by Fiona Grace
“And to your neighbors?” Lacey quipped, as she was released finally from the woman’s bone-crushing hug.
“Better go with Gina.” The woman grabbed her hand and tugged her. “Now, come in! Come in! Come in! I’ll put the kettle on.”
Lacey had no choice but to be dragged inside the cottage. And though she didn’t realize it at the time, “I’ll put the kettle on,” would become a phrase she heard a lot.
“Can you believe it, Boo?” the woman said as she bustled down the low-ceilinged corridor. “A neighbor at last!”
Lacey followed and they emerged into a kitchen. It was about half the size of hers, with dark red tiled floors and a big central island taking up the vast majority of the space. On the side with the sink, a large window looked out onto a lawn filled with flowers, the ocean view of crashing waves behind it.
“Do you garden?” Lacey asked.
“I do. It’s my pride and joy. I grow all kinds of flowers and herbs for ailments. Like a witch doctor.” She cackled at her own assessment of herself. “Would you like to try one?” She gestured to a row of amber-colored glass bottles crammed together on a makeshift, wonky wooden shelf. “I’ve got cures for headaches, cramps, toothache, rheumatism…”
“Uh… I think I’ll stick with the tea,” Lacey replied.
“Tea it is!” the eccentric woman exclaimed. She clattered to the other side of the kitchen and took two mugs out of a cupboard. “What kind? English Breakfast? Assam? Earl Grey? Lady Gray?”
Lacey hadn’t realized there were so many types. She wondered what she’d drunk with Tom on their “date.” That had been delightful. Thinking of it now brought back the memory.
“Which is the traditional one?” Lacey replied, at a loss. “The one you’d have with scones?”
“That would be English Breakfast,” Gina said with an affirmative nod. She selected a tin from the cupboard, fished out two bags from inside it, and plonked them into the mismatched mugs. Then she filled the kettle and set it to boil, before turning back to Lacey with the sparkling eyes of genuine curiosity.
“So tell me,” Gina said. “How are you finding Wilfordshire?”
“I’ve been here before,” Lacey explained. “I came here on a vacation when I was a kid. I loved it then and wanted to know if it would feel just as magical a second time round.”
“And?”
Lacey thought of Tom. Of the store. Of Crag Cottage. Of all the memories of her father that had been stirred up like dust left undisturbed for twenty-odd years. A smile turned the corners of her lips upward. “Definitely.”
“And how did you end up in Crag Cottage?” Gina asked.
Lacey was about to explain the story of her chance meeting with Ivan in the Coach House, but the kettle was beginning to bubble loudly and her voice was drowned out. Gina held up a finger in a hold-that-thought kind of way, then went over to the kettle, Boudicca the Border Collie weaving herself around her legs as she went.
Gina poured steaming water into the mugs. “Milk?” she asked, looking over her shoulder with steamed up glasses.
Lacey recalled that Tom had given her a little pitcher of milk. “Please.”
“Sugar?”
“If that’s how you’re supposed to take it.”
Gina shrugged. “Well, that depends on the person. I do, but perhaps you’re already sweet enough?”
Lacey giggled. “If you take sugar, I’ll take it too.”
“Righteo,” Gina said. “One lump or two?”
Lacey’s eyes widened with astonishment. “I had no idea so much went into making a cup of tea!”
Gina laughed with a witch’s cackle. “It’s a whole art form, my dear! One lump is considered quite genteel. Two is far less sophisticated. Three? Well, over here, we call that a builder’s tea.” She pulled a face, then cackled again.
“A builder’s tea?” Lacey replied. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Gina finished making the tea, placing the squeezed bags on top of a mountain of other used bags sitting in a saucer next to the kettle, then brought them over to the rickety kitchen table. She sat down, plopped a sugar lump in Lacey’s tea, stirred it in, then pushed the cup over to Lacey.
Lacey took it gratefully and sipped. It tasted pretty close to the tea Tom had made her, slightly stronger with a bit of a tang to it, but enough to fill her with tingling reminiscence.
Boudicca lay down at Gina’s feet and wagged her tail happily.
“So, you were telling me about how you ended up in Wilfordshire,” Gina prompted, bringing their conversation back to the point it had been before they’d been rudely interrupted by the kettle.
“Divorce,” Lacey said. May as well rip the Band-Aid off.
“Oh, darling,” Gina said, patting her hand tenderly. “I had one of those, too. Terrible times. But it was back in the nineties, mind you, so I’ve had plenty of time to process it.”
“You never remarried?” Lacey asked, her eyes widening a little from the mental image of herself remaining single for the next thirty years, and turning into the next Gina.
“God, no! I was relieved, darling,” Gina said. “My husband was like every other man; an immature little boy wearing a suit. If you ask me, you’re better off out of it! What a load of shenanigans for nothing.”
Lacey couldn’t help but smile. “Did you have kids?”
“Just one, a son,” Gina said, sighing deeply. “He chose to go the military route. Sadly we lost him during active duty.”
Lacey gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Gina let out a mournful smile. “He was a cracking lad.” Then she brightened. “But enough of that. How’s your tea? Not quite what you’re used to in the good old US of A?”
