by Anna Cheska
‘We was wondering if you’d had second thoughts?’ He looked her up and down in that way.
Estelle returned the compliment, scanning the purple-patterned tie, allowing her eyes to linger on the fat belly with an expression that was – she hoped – even stronger than distaste. ‘About what?’
‘Your lease.’ He exhaled loudly. ‘We can’t help noticing you don’t exactly get ’em flocking in, and we need the extra space, see?’
Bloody cheek. For a moment, Estelle almost forgot the spider. ‘We deal in quality,’ she said, her voice dangerously low. ‘We don’t need to have people flocking in.’
‘So you don’t have a money problem in the world, then?’ he sneered. ‘You always pay your bills on time, you’re not even in arrears with the rent?’
Estelle stared at him. What did he know? And more to the point, how did he know?
‘Hypothetically speaking, of course.’ Terry’s pale eyes widened into innocence and he spread his arms wide.
Enough. Estelle had had more than enough. ‘I prefer plain speaking to hypotheticals,’ she said. ‘And I don’t like whatever little game you’re playing. If you think you can come here –’
‘Now, now.’ Terry held up a fat, warning finger. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions, young lady. That could be dangerous for all concerned.’
Bloody dangerous, Estelle thought. For you. She might not be able to cope with a spider, but there was no way on earth this man and his obnoxious partner would get the better of her and Suzi.
‘And by the way…’
‘Yes?’
‘Would you take an offer on the car?’
‘Car?’ She followed his gaze – to the windscreen of her Mini Mayfair parked outside. ‘What the hell…?’
‘Things must be bad.’ Terry, damn him, was grinning all over his pouchy face. ‘If you even have to sell your transport, love.’
‘I have no intention of selling my transport.’ And she most certainly was not his love. With that, Estelle stalked out to the car, ripped off the ‘For Sale’ notice from the windscreen. £500 she read. A BARGAIN. Hah bloody hah. It didn’t want to come loose. She tore at it. Some bastard had stuck it on.
‘Surgical spirit,’ Terry said helpfully, as he passed her. ‘That’ll shift anything.’
She ignored him.
‘Kids, probably,’ he added.
Estelle thought of the flat tyre. Kids? She went back inside the shop. The spider was still there. Independence be damned. Who could she phone for insect rescue? And more to the point, what the hell was she going to do about Stan and Terry, and how were she and Suzi supposed to pay this month’s rent?
Chapter 13
Suzi was conscious of a wave of sadness as Josh parked the battered white van outside Secrets In The Attic.
The morning had begun with him giving her lessons on how to approach the car booters. God, she’d thought, he made them sound like a breed apart. She’d learned how not to alienate or crowd them, but to pinpoint bargains as they were unloading, and snap them up before anyone else had a chance to do so. According to Josh Willis, it was an art. It sounded like manipulation to Suzi, at the very least.
‘They’re a load of vultures,’ she said, hanging back as the dealers flocked en masse to the contents of a promising-looking blue transit.
She watched as Josh eased his way through, chatting laconically, hands thrust casually in the pockets of his jeans as if buying stock were the last thing on his mind. And she smiled as he emerged with an old Brownie camera.
‘Collector’s item,’ he said. ‘The guy just wanted to talk photography for a moment or two.’
‘And you were happy to oblige.’ Suzi took it from him and examined it with interest. ‘Being the opportunist that you are.’
He grinned and took her arm, leading her towards the next car-load, already parking up. ‘At least I’ll go home with something to show,’ he said. ‘Unlike you.’
Suzi shrugged. To be honest, she wasn’t bothered if she went home with nothing. If Estelle had her way, they would soon be running a jewellery store, and decent jewellery was scarce in car boots.
‘You’re not pushy enough to be an antique dealer,’ he teased.
‘Good.’ Suzi was conscious of his firm grip on her arm. She looked down at his hand, seeing again the fine sandy hairs, observing the shape of his fingers, the square cut of his nails.
