The Chic Boutique On Baker Street

by Rachel Dove

  See, Benjamin, she said with her eyes as she laid the plate on the coffee table, us city girls have manners too.

  She sipped at her wine as she watched him work, his hair tousled, tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration. The tableau of domesticity made her stomach lurch. She had been independent for so long that the thought of a man in her flat fixing together furniture was alien to her. When she had dated Marcus, he hadn’t even so much as thought of picking up a screwdriver to do anything in her flat. She had even paid a handyman to put up her bedroom curtain pole. Watching Ben help her, unasked, without thought of even being asked, thawed her heart a little. She took her glass across and sat on the sofa. Ben noticed her movement and smiled at her, taking the wine glass from the table.

  ‘Thanks, you didn’t have to bring me that.’

  Amanda placed a piece of cheese on a cracker and took a bite, motioning for Ben to do the same. He nibbled on his as he worked, fixing parts together and twisting them tight together expertly with an Allen key. Before too long, the cheese, wine and play centre were all finished. Ben put it down where she asked him to, and they got to work setting everything else out. Seeing that everything was done, the two of them stood looking around the room awkwardly.

  She was just thinking of something to say when Ben spoke.

  ‘So, see you tomorrow? Pick the kittens up?’

  Amanda shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine, really—I will get a taxi.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘It’s no trouble, honestly. Dotty would kill me if I let you do that.’

  Amanda nodded once. Just accept, be nice. ‘OK, thank you,’ she said slowly.

  Ben nodded, walking to the door. ‘Tomorrow then,’ he said, towering over her.

  She suddenly felt a frisson of tension as they stood near to each other, the door to her flat ajar. He reached out a hand and Amanda’s heart leaped, till she realised he was holding it out for a handshake. She shook his hand, ignoring the zap she felt when their fingers connected.

  Ben left, and she flounced down onto the sofa, fresh bottle in hand. Pulling the blanket around her from the sofa back, she noticed one side bore the scent of his aftershave. Nice, woody but gentle, it suited him. She inhaled the smell and wrapped the blanket around her. How could a man be such an arrogant arse and be so nice to others around him? His behaviour at the Jenkinses’ had shown her another side of him tonight, and she couldn’t quite work him out, which unnerved her. Amanda was good at sussing people out normally, and she wondered when that skill had left her. Perhaps it was just around attractive men. She hated to admit it, but as mean as he was, Ben Evans was a good-looking man, and Marcus was no gargoyle, despite his other less attractive attributes. She poured herself some wine and flicked on the DVD-player. Mr Darcy popped onto the screen again, sour-faced at the ball. She snorted to herself as she threw back the contents of her glass. Maybe this was her type: arrogant, attractive, infuriating men. The thought sufficiently depressed her enough to refill her glass.

  She was swimming again, thrashing through the water, Marcus hot on her heels. Kicking her way through the dark blue depths, towards the light, she once again felt the fingers encase her ankle, pulling her down. Opening her mouth to scream, the water filled her lungs, her chest heavy, sloshing. She whirled around, her own hands reaching for her leg, seeking release before the world turned black … she could see the light, just above …

  Opening one eye, she was aware that the light was brighter. Focusing with both eyes, she realised she was home. Something tickled her nose as she stretched. The blanket, still smelling of her visitor, was wrapped around her tight.

  Ten

  Something felt different as Ben walked across the drive from his house to the practice. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something had changed. It wasn’t till he looked at Dotty, who was making brews in the kitchen, that he realised. Dotty was smirking at him as she handed him a strong tea in his favourite mug. Ben frowned as he took it from her. ‘What’s with the grin, Dotty?’

  Dotty laughed. ‘Good night, was it?’

  Ben flushed as he realised that he was busted. He felt guilty, even though nothing had happened last night. They had got on though, which had surprised him. Although he still wasn’t holding any truck to her fancy ideas.

  Dotty’s swift poke into his ribs with her index finger brought him back to the present, almost showering hot tea down them both in the process.

