A Whiff of Scandal

by Carole Matthews

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  ‘I know,’ Mel said encouragingly. ‘It does sound easy. It’s just a difficult thing to have to do.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rose gave her a sideways glance and pushed herself slowly from the table. ‘I brought this,’ she said, producing the small brown bottle of essential oils from her pocket. ‘It’s a going-away present. I left the oils neat so they’d last longer. All you have to do is add some almond oil if you want to use them for massage. You can give me a ring when you want some more. I can either pop them in the post to you or you could come up for a girl’s day out if you’d like to.’

  ‘“Secret Passions”?’ Melissa smiled sadly as she read the label. ‘I think this should last me a long time. I won’t be using as much as I used to. You see, my particular secret passion is, unfortunately, not a secret any more.’

  Rose smiled in response but instinctively knew that somewhere along the way she was missing the point.

  She could see Dan helping Fluffy into the back of the Discovery as she walked briskly up Lavender Hill.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Fluff,’ she heard him snap. ‘Stop messing about and just get in the car!’

  Rose slowed her stride. He didn’t sound in the best of moods. In fact, he sounded like a man in serious need of some geranium oil. She stopped walking and stared up at Builder’s Bottom. Dan swung himself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door with a force that echoed down Lavender Hill and caused Mr Took to look up from weeding his lawn. That’s how loud it was.

  What was she going to say to him anyway? Did he really want to hear that she was leaving tomorrow? What did she expect him to do? Did she think he was going to prostrate himself at her feet and beg her to stay in Great Brayford? No, she didn’t think so. Was that what she wanted? Probably.

  A frown creased Rose’s forehead. Did she have the nerve to confront what had been happening in their lives – the bit before Gardenia went and Hugh arrived? Could she admit to him her true feelings? Whatever they were. Could she even admit them to herself? And what about the longings that kept her awake when she should have been fast asleep? Could she confess those to Dan? Somehow, she doubted it.

  The Discovery reversed out of the drive in an angry shower of gravel. Perhaps this wasn’t the best day to clear the air between them. But then, if it wasn’t today, there might not be another chance. With a surge of decisiveness Rose started to sprint up Lavender Hill at a pace that the Bionic Woman would have been proud of. ‘Dan,’ she shouted, her voice carrying away on the wind. ‘Dan!’

  There was a crunching of gears and a flashing of brake lights. Fluffy looked out of the rear window and barked, wagging his tail enthusiastically. Surely Dan would see her now. ‘Dan!’ she cried again.

  The Discovery paused momentarily and Fluffy barked some more.

  ‘Dan, wait!’

  As she neared the back of the car, gasping hot air into her lungs, Dan pressed his foot on the accelerator and with a spin of wheels straight out of The Sweeney he sped away. Rose ground to a halt, her arm in the air silently hailing him. There was no discernible slowing down of the Discovery. Typical man! They never use their rearview mirrors except for admiring their hair.

  There were black streaks on the road where he had left an impressive amount of his tyre behind. A stitch twinged painfully in her side and she dropped her hands to her hips with the full realisation that the Bionic Woman would never have felt like this in the same situation. There was, at the same time, another realisation. Just as full and considerably more painful than the stitch.

  Her breathing was returning to normal but her heart was thudding in her chest. It was like standing next to the speakers at an AC/DC concert. This was her last chance. Tomorrow she would be gone. ‘Dan,’ she shouted breathlessly. ‘I love you, you stupid bastard!’

  Rose watched bleakly as, at the top of the hill, the Discovery turned towards Woburn Woods with a screech of tyre and brakes. Rose stamped her foot and shook her fist after him. ‘You stupid, stupid, stupid bastard!’ she cried, kicking the brick gatepost that bore the wroughtiron sign entwined with pink roses that said Builder’s Bottom. ‘I LOVE YOU!’ she shouted again.

  She ran her hands over her face and tugged at her hair in sheer frustration before kicking the gatepost again. ‘I love you,’ she said to herself.

  She turned and saw the startled face of Mr Took peering nervously over his garden wall. He had ceased weeding his lawn and stood with his mouth open.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said with dignity. ‘It’s a nice day for it, isn’t it?’

