Then Arlo barked sharply, once, and the music stopped mid-chord. Raffy flung open the door.
‘Chloe, wait!’ he said urgently, and caught me in two long strides, drawing me back into the light and warmth of the room.
‘I…just brought you the Easter eggs,’ I said weakly, keeping my head bent. ‘I thought you might not have time to collect them.’
He took the basket and put it down on the nearest chair without letting go of my arm, as if afraid I might run out again into the night. Then he gently turned my face up to his and said softly, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘N-nothing, it’s just that song you were singing always made me cry, because the girl in it wasn’t me.’ I tried to smile. ‘Stupid, I know…and I haven’t done it for ages.’
‘But – it is about you,’ he said, looking astonished. ‘Of course it is! I wrote it when I thought I would never see you again. That whole Dead as My Love album is about you!’
‘Me?’ I laughed uncertainly. ‘No, I don’t think so!’
‘I can prove it. Look – sit there.’ He pushed me down onto the sofa and I watched as he went to a bookshelf that held a whole row of familiar, black-bound Moleskine notebooks, the sort he’d always used to jot his musical ideas down. He pulled one out and flicked through the pages. ‘Here we are,’ he said, coming back over and sitting next to me. ‘Read that!’
It was the rough outline of ‘Darker Past Midnight’, with its haunting words of loss and regret – only here, in this early draft, it was called ‘Song for Chloe’ and dated soon after we’d parted, just as he’d said.
‘I called it “Song for Chloe” first, but since the pain of missing you always seemed worse after midnight, I changed it…and why are you crying again?’
‘Because it was me, after all!’ I choked.
And then we were in each other’s arms and he was saying, between long, slow, lingering kisses, ‘I love you now even more than I did then, if that’s possible!’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, of course. Wasn’t it obvious that I couldn’t resist you in London, despite my best intentions?’
‘No, I thought you just felt guilty about it. And I seduced you, if I remember rightly…though I hadn’t let myself admit I still loved you until then.’
He smiled down at me wickedly. ‘I was more than ready to be seduced!’ he said, then kissed me again, and we had a blissful cuddle on the sofa until he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t drawn the curtain over the French door.
‘It’s still early and occasionally Effie or someone else will walk up that way to see me.’
When he came back he put his arms around me again but said, ‘Just as well we cool off a bit anyway, since this is as far as we go until you marry me – and I think that had better be really soon!’
‘Isn’t that a bit old-fashioned, not to mention an extreme case of shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted?’ I asked, snuggling back up to him again.
‘Maybe, but it feels right. I want the whole, traditional church wedding, with you walking up the aisle and Poppy as bridesmaid, though I can’t somehow see your grandfather giving you away. Perhaps Jake will do it?’
‘But Raffy,’ I said, dismayed, ‘I told you that was impossible in London, given our situation! Can’t we just make the most of what we’ve got?’
‘Things have changed quite a bit, but it would still upset some of my parishioners if I lived in sin with you,’ he pointed out. ‘And anyway,’ his square jaw hardened stubbornly, ‘I want to marry you – and in church. We’re not going to have a hole-and-corner affair.’
As evidence of this, he firmly removed my hands, which I had slipped under his soft chambray shirt, but he kissed them before he let them go.
‘Your bishop really wouldn’t like me,’ I said with a sigh.
‘I like you, that’s the main thing – and there’s the parable about the one lost sheep that was found,’ he reminded me. ‘Things have changed and I’m unlikely to be excommunicated for marrying the granddaughter of Gregory Warlock, though your grandfather might disown you.’
‘He might, though I’m never sure quite how Grumps will see things. He seems to quite like you.’
‘So long as he doesn’t try and insist on some kind of second pagan ceremony. That really might upset the bishop.’
‘There isn’t even going to be a first ceremony,’ I insisted. ‘It’s all impossible.’
‘I don’t feel anything is impossible any more. We’ll find a way around it. Come on, I’ll walk you back home.’ He got up and pulled me to my feet.
