Right. Concentrate. Unfinished business, what could that mean? He’d been retired, but dealt with charities and was active in the golf club. I fiddled with my plait.
‘Knock again, Walter, if you owe someone money.’
Nothing.
‘Or someone owes you?’
Silence still, apart from the air around my neck turning positively arctic.
‘The will?’ I said lamely. ‘Knock three times if you aren’t happy with the will.’
Three loud thuds! Wow! But he hadn’t got any kids. Who else would inherit apart from his nephew? The nostalgic notes of White Christmas stopped suddenly and I felt warm again. Walter had gone.
My hands shook a little, but I didn’t feel scared. If only he’d stayed longer, I had a zillion questions in my head. He’d been fond of his nephew, hadn’t he? Plus, according to Terry, was compos mentis, until the end. He wouldn’t have signed anything without reading the small print.
I stared into space, different scenarios running through my head. If Mr Murphy wasn’t supposed to get everything, then who else would benefit? Oh my God… Perhaps Walter and Lily weren’t such a perfect couple and he’d had a lovechild who the old boy had originally provided for. Or maybe the couple had been brainwashed by some religious cult and had intended everything to go to them.
After what seemed like hours of thinking, I could only conclude that, behind closed doors, Mr Murphy was a bully and had forced Walter to sign a new document – or had forged a new, secret copy. Perhaps he’d charmed Walter into altering the will and now the old man could see Murphy for the conman he really was…
I clapped my hands. Of course. Thursday morning the nephew was visiting – the perfect opportunity for Walter to show his true feelings and for me to find out more!
Chapter 17
I looked across the wicker table at Terry and shook my head. He sucked in his cheeks, for one moment making his chubby face look almost chiselled. We both knocked back a mouthful of tea as a fly circumnavigated the inside of the summerhouse before deciding my buttered toast wasn’t interesting enough. Jess’s bicycle was gone so she’d obviously made it into work. Terry had rapped loudly at the front door just after nine and woken me up. Following my late night chat with Walter, I’d still been asleep. Groucho had disappeared from my bed and when I came down his chocolate button eyes had begged for a plate of biscuits.
I pulled up my blanket. Terry did the same. We grinned at each other. I’d insisted we breakfast outside, even though it was December, as once I’d left Badgers Chase there’d be little opportunity for me to dine “al fresco” (listen to me!).
‘Poor Melissa,’ I said and stared once again at the tabloid before my eyes. The morning breeze crept in through the open doors and lifted the top corner of the newspaper. I adjusted the pretty embroidered cushion behind my back, feeling nice and comfy in my jogging trousers and one of Adam’s jumpers I’d, ahem, “accidentally” packed. I looked up for a moment. Plants swayed in the full borders and a posse of nearby starlings chirped. Everywhere was green. The air smelt fresh. My ears homed in on nature’s sounds. In that moment, Luton and Adam could have been in another universe.
I gazed at the article again. Jonny? In the back of a taxi? Snogging some mystery blonde? Terry had brought over his morning paper, bursting with how he’d had to pick his way through the crowds of journalists and clicking cameras all around Badgers Chase. For once, the paparazzi rumour mill had got it right. For the hundredth time, I focused on the photo of the young woman who was partially hidden as the golfer, back to the camera, kissed her. Her arm was wrapped around his neck and from her wrist hung a silver bracelet with two charms – a mini Eiffel Tower and an engraved heart.
‘Just look at those headlines,’ I muttered, stomach squeezing at the thought of Melissa upset. They’d come straight from the stuff nicked out of Melissa’s wheelie bin: “Jonny on Drugs for Extra-marital Bonking Backache” and “Pregnant Melissa’s Curvy New Figure”. At least there was no photo of her falling over Walter’s fence. Nor any of me in disguise – what a shame.
‘More toast?’ I asked. Terry had eaten my breakfast.
‘Apparently the photographers have spotted him with this woman before,’ said Terry, still glued to the newspaper, looking kinda cute in a rainbow coloured bobble hat. ‘Do you think Melissa knows who she is?’
Before I could answer, footsteps approached from the garden path. We looked at each other. Maybe that was her.
‘Quick! Shove that paper behind your cushion,’ I said and hurried out of the summerhouse and onto the lawn. Groucho almost tripped me up as he stopped chasing an imaginary cat and ran to greet…
‘Luke?’