  Mr Took’s mouth gaped a little wider, but no audible sound came out. With her chin held high and her back rigid, Rose marched stiffly down Lavender Hill, each footstep taking her further away from Builder’s Bottom.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Rose unlocked the door of Rose Cottage and pushed it open. After two months without use, the door groaned in protest. Everything was all right in the house, generally – if you didn’t mind scaling the mountain of junk mail behind the door. There was a slightly damp, musty smell from lack of use, but that would soon go once the new owners got the windows open and some fresh air flowing through.

  She wandered through the rooms and let her hand trail fondly along the familiar walls. Her treatment room still smelled of essential oils. Ghosts of lavender, marjoram, black pepper, ginger, lemon, geranium lingered in the walls and the carpet. They would never get rid of that smell, and she hoped they wouldn’t want to.

  The fireplace was still only half-finished. You could never rely on British workmen these days and Dan had been no exception. Perhaps the new owners would have better luck. Rose looked up at the leaded windows and the tendrils of ivy that curled over the bricks and her heart twisted with sorrow. She would miss this place.

  ‘It’s only me!’ Melissa’s voice drifted through from the hall.

  ‘In here,’ Rose shouted.

  Her friend popped her head round the door. ‘I saw your car.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Come for a final look?’

  Rose nodded, unable to coax her voice to say yes.

  Melissa waddled into the room. She had abandoned her usual leggings and Lycra in favour of a voluminous flowery dress with a white lacy collar and a fussy little bow.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Rose cried delightedly. ‘You look like you’ve just walked straight out of Laura Ashley.’

  ‘I’m going to make Frank a daddy!’

  ‘That’s great news!’ She was genuinely thrilled for her friend, who she was sure would make a wonderful mother. Melissa was a natural earthy person, the sort that wouldn’t care if the baby peed and puked all over her.

  ‘I haven’t got much of a bump yet, I just like wearing the floaty frocks,’ she confessed with a blush.

  ‘I’m so pleased for you!’

  ‘Thanks.’ Melissa’s flush deepened.

  ‘What else have I missed?’ Rose asked.

  Melissa shook her head. ‘Nothing much. You know this place.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘The new people seem nice,’ she said. ‘Mr Patel’s vetted them already. He’s a bank manager. She’s a teacher.’

  ‘So much more respectable than a dodgy aromatherapist!’

  Melissa gave her a rueful glance. ‘They should fit in well.’

  ‘Good,’ Rose said without enthusiasm.

  Mel wrinkled her nose. ‘I wish you’d come back.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Rose’s voice wavered. ‘You know that. Too much has happened. Too much has been said.’

  ‘Lock up here and come to the pub,’ Melissa urged. ‘It’s no good dwelling on things now. We can call into the new village hall on the way and you can admire Dan’s handiwork.’

  Rose’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Oh hell,’ Melissa cursed. ‘That was completely thoughtless. I’m such a silly cow.’

  Rose laughed and sniffed back her tears. ‘No, you’re right. What’s done is done. We’ll have a look at the village hall and then you can b
uy me a brandy.’

  Melissa’s eyes widened with surprise.

  ‘That is what you give someone when they’re suffering from trauma, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, Rose!’ Melissa came to her and put her arms round her.

  Rose slipped from her grasp and held her hand up. ‘Don’t, Mel. I’m just about holding this all together. One tiny little shove and I’ll be over the edge.’

  ‘Come on.’ Melissa pulled her arm. ‘We can’t have you going all maudlin on your last day in the village.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Rose smiled weakly.

  ‘I may not be able to join you in a brandy,’ she patted her stomach tenderly, ‘but I can have an orange juice with you while you get suitably drunk.’

  Where the old village hall had once been there was a great swath of mud, in the middle of which stood a small, attractive building with proper walls and a roof that didn’t look in imminent danger of caving in. A neat little path led up to the front door. Presumably the new village hall. Rose had to admit that it was very smart. Compared to the old one, it was a veritable palace. Next to it was a taller building with French windows and neat wrought-iron balconies, but as yet only a lattice of timbers where the roof would eventually be. Definitely Dan’s retirement flats. She gave a surreptitious glance towards the site, but there was no sign of him.