“It’s delicious,” Lacey said, taking another sip. “Comforting. I don’t think I’m genteel though.” She added a second sugar lump. “That’s better.”
Now it tasted just like the way Tom had made it. Lacey felt herself smile inwardly, wondering when the next chance would come for them to meet again.
“How long are you renting Ivan’s cottage then?” Gina asked.
“Open ended at the moment,” Lacey explained. “I’m opening a store in town. An antiques place.”
“Really?” Gina exclaimed. She had a very personable way about her, like she was genuinely interested in knowing more about this strange American woman who’d shown up on her doorstep.
Lacey nodded. “It’s an old dream of mine. My father had one when I was a kid. All the pieces sort of fell into place.”
“That’s the Universe, that is,” Gina said. “Telling you what’s what. Telling you you’re right where you’re meant to be.”
Lacey smiled. She liked that idea.
“Where are you going to get your stock from?” Gina asked.
“I dealt a lot in antiques with my old interior designer firm,” Lacey explained. “I’ve got a list of stores and contacts in the UK as long as my arm. All I need is a car, then I’ll be cruising around the country and building up my stock list and specialty. I’m going to take an interior design angle, of course, since it’s what I know.”
Gina raised an eyebrow. “Did I hear that right? You’re planning on buying from underneath your old company’s nose?”
Lacey laughed. “It’s not like that! Saskia had antiques contacts who could source her very specific items—certain vases, certain artwork, furniture pieces—all to fit in with her specific vision. I’m more interested in stocking items I love, cohesive pieces that the customer can put together on their own accord. Besides, I dealt with all of them personally. My old boss was such a dragon, she doesn’t even know half of them by name. I think of them all as my own.” She laughed again, this time with excitement at the thought of visiting them all in person, telling them her news of how she was now going alone. Even if her family were reticent, she knew most of the people in the business would be thrilled for her. None of them liked Saskia one bit!
Gina looked impressed. “If you ever want a
companion on one of your London trips, I’d love to come. It’s been a long time since I saw the city.”
Lacey couldn’t quite picture this Raggedy Ann–style woman in her patchwork clothing walking the streets of Mayfair. But she enjoyed her company, and having someone by her side was always nice.
“I’d like that,” she said, smiling. “I’m going to the used car lot out of town tomorrow, then I’ll be heading to London right away. Want to come?”
“I’d love to!” Gina said, looking thrilled.
“Then it’s a date,” Lacey replied.
“Now, drink up,” Gina exclaimed. “I have to introduce you to the sheep.”
Lacey couldn’t help but laugh as she drained her tea and then followed the woman, who was already bustling toward the door. She really liked Gina and her carefree perspective on life and had the feeling they were going to get along famously.
*
Tea turned into drinks. Before Lacey knew it, it was the middle of the night.
“I’d better get to bed,” she said, hurriedly, when she realized the time. “I have a lot to organize tomorrow. Pick you up at noon?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Gina replied.
Lacey left and returned back home, her head spinning a little from all the booze she’d consumed with the delightful Gina. She’d made a friend in the old woman, she was sure of it.
As she flopped into bed, Lacey heard her cell ping. To her surprise, it was an email from David.
She sat bolt upright, rubbing her eyes as if in disbelief. She hadn’t had any direct contact with David since he stormed out of their apartment and slammed the door in her face.
Hands trembling slightly, she opened the message.
Lacey, it’s come to my attention that you have fled the country and quit your job. I’m under no illusion that this is a childish attempt on your part to avoid paying spousal support. Please be aware that you will soon be hearing from my lawyer.
Lacey rolled her eyes and fell back into bed, falling into an exhausted, boozy sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Ta-da,” Lacey said, placing down an orange glass vase in what she affectionately nick-named “Nordic Corner.” She flopped down, exhausted, into the vintage 1960s Icelandic-designed armchair and rested her feet on the matching pouf. With a feeling of mounting pride, Lacey looked all around her. The store was so beautiful it looked like it belonged on the center page spread of an interior design magazine. The shelves were filled with gorgeous porcelain vases and delicate floral chinaware. It was a real achievement, how she’d transformed the store in such a short amount of time, especially considering that just a week earlier she’d not even known she wanted to run a shop! And now here she was, ready to open her doors to the public.
The last week had whizzed by for Lacey, filled with day trips up to London with Gina and Boudicca lasting from first light until whatever hour the stores closed—which in London, could be as late as eight p.m. They’d load themselves into the champagne-colored Volvo Lacey had purchased from a used-car lot (a stick-shift, which took some acclimatizing to, as did the whole driving on the left-hand side of the road thing, and the general London traffic jams), then drive up to London. There, they’d meet with one of Saskia’s antiques-selling contacts (who, as Lacey had suspected, despised Saskia due to her habit of withholding invoice payments, and were thus extremely encouraging of Lacey’s solo new business venture). Then they’d spend the day finding the best bargains, valuing them, purchasing them, and inventorying them. It didn’t even feel like work; the whole process reminded Lacey of being a child in her father’s store.
Now, seven days later, Lacey had filled the store to the brim.