‘Very perceptive,’ he said and bent down to stroke the dog.
I failed to think of an equally sarcastic reply.
‘Late night?’ He stood up and came nearer to me, the corner of his mouth twitching. He turned up the collar of his anorak. I willed myself not to look at his appealingly tight jeans that asked the question, how difficult would they be to get off?
‘The side gate was left open,’ he said. ‘One journalist wouldn’t leave me alone – told her cameraman to zoom in and asked me to take my top off. Can’t say I blame her.’ He grinned. ‘You’re not going to throw something at me, are you? At least there aren’t any plastic Christmas trees in the back garden. I thought I’d be safe, unless you’ve armed yourself with a spade.’
‘Ha, ha,’ I said and tried to smooth out the creases from my jogging bottoms.
‘Morning, sonny.’ Terry waved at Luke as he walked past, manbag over shoulder, colourful bobble hat slightly crooked.
‘Hi, Terry. Noticed your front guttering is hanging a bit low. Could have been that storm we had the other night. Would you like me to check it out later?’
‘Really? You’re a diamond.’ He clapped Luke on the back. ‘Better get going, Kimmy. See you tonight, seven o’clock sharp. Don’t worry, I’ll show myself out.’
Luke headed towards the bottom of the garden. ‘Not too much milk in my tea, Kimmy. I’ll be at the vegetable patch.’
I followed him to the well-ordered patch, and admired the neat row of poles and plants. ‘This isn’t some motorway caff, you know.’
‘Oh well, if you don’t want me to clean out your hot tub for your party tonight…’
Ah yes. I’d forgotten his odd offer to help me and my chest warmed a titch. He bent over to uproot a couple of leeks and handed them to me. There was that weird friendliness again – but I was grateful for the veg and might make soup for lunch. Then I headed back towards the kitchen, but something grabbed my leg and wound itself around my ankle. My leeks fell to the lawn with a thud as I tripped and fell. A piercing pain shot through my foot.
‘Get off me!’ I shrieked to whatever it was. Perhaps that evil spirit had morphed into a snake. If only I could grab a leek and whip the demon senseless.
‘Jess must have pruned back those overgrown roses,’ said Luke, already by my side, on his knees. ‘You’ve trodden on a small branch and your foot’s bound up in the middle of a pile of hose. Didn’t you see it?’
Before I knew it, he helped me stand up. To steady myself, I reached down and leant on his head. The tousled bedroom hair slipped between my fingers whilst, still on his knees, he untangled me. It was silky smooth and long enough to grab hold of.
‘A couple of large thorns have gone through your sock, into your ankle,’ he said. ‘Where are your tweezers?’
‘It’s all right.’ I limped towards the patio doors. ‘I can manage.’ But he caught me up and slipped an arm around my waist. His fingers gently spread around my ribcage and for some reason my stomach fluttered. We went through the patio doors and into the kitchen.
‘In your bedroom, are they?’ he said and eased me onto a stool.
‘On the bedside table,’ I mumbled. Much as inflexible me hated to admit it, I found it difficult enough just to paint my toe nails, so Luke’s assistance would be useful. Wit
hin minutes Luke had returned and knelt on the floor again. Gently, he dug out the thorns and massaged the skin with his thumbs. Tingles ran up and down my legs. Thank God I’d shaved again recently, otherwise he’d have been the one in pain.
‘Done,’ he said, finally. ‘I’d wash your ankle, if I were you; kill off any bacteria.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ I mumbled. We smiled at each other and he headed outside again. So, today it was friendly Luke, not the one who was as irritating as nettle rash. Quickly I showered, changed into jeans, a better fitting jumper and my gold parka. Then I returned to the summerhouse, hair curled from a night’s sleep, loosely tied back. Whilst washing, a slight panic had set in. I needed to brainstorm ideas for Saffron’s hen party on Friday. The bottom of the garden was as good a place to clear my head and work as any, and Luke was busy dealing with the hot tub now.
Once settled, I gazed around. Utter heaven. The nearest you got to fresh air in Adam’s flat was opening the front windows onto a road reeking of take-aways and petrol – whereas the smell of Walter’s garden reminded me of a nature trail we once did at school.