  Melissa started up the path ahead of Rose and pushed the door open. The curtains were closed and it was dark inside.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Melissa said. ‘There’s a light switch here somewhere.’

  There was a click and the hall flooded with light.

  A shout went up. ‘Surprise! Surprise!’

  Rose blinked her eyes to adjust to the brightness. The room was filled with balloons and streamers. Beneath them stood a party of villagers, twenty or more, headed by Angelica, Basil and Anise.

  ‘Surprise, surprise,’ Mel whispered in her ear.

  Rose struggled to control the tears that sprang to her eyes. ‘I can’t move, Mel,’ she hissed.

  Melissa took her arm. ‘Don’t be a wimp,’ she said and urged her forward.

  ‘My dear, how lovely to see you again.’ Angelica grasped her in a warm embrace. ‘We have missed you so.’

  Rose brushed away her tears. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘There’s no need to say anything.’ She squeezed her tightly. ‘Is there, Anise?’

  Anise shook her head vigorously. She was leaning on a walking stick but was looking considerably more robust than when Rose last saw her. Just like her old self, in fact. Rose wasn’t sure whether that was something to rejoice in or not. ‘No,’ Anise said gruffly. ‘Why don’t you come and have a piece of this lovely cake, my dear?’

  Rose turned and looked at Melissa.

  ‘My dear?’ she mouthed.

  Melissa shrugged.

  ‘Melissa has baked it especially for you,’ Anise continued.

  Rose turned and looked at Melissa again, who stared impassively back.

  ‘She’s quite a rising star at the WI cake stall,’ Anise said proudly.

  ‘You’re baking cakes for the WI?’ Rose whispered to her friend.

  ‘Don’t ask!’ Melissa whispered back, narrowing her eyes.

  ‘I think you should cut it!’ Angelica enthused, passing the knife to Rose.

  ‘This isn’t a wedding, Angelica,’ Anise tutted. ‘You’re spending far too much time with your nose in Brides magazine. I’m perfectly capable of cutting a slice of cake.’

  ‘I think Angelica is right,’ Basil interjected. ‘Rose is our honoured guest. It would be nice if she cut the cake.’

  ‘All right, Basil,’ Anise muttered, shuffling out of the way.

  Rose was ushered forward and they all gathered round as she eased the knife effortlessly through the icing. Mrs Took swept forward and with a shy smile started to put the cake on to plates.

  ‘Ten out of ten, Mel,’ Rose said as she surveyed her piece of light, golden, sponge cake. ‘Either your baking has improved or this is a Mary O’Hoorahan’s chocolate frenzy gone seriously wrong.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve guessed,’ Melissa tutted. ‘I buy my cakes from a little bakery in Leighton Buzzard.’ She gave Rose a wry smile. ‘No one’s any the wiser.’

  ‘You do sail close to the wind sometimes, Mel.’

  ‘Only where cakes are concerned these days,’ she said enigmatically.

  Reg had provided a bar and was dishing out plastic cups of punch. Rose swallowed hard as she remembered the last social occasion at the old village hall. It was the night of the Viking supper when things had started to go horribly wrong. Her eyes roved over the party of villagers. They were all there – with one notable exception.

  ‘We did ask him, dear.’ Angelica had sidled up next to her.

  ‘Who?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘I thought you were looking for Dan.’

  ‘No, no, no!’

  Angelica met her eyes.

  Rose lowered her lashes sadly. ‘Well,’ she admitted, ‘I did think there was an outside chance he might be here.’ She looked at Angelica again. ‘A very outside chance.’

  ‘He’s extremely busy.’ Angelica touched her arm gently. ‘But he did send his good wishes.’

  Rose snorted miserably. ‘I suppose I should be thankful for that.’

  ‘It’s not over yet,’ Angelica advised. ‘Swallow your pride, go to the site – it’s only next door – and apologise.’

  ‘He wouldn’t listen.’ Rose could feel her throat tightening.