But despite herself, Suzi had been unable to resist – getting into the swing of things, joining in the chit-chat, pulling out her purse. And by the time Josh took her off at midday for a big breakfast at a local café on Charmouth beach, she’d acquired a few small bits of 40s and 50s bric-à-brac, and several pieces of jewellery that were not made of plastic or glass and that could, Josh assured her, be easily sold on for a profit. It had not been a wasted morning. In fact, she’d had a great time.
When they got back to the van, parked up the hill, Josh had pointed along the granite cliff pathway. ‘Fancy a stroll?’ He had taken off his flying jacket and slung it over one shoulder.
Suzi knew she should be getting back, she knew there was no reason in the world why she should linger on the cliff, the beach or anywhere else with this man, and she didn’t see the logic in walking up a steep hill and getting tired and out of breath, when you just had to come back down again. A stroll indeed …
And yet she found herself wanting to prolong the day. Over breakfast they had discussed antiques, the countryside and ways of keeping fit. (Suzi’s take on that one was that she knew she must exercise, and she did exercise – playing tennis and swimming in the sea being her two virtues in that department – but she had to spend a long time psyching herself up for any of it. Far easier, she’d always thought, to curl up with a good novel, far too tempting to just potter in the garden instead.)
She now knew that Josh liked animals, organic vegetables and travelling. But Suzi was curious. She wanted to know more about what really made Josh Willis tick. The personal stuff like – did he have a significant other? How many significant others had he had in the past? And family background – brothers, sisters, children…? If she stuck around, there was more chance of finding out, she decided. And besides, the best thing to do after a fry-up, was walk it off. So, ‘Why not?’ she said, and they’d set off for the path that led towards Lyme.
As they trudged uphill, Suzi broke the silence. ‘Tell me about yourself.’ The direct approach seemed to work best with this man, and you couldn’t get much more direct than that.
He didn’t respond with the predictable, what d’you want to know, but instead gave her a rundown. ‘Brought up in Hammersmith, parents working class, one older brother. Hated school, left when I was fifteen, travelled round Europe.’ He spoke in staccato phrases, and she could tell that his breathing – like hers – was becoming more shallow with the effort of the climb. She hoped her legs would hold out.
‘Why did you hate school?’ she asked him.
‘Because school was a big London comprehensive,’ he said. ‘Where the priority’s staying alive.’
Enough said. Suzi surveyed the bulk of him as he negotiated the cliff path beside her. He was surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man. She remembered the moment of close proximity in Secrets In The Attic’s tiny kitchen and shivered. ‘Don’t tell me you were bullied. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have problems in that direction.’
He grinned. ‘I was a late developer. And shy.’
‘Shy?’ She laughed out loud. Red hair did not go with shy. And she didn’t think she’d ever met anyone with such an air of confidence.
‘Believe me, I was.’
Suzi stumbled on the rocky path and with a complete lack of self-consciousness, he stopped and tucked her arm through his. She hesitated for a moment, but he obviously meant nothing by it, so she relaxed into his rhythm and they continued in step, breath coming even harder now. Suzi felt her calf muscles waking up, as they stretched to adjust. She could smell the leather of his jacket, mixing with the
scents of the gorse, the sharp salty tang of the sea below and the damp earth on the path underfoot.
‘So after you travelled around Europe, you became an antique dealer?’ she asked as they paused at a gap in the hedgerow to survey the view below.
He let go of her arm and she moved a short pace away. Charmouth beach stretched out behind them, a strip of sand and fine shingle, a few pin-men walking over the bridge that crossed the river Char, the car park almost a quarter full with day trippers, Suzi supposed, a lot of them probably hopeful fossil-hunters. The sky was clear and despite the wind, it was warm. Suzi lifted her face to the sun. It had turned into another glorious spring afternoon.
‘Nope.’ He moved closer to the edge, looking down at the almost vertical drop, until she wanted to grab him and yank him back to safety. ‘I came to antiques pretty late in life. It’s the open spaces that have always appealed to me.’
How old was he, Suzi wondered. Late forties? About ten years older than she? ‘Me too,’ she said dreamily. ‘Open air and freedom. Wide spaces. Landscape.’