  ‘What?’ he protested, an awkward laugh following. ‘I took Amanda to the Jenkinses’ farm yesterday, that’s all. She wanted a cat, so she asked me. Because you told her to, remember?’

  Dotty grinned. ‘And, how did it go? Did you ask her out?’

  Ben shook his head violently. ‘No! Why would I do that? I helped her put the equipment together, had a glass of wine and left.’ He saw Dotty’s excited expression. ‘Dotty, it was a drink. Nothing more. We don’t get on. She is not like us.’

  Dotty shook her head and opened her mouth to speak. Ben put a finger up in protest.

  ‘Dotty, I am not interested in chasing some Londoner solicitor who wants to modernise Westfield with her fancy boutique, OK?’

  ‘Do you even know what her shop will do?’ Dotty asked, hands on her hips now.

  ‘Yes, of course I do, fancy boutique stuff that will drive the tourists away, fancy gadgets and the like, overpriced coffees and fancy cakes, stuff that is ten a penny in the city. She will soon get bored with our slow pace, and then she will pack up and leave, and we will be left to pick up the pieces. Usual story.’

  Dotty shrugged then, huffing loudly, left the kitchen with her own drink and walked through to reception.

  ‘You are a fool, Ben Evans,’ she shot over her shoulder as she stomped off. ‘Don’t judge a girl by her past.’

  Her determined stomp made Ben wonder what he had said to get her annoyed. He drank his tea and went to set up for the clinic. It was just a drink, he convinced himself. Once the kittens are home with her, then we won’t have a reason to spend time together any more. The thought of their tentative friendship being cut short filled him with a little unease deep down, but it had to happen. It’s not like he needed to get to know her, right? Maybe he was judging her, but rather that than waste time trying to get on with someone who would leave when winter set in.

  He started to set up his area, resolving to keep his mind on the job. And away from the thought of how Amanda felt as their hands had touched. Stop it, Ben, he chided himself. A girl like that will never be content with this life, with you. This is just a stopgap for her. She will move on, and you will be left. Again. And this time, she will take more than your best friend.

  In reception, Dotty cast furtive glances at Ben’s door as she picked up the phone. Somewhere else in the village, the phone was ringing. As it was picked up, Dotty whispered into the receiver, cupped between her hands. ‘It’s me. We have a problem. It’s not working like we hoped.’ Dotty nodded vigorously as she listened to the voice on the line. ‘I agree, we need to move things on. Can you do it today?’

  The voice on the line agreed. Dotty said her goodbyes and, placing the phone back into the cradle, took a quick glance at the door and grabbed her mobile from her bag. Tapping out a group text, she sent it with a flourish and stashed the mobile back into her bag just as the first client walked in. The text had read: STAGE 2: BAKER STREET IS A GO. EAGLE IS FLYING TODAY.

  Greeting the first customer, Mrs Eggleston and her dog Flossie, who was suffering from acral lick dermatitis as a result of Mr Eggleston forming a cover band who practised in their garage three evenings a week, no one would suspect a thing as Dotty, mild-mannered receptionist, went about her double life.

  Placing the Wild & Wolf telephone receiver back into its cradle, Agatha Mayweather looked at the two dogs at her feet. Her latest projects were proving more troublesome than organising the summer fair, and that was a feat in itself even with her years of experience. Buster turned his head in question at his master. ‘W
ell now, Buster, it seems we have a little visit in order. Good job your check-up is due, isn’t it?’ Rising from her chair, Buster and Maisie jumped to their feet, ready for the off. ‘Taylor?’ she called. No answer. Frowning, she headed past the large hall, through the kitchen and out the back door, hounds following at either side. ‘Taylor?’ Agatha could hear music coming from the garage. Tutting at Taylor’s choice of soft rock, she walked to the garage, the noise of the radio and tinkering of tools getting louder as she approached. Taylor was half hidden under one of the cars, Mr Mayweather’s Silver Shadow, which mostly stood resting in the garage, other than special occasions. His legs protruded out from underneath, his left foot tapping to the music of the drums.

  ‘Taylor?’ she said again. A thunk was her answer, as Taylor headbutted the chassis of the car. A muffled expletive could be heard coming from the car as he shuffled out. ‘Mrs Mayweather?’