  ‘Try!’ Angelica insisted. ‘Don’t get to my ripe old age and be sitting there churned up with resentment in your rocking chair regretting that you didn’t try.’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘I do!’ Angelica insisted. ‘One other thing about this age is that I didn’t get here without learning a thing or two.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Rose promised half-heartedly.

  Anise limped towards them. She coughed delicately. ‘I just wanted to thank you, my dear,’ she said. ‘For leaving that little bottle of oil for me. I’ve just started to use it and it’s been absolutely marvellous.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rose said, teetering on the verge of being rendered speechless.

  ‘It’s a shame that you’re leaving us.’ Anise lowered her head. ‘I could do with a spot of that aromatherapy. I think it would be just the thing to get my leg in shape.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rose’s brain replied – she wasn’t altogether sure it came out of her mouth.

  The villagers gathered round her again.

  ‘We hope you’ve enjoyed your little farewell party.’ Anise was clearly struggling to control her voice and Rose felt on the verge of tears again. ‘We didn’t have much time to say goodbye to you properly before you left.’

  Cake had lodged in Rose’s throat and was refusing to go down, but at least she knew she couldn’t blame it on Melissa’s baking.

  ‘We hope you’ll accept this little token of our good wishes.’ Anise handed her a small, neatly wrapped package. ‘We persuaded one of our more talented members of the WI to fashion it for you. Hopefully, it will remind you of the good times you had in Great Brayford.’

  Rose detected an apologetic note in Anise’s voice. ‘Shall I open it now?’ she asked, biting on her quivering lip.

  They all nodded. She fumbled with the packaging and layers of tissue, until eventually she was able to withdraw its contents.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rose said, genuinely moved.

  It was the most beautiful and most perfect thing she had ever seen. She nestled the miniature ceramic replica of Rose Cottage in her palm. Her eyes misted over. It was beautiful, and she had never felt so sad in her life. Was this tiny china memento all that she was going to have to remember her time here by? As Angelica had said, would she look at it on her mantelpiece in years to come and regret that she had not tried harder?

  She looked round at the friendly faces beaming beatifically at her. And why had th
e villagers chosen now to turn from the Amityville Horror into a Doris Day movie? It was going to make it harder than ever to leave.

  ‘Thank you,’ she stammered. ‘It really is lovely.’

  ‘And so are you, my dear,’ said Basil, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Now, let’s charge our plastic cups and have a toast.’

  There was a flurry of punch pouring. ‘To Rose!’ Basil suggested.

  ‘To Rose,’ they all echoed.

  She looked at their smiling faces and had never felt so sad or so alone in all her life. The one person in all the world that she would have wanted to be here had failed her. He was too busy, was he? She would see about that.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  LOST LOVE CURE

  Chamomile Roman, Lime, Neroli.

  There is nothing so guaranteed to bring a deep and abiding sense of unhappiness as parting from a lover. This can be particularly difficult to overcome if we see our own culpability as the reason for the failure of the relationship. This exquisite blend can wrap its arms round you, cushioning you against the storm and filling the void that the loss of your loved one has left.

  from: The Complete Encyclopaedia of Aromatherapy Oils by Jessamine Lovage

  It should be called ‘Raining June’ not ‘Flaming June’, Rose thought as she ducked out of the village hall. When had there last been a June that flamed? They always seemed to be wet soggy affairs.

  The last time she had spoken to Dan it had been raining. It was the day Gardenia had left and Hugh had arrived. Even though it was over two months ago, the memory was still as fresh – or more accurately raw – as if it had happened yesterday.

  Rose put up her umbrella and walked briskly towards the building site. It was a biting cold day and she was inappropriately dressed. She was wearing beige suede loafers, faded jeans, a white shirt and a navy wool jacket. The sort of outfit she had sneered at Gardenia for wearing. But then perhaps that was the effect she wanted to create. It was pathetic. She didn’t want Dan to think she was desperate, did she? Unfortunately, as well as being pathetic, it also meant she was freezing cold. She hadn’t had nearly enough of Reg’s punch to be feeling warm, or even courageous.