He stared at her. ‘You feel like that too?’
She nodded. Though she’d never really thought about it that way before.
‘So what did you do before that?’ she asked him, pretty astounded at her own boldness.
But he didn’t seem to mind all the questions. He thought for a moment, still looking down, as if for inspiration. ‘Barman, builder, landscape gardener. Anything that came along.’
He moved back towards the path and Suzi followed. As she’d thought, an opportunist.
‘Anything that didn’t tie you down?’ she guessed. She had half-expected him to take her arm again, but he showed no inclination to do so. And why should he? She was capable of negotiating the path for herself, they were no longer climbing in any case, since the path had levelled out (thank goodness) and of course they hardly knew one another. She also sensed that he enjoyed walking alone. His stride was long, the stride of a loner, and something in the grey-green eyes as they flickered to take in the occasional snatches of seascape below, told her that he would be wary of anything – or anyone – that might restrict his freedom.
‘If you like.’ He wasn’t giving much away. ‘I’m not married if that’s what you’re asking. No live-in lover, though I’ve had my share in the past. No children.’ He turned to look at her. ‘You?’
Suzi hesitated. Thought of Michael as she’d thought of Michael several times during the day. She had told Josh she wasn’t married. But, ‘There is someone,’ she said.
Josh Willis only grinned his cat’s grin. ‘There’s always someone.’
* * *
Now, Suzi was sorry that the day was over, that any moment Josh Willis would be driving off in his van bound for home – wherever that was, and then for Germany. Would she ever see him again? She didn’t like the thought that she might not, felt certain that she should have said something, anything, to forge some link of friendship between them. She liked the man. She appreciated his confident, laid-back, see-what-tomorrow-brings attitude to life. And that was all, she told herself firmly, that it was.
Next door, Stan was pasting up GRAND SALE notices. ‘Good grief,’ Suzi said. ‘Now they’re even cutting the price of the bargains.’
‘A stunt.’ Josh dismissed this with a wave of one hand. ‘Maybe you should pull a stunt of your own.’
‘Like what?’ Suzi felt more gloomy then ever. She wasn’t sure she was up to stunts. Stunts sounded far too exhausting.
Josh seemed thoughtful. He pulled at the short beard, peppered with strands of gold, copper and white. ‘How about doing an antiques roadshow?’ he said, holding her bag so she could open the shop door. ‘That would bring the punters in.’
‘Antiques roadshow? Like on TV?’ Immediately, Suzi could picture it. People from Pridehaven and beyond queuing up to have their attic secrets held, examined, valued by the experts. Queuing? Who was she kidding?
‘Yeah. Why not?’
Well, there was an obvious problem. ‘We don’t have a resident expert,’ she pointed out, turning the key in the lock. Estelle had learned a lot in the short time they’d been running the business – but hardly enough to be an authority.
‘Don’t look at me.’ He followed her inside, having to duck to avoid the dream-catcher whose feathers brushed at the top of his head. ‘I’m self-taught by a combination of Miller’s Guide and the dealers on the circuit.’
Suzi didn’t believe this for a minute. ‘I bet you could do it,’ she said. ‘Especially if you had me and Estelle backing you up. Making tea, disappearing to look things up for you, that sort of thing.’ And Estelle could surely do the jewellery and smaller pieces.
He still looked doubtful, but Suzi was fired up with the idea by now. ‘You could waffle, at least.’
His eyes widened in mock horror. ‘I thought honesty was your policy in this place.’
‘Waffle is what happens when honesty goes off at a tangent.’
They both laughed. ‘We’ll have to talk about it,’ he compromised, handing back her bag.
That was enough for Suzi. ‘Now, over a cup of tea?’ Perhaps it was crazy, but she didn’t want to see that white van driving away – not yet at least. And if a stunt like that would help save the shop, then it was her duty to get it organised pronto.