From her position in the armchair, Lacey looked around at the store, filled with pride. She’d really transformed the place. The only thing that remained from the original store was the antique brass light fixture that had been there when Lacey first arrived, one she’d valued and discovered was indeed expensive and rare. The original tenants either must not have realized how valuable it was, or they’d left in such a hurry they’d forgotten to take it with them. Either way, it was perfectly suited for her store, and so it remained in pride of place.
With every shelf full and everything beautifully presented, Lacey took out her cell phone and snapped a final picture for the family Bishop Girlz thread.
She’d been sending pictures throughout the process, and though Mom had become somewhat supportive during the transformation, Naomi was still giving Lacey the digital equivalent of the cold shoulder. If it weren’t for Naomi killing her buzz, Lacey probably would’ve felt a bit less trepidation about how the community would receive her new store. She still didn’t know if Wilfordshire really wanted an antiques store, but she knew it fit perfectly nestled amongst the boutique clothing stores and delicatessens.
She headed toward the glass door—which she’d cleaned to sparkling perfection—and spun the closed sign to open. Then she clicked the lock and pulled the door wide open. She was officially open for business.
She stood in the doorway, looking out at the streets at the passersby. No one even looked her way. Obviously, she had not expected a stampede of customers the second she was open for business, but it still felt like a bit of a letdown to watch people walk by without paying her any heed.
She was about to head back inside when she noticed movement from across the street. Tom had come to the door of his patisserie, and he was watching her, arms folded across his white chef’s apron, a big grin plastered across his face. Heart fluttering, Lacey met his eye and returned the smile. Despite the street between them, they held one another’s gaze, and Lacey started to feel like the real world was melting away.
A sudden loud clatter coming from the back garden tore Lacey away from the moment. She broke the spell-binding gaze with Tom and hurried inside, through the main room, through the soon-to-be auction hall, and out into the garden.
She’d tried her best to keep the garden neat during the previous week, but she didn’t exactly have a green thumb and it was starting to look a little worse for wear. The last thing Lacey wanted was her garden to turn out looking like the dreadful Taryn’s, so decided she’d ask Gina whether she wanted to take on the project. Inject her magic into it.
Just then, Lacey saw the source of the loud bang. Her garbage cans were lying on their sides, the trash from inside spilling onto the lawn.
“Damn foxes,” Lacey said as she went over to tidy them up.
There were lots of foxes in England, she’d discovered; looting through trash, scaring pet cats, making horrible barking noises like something from a horror movie.
But as she righted the cans and began to pick up the trash, she heard the unmistakable sound of a chuckle.
She stood, swirled on the spot, and just had time to catch the flash of light on glass as a door was closed with a click. The door was the back one of Taryn’s store.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lacey said with astonishment.
Had a grown woman really just snuck into her garden and shoved over her trash cans?
Lacey was furious, and as she scooped up a handful of moldy coffee grains, she heard the bell over the door tinkle.
A customer! Lacey thought with excitement, straightening up. Her gaze fell to the coffee grains all over her hands, and the stains on the knees of her pants. It took everything in Lacey not to curse aloud.
She hurried back inside, grabbing a tea towel from the little kitchenette to clean her hands on as she raced back into the main room. But there was no one there.
Frowning, Lacey looked around. Was Taryn playing another trick on her? What was wrong with that woman? She was more childish than Naomi!
Just then, Lacey heard a scrabbling noise.
“Hello?”
She peered over the counter. To her surprise, a dog was lying on the floor. It was an English Shepherd, a bit scrawny but otherwise healthy and handsome. It looked up at her and made a whiny noise, like a mou
rnful sort of greeting.
“Oh,” Lacey said, her heart twitching at the sight of the lovely creature. “Who are you then?”
She came round the counter. The dog seemed friendly enough, letting her approach it and pet it. Lacey peered out the window to see if anyone in the street had lost their dog, but there did not appear to be anyone searching for it.
“Come on,” she said to the creature. “Let’s see if we can find your owners.”
The dog immediately obeyed Lacey’s command, standing up beside her legs as if it had understood her every word.
“You’re a smart boy, aren’t you?” Lacey commented.
She opened the door and headed outside, the dog trotting obediently at her heels.
Looking around, Lacey saw no sign of any distressed owners searching for their missing pooch. With a frown, she decided to speak to Tom—maybe he saw something. But as she headed toward his patisserie, she felt her palms begin to grow clammy.
Pull yourself together, she told herself sternly.
Swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in the back of her throat, she entered the store, the dog at her heels.
Tom was in the middle of decorating a cake, using a piping bag to make bright pink roses out of frosting. Lacey was awed by his artistic talents, by the way he could create art with the twirl of his hand—edible art, no less!—and immediately forgot what she was here to do. It was only when Tom looked up—evidently sensing he was being watched—that Lacey snapped back to the moment and approached. She thought she saw a glint in his eye at the sight of her, but wasn’t sure if she was imagining it.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Wilfordshire’s newest antiques dealer,” he said, placing the piping bag down onto the worktop. His apron was stained with pink streaks of frosting. “I was wondering when you’d come in and introduce yourself. And you brought a friend…” His voice trailed away then and a frown suddenly appeared between his eyebrows. “Chester!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”