Pen in hand, I stared at the blank piece of paper in front of me. Hen nights – “pink”, I wrote down. “Girly”. “Saucy”. “Fun”. My pen hovered for a moment before I roughly sketched some willies and boobs. I could make little black whips out of liquorice, and marzipan handcuffs. I reckoned Saffron would love them – unless, for appearances’ sake, she’d like to come across as more classy. So as well, I jotted down “roses”, “glitter”, “hearts” and “chocolate”. Saffron wanted a personal touch, so I’d spell out her sister’s name in icing – the word AMY was just short enough to fit on one bun.
Yay! That seemed like a plan. I chewed on the end of my pen. Now I could concentrate on brainstorming exactly how to find out what was troubling Walter about his nephew.
‘A man could die of thirst in this place.’ Luke stood in front of me, forehead perspiring. He wiped it with his arm. ‘The tub’s done. I drained it and refilled. It’s all in working order.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, as he grabbed the other wicker chair and sat down next to me, stretching out like a cat in front of a fire. S’pose he deserved a mug of tea and maybe one of my Black Forest Gateau cupcakes. I headed indoors. By the time I’d returned, his drink and plate in hand, he was chuckling. Aarggh! Beam me up, Scottie! I’d forgotten to hide my sketches.
‘Remind me never to ask you to cater for my mum,’ he said.
My cheeks flamed. ‘I’ve only got until Friday night to come up with the right recipes and bake them. I’m catering for one of Melissa’s friends – well, acquaintances. Whatever. It’s a hen party.’
‘Don’t reckon you can go wrong with body parts. In my experience, even posh girls have got a dirty sense of humour.’ He took a large bite of cherry sponge. Cream and chocolate shavings stuck to the corners of his mouth. I fought the urge to stretch out my arm and gently wipe them off. ‘It’s a gift, being able to bake like this,’ he said and wiped his mouth himself.
I raised one eyebrow and waited for the punchline – the rude insult.
‘No. Really. I mean it. And as you know, I’ve been lucky enough to eat Lily’s creations, so I know what I’m talking about. How long has KimCakes Ltd been up and running?’
He remembered the name! I knew it would catch on! But how to answer? I could lie, say the business was established, ooh, months ago, had been a great success and I now had a well impressive client base. But I had the feeling he’d see right through me if I didn’t tell the truth and then I’d feel even more stupid. I picked up the pen. Why would I want to impress him, anyway? ‘Three days.’
He coughed violently, crumbs tumbling onto his lap.
‘Melissa was my first proper customer,’ I said, quickly, not giving him chance to diss my dreams. ‘Apart from a wedding I did in Luton. It’s always been my goal to run my own cupcake company. And this job could help start things off. Then two of Melissa’s other friends want me to cater for them and–’
He put down his cake. ‘Good for you. It takes a lot of guts to break out on your own.’
I stared at him, having expected the negative comments I was used to, from Adam.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked and ran a hand through his chestnut fringe.
‘You don’t think I’m mad?
‘Has someone said you are?’ His moss green eyes stared right through me.
I blushed.
‘We all have to start somehow and as long as you can deliver the goods, blagging is as good a way as any. It’s refreshing to meet a kindred spirit – someone who wants to get out there, and grab a bit of the good life for themselves.’ He shrugged. ‘For my first handyman job, I wrote a false reference from some imaginary customer. The old lady was a bit picky. I didn’t like deceiving her, but knew I could do a good job for her at a decent price. Afterwards, she recommended me to all her friends. I still do the odd job for her.’
‘How long before your business paid enough to do it full time?’
‘A few months. But I learnt quickly that I had to diversify. I do a bit of gardening and, for the customers who know me well, like Walter, I keep an eye on their house whilst they are on holiday – water plants, check the pipes in the winter, that kind of stuff.’ He popped in the last bit of cake. ‘Just need another drink to wash that down,’ he said.
Without thinking I stuck my tongue out at him and he burst out laughing.
‘You don’t like me, do you?’ he said, once he’d stopped.
‘You’ve hardly welcomed me to Mistletoe Mansion with open arms!’ I spluttered. We grinned. Wow. It almost felt as if we were getting on. Mind you, us, kindred spirits? I think not.
His face softened for a second. ‘Don’t take it too personally,’ he murmured and leant forward to brush a random curl out of my face. Heat flushed up through my neck. Why had he done that? And why did it make my pulse race?
