by Rachel Dove
Marcus winced as Celine prattled on and on in her plummy tones. ‘She has the partnership to think of. I swear, I don’t know where that girl’s head is at sometimes! Marcus, are you there? Marcus?’
Marcus sighed. ‘Mrs Perry, I am sorry to tell you, Amanda doesn’t work here any more. I don’t know where she is, I have been trying to find her myself. The estate agent won’t tell me anything, and she hasn’t been in touch. Elaine has been trying her too, but we haven’t come up with anything yet.’
Celine was quiet at the other end.
‘Celine?’ he ventured. ‘Are you there? Hello?’ Marcus could hear her speaking quietly and hurriedly to someone in her room, her hand over the receiver. He was about to hang up when her booming voice jangled in his ear.
‘Marcus, I have cleared my schedule. I am sending a car for you. I shall see you at my house in an hour.’
‘Er … but I have a—’
She cut him short. ‘Marcus Beresford, my daughter is missing. Whatever you have on today, bloody well cancel it and get your miserable arse in that car!’
Marcus found himself nodding to the hang up tone. Wiping his brow, he sniffed at his armpit. He needed a fresh shirt and sharpish.
The next few days in the shop passed by in a flourish, with Amanda being hectic, serving customers, chatting to the ladies and using every other spare minute making up orders and stock for her stall at the summer fair. A couple of nights ago, in a flash of late-night inspiration, she had been in the shop in her pyjamas in the wee small hours, working on a new idea. One that was sure to appeal to the villagers and tourists alike, and help her use up her fabric and fur scraps to boot.
She had finished up last night, and this morning she danced down to the shop, coffee in hand, to wrap them up. Today heralded the day of the Austen Open Air Event at the Mayweather estate, and the sunshine seemed to have burst through her window as she had stirred that morning. She couldn’t believe how the village had pulled together to do so much in such a short space of time. The sense of community here was amazing, and Amanda found a reason every day to be grateful for her new life.
Selecting some blue tissue paper and a fetching cream ribbon, Amanda wrapped up the gift neatly, placing it in a little gift bag for later. She reached for her smartphone to take a picture of her handiwork before she realised, and chastised herself for not having the guts to turn her old handset on. She resolved to buy a new SIM card that weekend, then she could start to upload her work onto social media, show off her new business. She had closed down all her social media accounts before she left, so people wouldn’t be trying to contact her. She wasn’t ready to face people yet, so it was better to stay off the grid. She mentally shook off the pit in her stomach, trying to ignore the gnaw of dread that she got whenever she thought of her old life, and tried to catch her breath. For a woman in control of her own life, she sure was acting pathetic. She couldn’t live like this much longer, she had to either bin the phone, or deal with the messages that she knew would be there.
Either way, she had to move on.
Looking around the shop, she marvelled at the difference a few weeks had made. The ladies had left their own little marks on New Lease of Life, and it was comforting for Amanda to see them. Little things like Marlene’s teacup, Grace’s knitting needles sat in a wicker basket of wool, even Agatha’s influence could be seen in the window display they had created together. Amanda had suspicions that she and Ben’s … whatever it was, was subject to the women’s meddling, but, as time went on, Amanda felt less overrun and cajoled than she did. She counted the women as friends now, which was pretty much a first for her. It was a first, and it felt really nice.
Ben adjusted his cravat and looked nervously into his bedroom mirror. Donning his top hat, he realised he looked ridiculous, but he wasn’t bothered about the costume. He was bothered about what Amanda would make of it. He had never felt that way around Tanya. He had learned to pretty much ignore her comments as nothing he said or did was ever well received by her—it was seen as something that could be altered, improved upon, or stamped out. He had allowed her to do this too, till, on the day she left, he no longer recognised the man in the mirror before him, and didn’t like him very much either. Today was different though; Amanda was different. He found that he did care what she thought of him, especially as they differed on so many things. Maybe she would stay in the village, and maybe he had misjudged her. Dotty spoke nothing but praise for her and her efforts in not only coming up with the play idea, but helping to organise it too. Ben was finding it harder day to day to deny the small feelings of hope he harboured, and today would be the test. It would be them together, alone but in the backdrop of a social event. They hadn’t discussed the shop, so there had been no arguments, although they definitely challenged each other sometimes. Her idea for the event was a stroke of genius and he had to admit that perhaps he had misjudged her a little.