  Agatha was slightly taken aback at the sight of her lifelong friend. Dressed in casual jeans and a mucky white T-shirt, Agatha could see his muscles underneath the thin cotton material. She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the car instead. For a man of his age, he was certainly trim, she thought to herself, before she brushed the thought away sternly. ‘Sorry, Taylor, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I was just wondering if you could take the children and me into town, we have an appointment at the vet’s.’

  Taylor wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of oil across his face. Agatha resisted the urge to laugh, and pursed her lips together to prevent a giggle escaping. Taylor looked at her, an amused look on his face, as he produced a rag from his back pocket and proceeded to wipe his hands on it.

  ‘More good deeds, eh, Mrs Mayweather?’

  Agatha almost nodded till she realised he was mocking her. ‘No, Taylor, of course not, just a check-up. And please, for the love of God, call me Agatha.’

  Taylor chuckled, pushing the rag back into his pocket. ‘Give me half an hour, Mrs Mayweather, I’ll get cleaned up.’

  Agatha nodded primly, turned on her heel and headed back to the house. She could hear Taylor’s amused snickers all the way to the back door.

  Damn that man, she thought, smiling despite herself.

  Taylor watched her hostile retreating form. Damn that woman, he thought, feeling the telltale spread of warmth in his heart.

  Eleven

  Amanda was just setting the new coffee machine up when the tring of the bell rang out in the front of the shop. Brilliant, customers! She wiped her hands on a tea towel, tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and went to greet them. Dotty, Marlene, Hetty and Grace stood in the doorway, laden down with shopping bags. Amanda smiled nervously as she watched them surveying the shop. She had tidied up that morning, and now she just had some fabric laid out. To be honest, she was hoping that they had some ideas on what she could make with it. After all, they were using the craft club as a cover, but they still needed stock to sell at the fair. Grace immediately rushed forward, embracing her in a large hug. Amanda caught a whiff of lavender. ‘Oh,’ she said, her head smushed in silver hair. ‘You smell lovely!’

  Grace chuckled as the ladies set to work, emptying their bags onto the large wooden table. ‘It’s lavender, dear. We collected a lot from the village, as we thought that we would make lavender bags to sell at the summer fair. They are always popular with the tourists.’

  Amanda grinned, picking up the fabric bundle. ‘I have just the fabric to use too.’

  Hetty reached into her large fabric bag and pulled out notepads, pens and a map of Westfield.

  ‘Got somewhere in the back we could pin this, dear? We need to start co-ordinating our efforts for the community centre.’

  Amanda nodded, pinning the map to one of the walls in the expansive back room. Hetty pulled out some push pins and started to pin various areas with different coloured pins. The women all nodded along as she placed pin after pin, the odd grunt of approval being heard in the quiet of the room.

  ‘So here we have it,’ Hetty said proudly. ‘These are the sectors we have petitioned, and everyone is signed up. We can collect more at the summer fair, but we need an event to raise the roof funds, so the council have a chance of fighting the closure.’

  Amanda watched in wonder as the women scribbled away in their notepads. She had seen rooms full of the greatest legal minds in England work less effectively and efficiently than these women. Then it hit her! She was a solicitor, she lobbied in courts, fought and won cases, took on large corporations in her sleep. She could help! Her brain started to work faster, at the possibility of really making a positive difference to Westfield. That would show people she was here to stay. Especially Benjamin ‘I don’t like change’ Evans. The thought of wiping that ‘holier than thou’ look off his face would be worth the effort alone.

  Amanda piped up, and the women all stopped dead, looking at her in surprise from their poised forms.

  ‘We should have an event!’ she said excitedly. She grabbed a large piece of paper and, after spreading it across the table, she grabbed a pen and started writing.

  ‘A huge event, something quintessentially Yorkshire, something different, to bring the crowds in.’

  The ladies all shuffled around the paper.

  ‘Like what though? We already have the summer fair, but that won’t raise enough.’