‘Are you sure? The village is probably buzzing with gossip about us going to London together already!’
‘Then a bit more won’t hurt, will it?’
Arlo, who had given up hope of the biscuits that often accompanied a visitor, was curled up asleep in the corner, but he woke when we got up and followed us out into the night, vaguely pleased at the idea of an extra walk.
‘I’ll come and help you with the Easter egg hunt on Sunday,’ I said as we crunched down the gravel, hand in hand.
‘And you could even come to one of the services?’ he suggested, adding with a smile, ‘I saw you at evening prayers.’
‘But I was behind the screen! How on earth did you know I was there?’
‘I always know when you’re around,’ he said simply. ‘Will you come?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ I promised.
As we turned into Angel Lane, he said, ‘By the way, Felix told me today that he was in love with Poppy, but he didn’t think she felt the same way about him and only saw him as a brother!’
‘She said much the same thing to me earlier, about Felix!’ I said, laughing. ‘Honestly, it must be obvious to everyone else that they’ve fallen in love! What did you say to him?’
‘That I could see that Poppy was in love with him, of course,’ he said. ‘I thought that at least he and Poppy would have a happy ending, even if I didn’t. But now I know that you love me too, I’m sure it’ll work out for all of us.’
And, despite being in full view of anyone who happened to be looking, he gave me a kiss and another rib-cracking hug.
‘But, Raffy…!’ I protested helplessly.
He grinned. ‘Love will find a way,’ he said, and strode off, Arlo at his heels.
Next morning, when I drifted into Grumps’ study on a cloud of pink, fluffy unfounded optimism, he handed me the final chapter of Satan’s Child, accompanied by a searching look. In return, I gave him his tea and two Oreo cookies.
‘You look glowing,’ he said. ‘That is surprising, considering what reception your father gave you in London. Zillah has told me about it…and about some other things she has read in the cards, though I find them hard to believe.’
‘Like what?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘An outcome that is unexpected, though perhaps, remembering that the festival of Eostre is upon us and the goddess might well take a hand in proceedings – maybe even already has – I should not have been so surprised.’
‘I can’t imagine what you’re talking about, Grumps!’
‘What are these?’ he demanded, looking at his saucer.
‘Oreo cookies.’
‘A strange combination of colours, and the outside looks like a dog biscuit,’ he said disapprovingly.
‘They don’t taste remotely like them, though,’ I assured him, and left him tentatively dipping one into his tea.
Zillah was disinclined to enlighten me about what she’d seen in the cards too. Although I’d told her about the meeting with my father yesterday I hadn’t, of course, shared what I’d got up to with Raffy while in London.
And now I said nothing about last night, partly because I wanted to hug our love to myself for a while longer, and partly because I still couldn’t see any way we were ever going to have a traditional, happy-ever-after resolution.
At least there were to be wedding bells for Poppy and Felix. Spurred on by Raffy’s advice, Felix had
driven out to Stirrups that very morning and, finding Poppy in the yard cleaning out Honeybun’s hoofs, had gone down on one knee and proposed.
‘Janey was so stunned she dropped her fag into the bale she was hefting and it caught fire,’ Felix said when they came to tell me about it.
‘Yes, we had to put it out with buckets, but after that she found a bottle of bubbly and we celebrated, though she drank most of it herself,’ Poppy said, then showed me her magnificent diamond solitaire ring.
‘I had some money put by from the sale of a first edition,’ Felix explained.
‘I’d better not wear it when I’m working!’
‘I think diamonds are pretty indestructible,’ I said. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased for you both!’
Felix had to tear himself away and go back to open the shop, but Poppy lingered long enough to wish I could be as happy as they were. So then I confessed that Raffy and I had discovered we did love each other, though for reasons that must be obvious it was a love that not only dared not speak its name, but couldn’t even have a secret affair.
‘I’m sure you’ll find a way round the difficulties, Chloe, and I don’t think there are any traditional vicar’s wives any more.’