‘What do you mean?’
The twinkle disappeared from his eyes. ‘Look, erm, forget the drink. Busy day. Washers to change. Shelves to put up.’ He scraped his chair back and picked up his toolbox.
‘You can’t say something like that and just disappear!’ I said and followed him across the lawn, but there was no reply. ‘Anyway, I should be out of your way soon. There’s another viewing Friday morning and I’m determined it’ll go well.’ That told him. Moody bugger. Just in case he still thought I was hoping to hang around here forever cos of some supposed crush. Although truth be told, a tiny part of me hoped the viewing would be a flop. I needed to work out what was bothering Walter, before Mistletoe Mansion sold and Mike Murphy got his hands on the inheritance.
‘Last time I checked, I was all grown up and allowed to say what I want.’
I caught up and touched his arm. Tingles pitter-pattered from my fingers, up to my shoulder.
‘Just remember what I said.’ Luke smirked and turned around. ‘Black whips and handcuffs; dirtier the better, that’s what ladies want…’
‘Don’t change the subj–’
‘Kimmy?
I gasped and looked behind Luke. Adam? Standing one metre away? How did he get here?’
Luke’s mouth twitched. ‘I’m Luke. Pleased to meet you.’
‘This is Adam,’ I stuttered, heart racing faster than ever now. Peanut had come! He must have missed me! Perhaps he was impressed with my Botox morning earnings after all.
‘Think you were just leaving, mate,’ said Adam, grey eyes steely as he took a step forwards. He stared at my hand which was still curled around Luke’s arm. I jerked it away.
Luke grinned. ‘Remember, Kimmy, great big boobs and long wi–’
‘I get it,’ I said, through gritted teeth.
Luke shot me a glance, then looked at Adam. ‘No need to worry, mate,’ he said. ‘We’re discussing Kimmy’s cake business and the designs for her latest booking.’
Oh my God. I couldn’t believe Adam was here. That was great! Fab! Brill! Everything
I wanted! Then why… I dunno, did a tiny part of me sink, as if weighed down by a record-breaking anchor.
‘Kimmy’s very talented,’ Luke continued. ‘Cupcakes are big business nowadays. She’ll do well to set up on her own.’
‘And what would you know about Kimmy?’ said Adam, looking at Luke’s toolbox. ‘You reckon this is a good time to be setting up a business? During the recession?’ Adam shook his head.
‘Doesn’t take me long to get the sum of someone, that’s all… ’ Luke turned to me. ‘Cheers, Kimmy. Thanks for the snack.’ He headed for the leeks I’d dropped on the lawn. ‘These will do nicely for my dinner.’ Whistling, he strode towards the house. He disappeared around the side. The gate clicked shut.
I laughed nervously at Adam. ‘This is a surprise. How come you’re here? I mean, shouldn’t you be at work?’
‘I’m on a late shift today. Great to see you too,’ Adam said, brow still furrowed. ‘Although it doesn’t look as if you’ve missed me much. Who was that? You two seemed pretty cosy. You didn’t even hear me cross the lawn.’
‘That guy’s a jerk,’ I said, telling myself not to cave in and throw my arms around my hunky boyfriend’s – ex-boyfriend’s – broad shoulders. ‘But then it’s none of your business – not since you threw me out.’ Stiff upper lip, girl, I told myself. Calm down. Don’t show him you’re chuffed to bits that he’s here. Which I was… Even though I stood more upright and felt myself get all defensive about the business; even though I had to slide into the old familiar – and unpleasant – self-justification mode.
‘Thought I’d check you were settled okay.’ His mouth downturned a little. ‘Seems like I needn’t have bothered.’
Oh bum. I melted and took his hand. ‘Come on – let me show you around the house.’
‘Just look at this kitchen!’ I said, moments later. He didn’t flinch as I opened the huge fridge doors, nor mumble a word as he followed me up the staircase, me chatting about the paintings. I pointed out the chandelier. Still no reaction. So I led him into the fancy bathroom and switched on the waterproof telly. At last, some response – he muttered something about “More money than sense”. Surely the Game of Thrones Room would cause a flicker of excitement? I hurried downstairs and waited impatiently for him as he strolled after me, expressionless.
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