Ben felt the frisson of excitement at the prospect and hoped that this evening’s work would be the turning point. If something happened tonight, something that set off an alarm bell in his head, then Ben would walk away. He needed to, to protect his heart, because he just knew, if she left now, she would take the broken shards of his growing regard with her, and he couldn’t let himself get hurt like that.
Adjusting his cravat again, feeling it choke him, he looked at himself again in the mirror. After picking up his keys, wallet, and small package, he left, heading for a New Lease of Life. The irony was not lost on him as he drove.
Pulling up to the Baker Street shop minutes later, Ben took a deep breath, grabbed his hat and pressed the intercom button. He was buzzed straight up and, putting his hat on, he ran up the steps two at a time, pleading with his heart to stop beating out of his chest. The interior door was open and he knocked lightly before walking in. The front room was empty, apart from the two kittens, snuggled up together asleep in their basket next to the hearth. He smiled at the domestic scene, and then Amanda walked out of the bedroom. His breath caught as their eyes locked. She was wearing a cream gown, lace trimmed delicately down the neckline, and sheer chiffon sleeves covering her arms. Her hair was up and curled, and tiny creamy pearls dotted around her hair. She was beautiful.
‘Hi,’ she said, shoulders hunching with nerves. A shy smile glanced across her lips, and she blushed under his gaze. Say something, Ben, stop staring! He took a step towards her, half expecting her to drop back, but she took a tentative step to meet him.
‘Hi,’ he said, voice cracking. ‘Hi,’ he tried again. ‘You look stunning. I brought you something.’
Amanda’s face lit up under his praise, her smile broadening, and the room seemed to explode with light. Ben took out the little box from his jacket pocket. ‘It’s just something little,’ he said.
‘Which of the ladies did this then?’ she asked teasingly, smirking at him sarcastically.
He didn’t return her expression, instead looking very much out of his depth.
‘Er, actually, it’s from me. To say thanks for helping the girls try to save the community centre.’
Amanda took the box from him and pulled at the ribbon with slender fingers. Inside, nestled in the tissue paper lining the box, was a cameo on a necklace. Amanda gasped. ‘It’s lovely, Ben! You shouldn’t have.’
Ben shook his head. ‘Of course I should. It will look lovely with your outfit. I got it from the antique shop in town. I just passed by the window one day, saw it and thought of you. It’s a thank you, for all the work you have been putting in lately for the village, that’s all.’
Their eyes met again, and Ben had to remind himself to breathe. Was she feeling this too? Am I just being a creep, or does she feel this?
Amanda touched his arm. ‘Thank you. Will you put it on for me please?’
Ben nodded, not trusting himself to speak in case he sounded like an adolescent boy breaking in his new voice. He moved to the back of her and clicked the clasp shut, his lips tingling with the urge to lay them
on the soft nape of her neck. Amanda fingered the necklace, gazing at it against her dress. Ben moved to the front of her, he needed to get her out of this room before he did something and he couldn’t run the risk of spoiling the evening, or cutting it short.
‘Shall we go?’ he said, motioning to the door. Amanda nodded and moved to the counter, picking up a sky-blue gift bag. ‘I got something for you too, to thank you for your help since I have been here, but it seems a little silly now.’
She moved to put the bag back on the counter, but he made a grab for it.
‘Don’t be daft, let me see.’ He unwrapped the tissue paper and touched something furry. ‘Not a kitten, is it?’ he said, laughing. Amanda looked nervous, making a grab for it again. He dodged her easily and ran to the door. ‘Nope, it’s mine!’
He pulled the fluffy thing out. It was a cockerel, hand stitched, bright fabric colours mixing perfectly together. On one wing, the name ‘DARCY’ was embroidered in blue. Ben loved it. Loved that she had made him something, put thought into it, not just buying him hip—and scratchy—imported underpants from Milan like Tanya had.