‘That’s what Raffy says.’
‘There you are then,’ she said, beaming. ‘He’s a very alternative kind of vicar, and you would be an extremely alternative vicar’s wife!’
I no longer hid behind the curtains to watch Raffy and Arlo go by in the early morning, but instead brazenly smiled and waved at him. I didn’t expect him to stop, not with his current workload, but instead we texted each other all the time.
Poppy and Felix were going to the afternoon service on Good Friday, along with about half the parish from the sound of it, but I spent the day making Wishes and catching up with orders.
Just after lunch Kat’s parents dropped Jake off on their way back from the Lake District, together with about a ton of dirty washing and a backpack full of Kendal Mint Cake. It was lovely to have him back again, even if the cottage would smell like a laundry for the next two days.
He went to see Grumps and Zillah after lunch, then later we both helped them to put the final touches to the museum, ready for tomorrow morning’s grand opening ceremony, when Hebe Winter would cut the ribbon and the local press would capture the moment for posterity. Then, it being also the first day of the season for Winter’s End, she would have to dash back for that.
I would be opening Chocolate Wishes to the public in the afternoon for the first time too, so I was a bit nervous about that, though the shelves were stocked ready.
The museum looked wonderful – the glass-fronted cabinets were stuffed full of enticing treasures, masks grinned down from every wall, the desk gleamed, the display of Grumps’ novels added a bright note and his other books, pamphlets and postcards, together with a stack of my Chocolate Wishes and jars of treacle toffee cats, were invitingly arranged. The roll of tickets lay ready to hand and a float of small change was in the cash drawer.
We were ready.
When Jake and I went back to the cottage after a family dinner, I told him about Carr Blackstock turning out to be my very reluctant father, and that Raffy had taken me to London to see him – only to find that Zillah had got in with the information first.
‘I know all about it,’ he said, buttering a toasted hot cross bun to fill in the gaps that Zillah’s substantial, but slightly odd chicken Caesar salad and zabaglione hadn’t reached. ‘He sounded a total waste of space. I think I’m better off with my unknown Italian waiter for a father, because at least he looks cheerful and friendly in those holiday snaps Mum gave me.’
‘Yes, she did say he was a lot of fun,’ I agreed, though of course her definition of the word ‘fun’ was probably not the same as ours.
Then Jake said it had been kind of Raffy to drive me there and let me stay in his flat, and he hoped we’d managed to have a good time despite the dodgy session with Carr Blackstock.
‘Yes, we’re…friends again now,’ I said, blushing faintly.
‘So I’ve heard.’ He gave me a grin and popped yet another hot cross bun in the toaster, and I wondered exactly what Zillah had been telling him…?
We settled in with a DVD, while next door Grumps and his girls were celebrating the festival of Eostre with a crescendo of chanting and a pervasive, but not unpleasant, reek of incense.
My mind wasn’t on the film at all, because I was feeling as if I was sitting in the middle of a tug-of-war between two opposing religions, with my guardian angel as referee. While I’m sure Raffy is perfectly capable of accepting Grumps as a member of his family, and Grumps could probably reconcile himself to my marrying Raffy, how the Church would view it was another matter entirely.
The phone rang when I was in the kitchen making a drink and Jake picked it up. I thought it was Kat, because I could hear him talking away, but then he stuck his head through the kitchen door and said, ‘It’s Raffy – don’t make me a drink, I’m going round to talk to him. By the way,’ he added, grinning wickedly, ‘he asked me if he could marry you, and I told him that was fine by me, so long as he paid the bride price first.’
I threw an orange at him, which was the nearest object to hand, and he ducked and laughed annoyingly. ‘See you later!’
‘Jake Lyon, come back here!’ I yelled, but he was gone.
‘Raffy, are you still there?’ I asked, picking up the phone.
‘Yes, and I could hear what Jake was saying,’ he said, laughter in his voice. ‘I take it he’s on his way here now? He took the news pretty well, though he seems to have the dowry idea the wrong way round.’