  Amanda frowned. She tried to remember all the boring charity events her parents had dragged each other, and her, to over the years. Vegas-themed casino night, rainforest-themed conservation events, balls, operas …

  ‘A play!’

  The women all looked at each other, their expressions unreadable. Amanda was on a roll, her hands flying over the paper as she wrote.

  ‘An open-air play. We are in the heart of Yorkshire, right? We could host an Austen-themed play! People can dress up, we can have serving staff, music—you said yourself that Westfield has a historical society! We could get them involved, get the local and national press to come, charge money for tickets, all themed on Austen.’

  Hetty jumped into life. ‘The society are always putting them on, but not on this scale. People would pay from far and wide to come to that, I am sure!’

  Grace, sat knitting with a notepad poised on one knee, stopped what she was doing. ‘That, my dear, is a good idea.’

  Amanda grinned as the women all talked excitedly around her. Wait till Ben gets a load of this.

  The day whizzed by, and Amanda, for the first time since her arrival, felt like she was running a real business. The ladies were a joy to be with, they drank plenty of coffee and tea—Hetty seemed to be addicted to the stuff—which they gladly paid for, and the little hive of activity they created seemed to break the ice with the locals too. Amanda even made a few sales. By the end of the day, Amanda’s feet hurt, and her till actually had some decent takings in it. The ladies all left at teatime with murmurs about her having a good evening, and whispers in Dotty’s direction. Dotty herself gave her a motherly cuddle before she left, and even made a show of fluffing Amanda’s hair, telling her she should curl her long hair once in a while.

  When the last person had left and Amanda had cleaned up, she actually felt very alone, and was grateful for the evening plans she had with Ben. She couldn’t wait to pick up the kittens, and was looking forward to having some company to share her new home with. Thoughts of Ben from the night before came into her mind, and she blushed at them. She went to doublecheck the coffee pot and heard the front doorbell go. A late customer? Amanda walked back through to the front of the shop and caught her breath as she saw Ben leaning over the table, looking at the day’s work. After the morning of furtive planning, the afternoon had been taken up with making stock, her for her shop, and the ladies for the summer fair. She smiled as he sniffed one of the lavender bags, and found herself staring at his bottom in his black chinos. He looked like he had just got ready, all neat and tidy, and the little curls at the nape of his neck still looked damp from his shower. Amanda
felt the sudden need to wrap them around her fingers.

  ‘Hi,’ Ben said, turning to her suddenly. She jumped and gave out a little surprised noise. Ben laughed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ His apologetic grin made her pulse rise, his cheeks dimpling with the movement. She tried to speak but her voice had given out. Clearing her throat, embarrassed, she tried again.

  ‘What, no, you didn’t—I was just locking up. Are you ready already?’

  Ben frowned, looking at his watch. ‘We did say six, right?’

  Amanda glanced at the art deco clock on the wall. It was ten past. How was it this time already? She glanced down in dismay at herself—loose bits of cotton were stuck to her jeans, and her pink top had little beads of lavender buds stuck to them. She already knew she had little make-up on. ‘Sorry, Ben, I must have lost track of time. Not like me! Shall I change?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No need, you look gorgeous.’ He looked panicked for a second, and the emotion soon washed from his face into a lopsided grin. ‘Er, I mean, the Jenkinses won’t expect you to dress up, and you look … er … OK.’

  Amanda didn’t even hear him. She was still stuck on his first statement. He thinks I’m gorgeous, she thought to herself. Not bad for a city girl come country lass, after all. She smiled at him, grabbing her purse and keys from the side. ‘Thanks, Ben. You look nice too.’

  Ben blushed, and the two of them stood nervously. Man, this was like high school territory all over again.

  Ben willed his face to stop betraying his reaction to her words.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he asked. Amanda nodded, willing the awkward moment to pass.

  An hour later, Ben and Amanda were lying on the rug in Amanda’s sitting room, watching two grey and white bundles of fluff navigate around their new home. The bigger grey one was trying to bat the end table at that moment, whilst the white one was trying to bury her way under the settee. Amanda giggled. ‘They are like little drunk people, tiptoeing around!’