‘It’s my Darcy!’ he said, turning it this way and that, looking at it intently.
Amanda blushed, turning away. ‘It’s rubbish, isn’t it? You don’t have to take it, it was just a silly gift, nothing like yours.’ She touched the necklace as she spoke, and Ben was insanely pleased that she now wore something of his.
He looked her in the eye as he put the little gift in his jacket pocket. ‘Amanda, I love it. Honestly. It’s brilliant, you should make more, I bet they would sell.’
Amanda grinned, grabbed for his arm and headed down the stairs. ‘I have something to show you.’
Downstairs in the shop, laid out on the large centre table, was an array of soft toys, all with little tags saying ‘New Lease of Life’ on them. Looking closer, Ben recognised Darcy and his other chickens, and turned to beam at Amanda.
‘Are these all animals from Westfield?’
Amanda smiled, picking two up. ‘Yep, look, Gwendolen and Ophelia, and Pinky and Perky over here, too, and Agatha’s dogs.’ She showed him the little cow and calf, both with little name tags on and the shop logo.
‘Pinky and Perky?’ he asked, frowning.
‘The kittens,’ she laughed. ‘Seemed to fit them.’
Ben nodded. ‘These are amazing, Amanda, really. You could really have something here.’
‘Not too city slicker? I would hate to ruin Westfield, after all,’ she said teasingly.
Ben looked suitably sheepish. ‘No, these are very Westfield.’
Amanda put them back, her dress swishing as she moved around the table. ‘I am hoping to debut them at the summer fair next week. I just want to ask the owners if they mind first. I think it could be a little theme for the shop, you know? I can sell them online too.’
Ben was in awe. ‘You have been busy, haven’t you, while I have been slacking off birthing lambs?’ He chuckled. ‘We can put an ad in the vet’s too, ask people to volunteer their pets’ likenesses to be made too. I bet people would love it. Plenty of people around here love animals.’
Amanda was touched by Ben completely being onboard and helping her ideas along.
‘Thanks, Ben, that would be great. Shall we go?’ She held out her hand for him to take, and he was suddenly jealous of the long glove on her hand, as his hand closed around it.
The early night air was perfect, warm without the clammy threat of oncoming rain. The sky was clear, and the sun was only just shuffling into setting, making the horizon a beautiful backdrop to the ladies and gents in the play. People sat dotted around the hillside, lying out on picnic blankets, sat in garden chairs festooned with ribbon and cotton covers for the occasion. Gentle chatter and occasional tinkles of laughter could be heard at times, but the play was going well and, on the whole, uninterrupted, although Maisie did at one point take a fancy to the fellow playing Wickham, aiming for a leg hump at an inopportune moment, much to Agatha’s disgust and embarrassment. Ben and Amanda had watched as Taylor strode up, laughing as he led Maisie away, tail between her legs. He deposited the feckless hound in front of her brother and Agatha, and Amanda noticed that Agatha coloured as Taylor whispered something into her ear.
Sitting on a picnic blanket mountain with Ben, she started to wonder. Maybe the women of Westfield were not as clued up as they thought they were. Should I? she wondered, a thought whizzing around her brain. Turning to Ben, who was watching the play with a relaxed look on his face, she hesitantly spoke up.
‘What’s the deal with Agatha and Taylor?’
He looked at her, an inquisitive look on his face. ‘Why?’ he drawled out, making it sound funny, like a four-year-old asking the eternal question of its creator.
‘I just wondered, that’s all,’ she said, poking him in the ribs. She loved how relaxed they were with each other today, finding little excuses to touch each other. Well, she was, she wasn’t sure about where Ben stood. Far different from their first few meetings, when she could have cheerfully throttled him. ‘I just wonder why they are both on their own.’
Ben poured her another drink of the chilled white wine he had bought from the passing waiter, one of many milling around the grounds, selling food and drink to the many ticket holders at the event. ‘Taylor was going to leave Westfield when he left school. He planned to work in the city, I forget which profession, but his mother got sick, and he stayed on to help his father, who worked for the Mayweathers, and then he just never left.’
Amanda nodded. ‘That’s sad, but he seems happy.’