‘I’ve just made a pot if you’re interested.’ From the back of the shop, Estelle’s dark red head peered around the doorway. She eyed Josh with undisguised curiosity. ‘And I hope you haven’t bought any more furniture, Suzi, because we’ve got too much in this place already.’ She sighed. ‘If only we could get rid of some of it.’
Suzi ignored Josh’s raised eyebrows. So, she had lied. She’d had her reasons, but she could hardly backtrack now and say that yes, they’d love him to buy some of their stock, and that she’d only changed her mind before because she’d thought he was working with Stan and Terry, aiding and abetting them in some dastardly plan to ruin Secrets In The Attic. Never mind the cheap melodrama. He’d think she was off her trolley.
‘So this is the partner who doesn’t want to sell the stock?’ Josh enquired. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Wondering quite how she was going to wriggle out of this one, Suzi mumbled, ‘Josh Willis, Estelle Howard.’ Maybe he was Estelle’s type. They were both red-heads, which gave them something in common, though Josh was more wild ginger mixed with crazy carrot and Estelle smooth auburn-mahogany.
Maybe if Josh had been walking on a cliff top with Estelle, he would have pulled her close to him, run his fingers through her mass of gorgeous mahogany-red hair and kissed her hungrily on the –. Goodness. Suzi stopped her imaginary scenario right there. What was she thinking of?
She gave herself a mental shake just as another figure emerged from behind Estelle. He’d obviously been up in the flat and had come to see where Estelle had got to. Oh, dear. ‘And this is Michael,’ Suzi said.
Chapter 14
The silence, as they walked down West Street towards Pride Square, could be cut, Suzi thought, with the proverbial. And it was nothing like the relaxed silence she’d experienced this morning – with another man, she thought guiltily. Other men and women carried on adulterous affairs for years without being found out. She wasn’t even married, only living with a man who’d invited himself into her life and yet she was found out at the very first boot sale. Typical. Though there was nothing, she reminded herself, to find out. But where, she wondered, had the day swept off to? And what had happened to her in the process?
She was aware of Michael’s angular, loping movements – beside her and yet miles from her – and it made a strange contrast to the easy rhythm of the man she’d been walking with on the cliff earlier this afternoon. It depended, she supposed, on whom you were in step with. And right now, she was not in step with Michael.
‘Michael?’ She glanced across at him. The wind had brushed the fine strands of fair hair away from the bony planes of his face.
His mouth was set into a tight line of suppressed anger and his brow was fixed in a frown. He was not, she realised, a happy man. Her fault.
‘So who’s that guy?’ he said, as they rounded the square, past the kids lounging on benches by the water fountain, smoking, drinking coke, chewing gum, talking in loud teenage vernacular on their mobiles. Sunday afternoon in Pridehaven, Suzi thought.
‘His name’s Josh Willis.’
Michael glared at her. ‘I don’t mean what’s his name. I know his bloody name, you introduced us. I mean, who is he?’ His stride lengthened and Suzi ran a few steps to keep pace. They passed the library, the town hall, the hippy and gift shops, all closed.
Who was he? Suzi sighed. ‘He might be taking some of Secrets’ furniture over to Germany for us.’ OK, so she wasn’t telling it how it was. But how was it, exactly? It was still a business relationship. Josh Willis had not given her any sign that they could ever be anything more than friends. Why should he? And why should she even be thinking about it?
‘But who is he?’ Michael swung down the path by the church that led through the graveyard and down to the riverbank. ‘How did you meet him for a start?’
Suzi followed. The flint walls of St Catherine’s were in shadow, the stained glass of the window dull and lifeless. Soon, she thought, after its parishioners had consumed their tea and toast, scones and crumpets, they would venture out once more. The evening service would begin and the church would light up again – with voices, brightness and a little hope.
‘He came into the shop.’ Suzi remembered her first sight of him, the business card placed on the counter, pushed towards her, the grey-green eyes, wild hair and short copper-red beard. The suggestion – heaven help her – of mutual benefit. ‘He’s an antique dealer. He had a business proposition to put to us, that’s all.’ It sounded, even to Suzi’s ears, extremely unlikely.