‘There isn’t any news,’ I said weakly, ‘and I didn’t think Jake could surprise me any more after all these years, but evidently I was wrong. What on earth does he want?’
‘Nothing I can’t afford to give,’ he said mysteriously and refused to say more.
When Jake came back a short time later, he was wearing Raffy’s long leather coat, and looking very pleased with himself: I am clearly worth my weight in cowhide. He took it up to bed with him, but not before suddenly remembering that Raffy had sent something for me and fishing a small box out of his pocket.
Inside was a small and very plain gold cross. I stared at it for a moment, then reached for the phone.
‘Raffy? You hadn’t gone to bed, had you?’
‘No, I thought you might ring me.’
‘You shouldn’t have given Jake your lovely coat!’
‘I think it looks a lot better on him than it did on me, and it’s probably more than time I stopped looking as though I’d just escaped from The Matrix. After Jake, I’m now wondering what your grandfather might demand from me, apart from my immortal soul?’
‘Don’t be silly, he’s not a satanist,’ I said with dignity.
‘I know, I’m just joking.’
‘Are vicars allowed to joke about that kind of thing?’
‘You should hear the bishop,’ he said. ‘We’re allowed a bit of levity these days. Did you like your cross? I thought you could hang it on the chain with the little gold cocoa bean.’
‘The bean’s hollow and I’m pretty sure Grumps has put some kind of charm in it.’
‘That’s OK: my gift is to reflect the other side of you, the spiritual one that believes in angels. Hebe Winter always wears a pentacle and a cross, haven’t you noticed? They seem able to balance witchcraft and Christianity quite easily in Sticklepond. I expect you get used to it.’
‘Maybe, but I think Hebe Winter is a law unto herself,’ I said doubtfully.
It was getting very late and it would be a big day tomorrow, but I still consulted the angel cards before I went to bed. They told me it was safe to love and be loved, but they didn’t mention how to reconcile pagan grandfathers and irate bishops, and I couldn’t help being afraid that Raffy was being too sanguine about how either of them would take the news.
Chapter Thirty-six
Behind the Scenes at the Museum
Saturday dawned with the promise of a bright, sunny, perfect April day. Just as well, because Poppy and I had decided to wear the dresses we had bought on my birthday for the occasion. They might be a little over the top for a Saturday morning in Sticklepond, but in comparison with Grumps I was sure we would fade into sartorial insignificance.
I’d hung the little cross on the chain with my cocoa bean and tucked them into the neckline of my dress, not feeling quite ready for a showdown with Grumps yet, but sometimes they made a faint, melodious chiming as I moved, to remind me they were there.
By ten, quite a little crowd had gathered outside the museum to watch Hebe Winter, in full Elizabethan regalia, declare Sticklepond’s newest tourist attraction open.
She said a few gracious words (and since she was as astute as Grumps, several of them advertised the opening of Winter’s End to the public that afternoon) and then cut the ribbon across the entrance door with a pair of silver scissors shaped like a stork, to the accompaniment of clicking camera shutters and much applause.
Then we all went indoors, where there were bowls of punch of Zillah’s devising and slices of fruitcake of mine, and a party atmosphere began to develop. The guest list had been wide, and ranged from Kat’s parents, wearing what seemed to be a perpetual air of bewilderment, to the entire Sticklepond Re-enactment Society, who were instantly recognisable since, like Miss Winter, they were already in Elizabethan dress ready for the opening of Winter’s End, where they would act as volunteer staff.
Mrs Snowball and Clive, having supplied the alcoholic element of the punch, now assisted in drinking it, along with several elderly women I didn’t recognise, but strongly suspected were from Grumps’ coven.
Felix and Poppy might have been anywhere, since they were moving about in a little cloud of bliss and congratulations, while Janey was moving about in an overpowering cloud of Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium. I’ve seen horses sneeze when she walks by.
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