilary said, flatly. ‘It’s a shame you can’t be here for our first meeting on Thursday. I would say inaugural meeting, but you may not know that we were a group once before, until we disbanded. We helped see off the previous owner of your home, actually.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard all about your achievements against the fat cat that wanted to turn Clunderton Hall into a golf club. Let’s hope you can have the same success with this property development.’
‘Thursday?’ Louise could hear the terseness in her voice. The icy cold feeling of foreboding had made way for fiery rage swirling deep down in her stomach. Thursday was…
‘Look, darling, I know it’s your birthday—’ Johnnie said, in that overly-nice-yet-assertive voice he kept for such occasions where he knew Louise wasn’t going to be happy with the news he was delivering. ‘—but it’s really important we get this campaign off the ground. Decide on a plan of action; who we need to target at the council and—’
‘But it’s my birthday.’ Louise’s voice sounded wobbly and her throat started to constrict in attempt to push back tears.
‘I know, and we will celebrate! The girls both have exams on Friday anyway; doesn’t it make sense to move your birthday celebrations to Friday evening?’
It did, but the girls had agreed weeks ago that they should all walk the twenty-feet down the High Street to the Clunderton Arms, for supper, around eight o’clock when they’d finished revising for the evening.
The bell clanged signalling the post school run rush.
‘Fine, I’ll go with the girls on my own then.’
‘Oh dear, trouble in paradise.’ Tom patted Johnnie on the back. ‘Anyway, I’d better get going, Jude’ll have dropped the kids at school by now and be eager to get off to the airport. I’ll catch up with you both when I’m back,’ said Tom.
‘Have a wonderful time,’ Johnnie said, smiling. He turned to Louise. ‘Darling, would you mind looking after the till for another ten minutes while Hilary and I go through to the tearooms and have a briefing, before the meeting on Thursday?’ Louise smoothed down the wispy bits of her ponytail away from her face. ‘A meeting about a meeting?’ She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice but couldn’t quite manage it.