Ben shrugged. ‘He is, I think. Agatha married Mr Mayweather Junior, promoted Taylor up from butler, and they have been friends since school, so they rub along nicely together. In fact, I think Taylor can deal with Agatha better than even Mr Mayweather could before he got sick.’
Amanda giggled at this, as she looked over at Taylor being scolded by Agatha for something or other, his gait indicating he was paying little or no attention either way.
‘And what about them together? Do you think they like each other?’
Ben chucked her a sly grin. ‘Why, Amanda, are you going for the crown of village meddler this year?’ he said, pretending to don a hat on her head.
‘No!’ she said, indignant. ‘But … perhaps if we just suggested it, a little?’
Ben chuckled, a deep throaty noise that sent a little quiver down Amanda’s spine. If she could bottle that noise …
‘I think, to be honest, Taylor does have a soft spot for her, and she him, but I’m not sure about anything more. I mean, what if we do “meddle” and mess things up? After all these years, they are definitely in the friend zone now.’
Amanda formed a thought and it jumped out of her mouth before she could even attempt a grab for it. ‘Is that where we are?’
Ben looked at her, his expression unreadable. Amanda quickly turned her head and looked out over the Mayweather estate at the people watching the play, not daring to look at him, move, breathe. She heard him then, softly. Felt him at her ear.
‘Do you want to be friends?’ he asked, something making his voice sound urgent, breathy. She started to nod her head, and turned to face him, only to look straight into his beautiful grey eyes. The colour of her kittens’ fur, but this grey felt like looking into a black hole, something that could pick you up and suck you into its vortex, swishing you around till you were a quivery, jelly-like blob of warm feelings and mush. She continued to stare into them, transfixed. Ben spoke again, and she felt his breath on her cheek. ‘Amanda, do you want to be friends?’
Amanda didn’t answer. She couldn’t put the words together. Instead, she closed her eyes, and slowly, barely, brushed her lips against his. Pulling back, she opened her eyes slowly. Ben’s face told her everything she needed to know. He reached for her then, putting his slightly calloused hands on either side of her face, meeting her lips with his. They kissed slowly, tenderly, and Amanda was just curling her fingers into
his hair, deepening the kiss when a round of applause rang out across the hillside. Embarrassed, the two pulled apart, but the applause had been for the end of the play.
Their moment of passion had passed by seemingly undetected. Amanda stood up and smoothed her clothes down, flushed. Ben jumped up too and they both started to speak at once.
‘I …’
‘Amanda, I’m sorry, that shouldn’t have happened.’
Amanda felt as though she had been slapped, even though she was trying to say the same thing.
‘I know, I’m sorry, Ben, but I can’t.’
His confused flushed expression mirrored her own and they both looked away, packing up their things in silence, still absorbed in each other, and thoughts of what had just happened. So absorbed that they hadn’t seen the flash of Marlene’s camera as they kissed, or seen Agatha’s most unbecoming-of-a-lady fist pump as she jumped into the air. Taylor laughed and tittered for the rest of the evening, and only got jabbed in the ribs by Agatha three times. Progress all round.
Fourteen
London
Marcus couldn’t deny it any longer: he was in big trouble. The Kamimura account was complicated, too complicated, and the partners were starting to cotton on to his inability to cope, he was sure of it. Add to that the Perrys breathing down his neck every day, asking questions he didn’t want to answer, and quizzing him on aspects of Amanda’s life that he had no idea about, he was beyond stressed. He jammed his finger into his collar, pulling at the pale blue silk tie he had on, which currently felt like a garrotte. He had been in since seven, which was a first for him, and had done nothing but stare at the account file for two hours. His office walls were closing in on him, and every time he turned his back on one, he felt sure it tiptoed up behind him, ever closer, playing their own Mr Wolf mind games with his head. He could feel the sweat pooling in the small of his back, soaking his shirt through. Trickles of moisture dripped down his spine like icy fingers, the air conditioning in his large new office doing nothing but circulate the stale smell he expelled. He would give his Mercedes for an open window right now, but he half feared that he would use it as a jumping platform to the freedom of death instead of enjoying some fresh air.