Romance By The Book

by Jo Victor

  “I think you can answer that question better than I can, dearie.”

  Alex couldn’t contain herself any longer. She burst out of her room. “Do you mean someone’s been deliberately causing all these breakdowns?” She looked first at Cam and then at Mrs. Tate, but neither answered. “And it sounds like you know the person who’s doing it. Why don’t you call the police and have them arrested?”

  Cam smiled at her. “I reckon they’d find that a bit difficult to manage. The Bramfell constabulary does well as a rule, but it’s not so easy to lay hold of a dead person.”

  Mrs. Tate gasped, but Alex didn’t really pay attention, being too focused on letting Cam know that this time, she wasn’t falling for her nonsense.

  “Dead person? Like what—a zombie? A vampire? Are they down in the bottom of the garden keeping the elves and fairies company? Come on, quit kidding—what’s really going on?”

  But Cam wasn’t smiling. In fact, she had a hand clapped over her mouth, as if she’d let something slip that she shouldn’t have. And Mrs. Tate was glaring at Cam as if she had indeed revealed some deep, dark secret.

  Alex looked back and forth from one to the other. “Wait, are you actually trying to say…Oh, you have got to be joking.” They both just stared back at her. “You can’t possibly believe there really is a dead person hanging around? Like, a ghost or something?” Neither of them looked the least bit amused. Worse, they didn’t try to deny it. “Are you seriously trying to tell me you think Dawson House is haunted?”

  “Of course it’s haunted,” Mrs. Tate snapped. “The whole village knows it.” She sighed. “Though we generally don’t speak of it, and certainly not to outsiders. As this one here well knows.”

  “Sorry, Aunty.”

  “Too late to be sorry now.” She looked at Alex. “Well, I suppose you’re not quite such an outsider as all that, under the circumstances.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tate.” I think. Alex was about to ask her what she meant by under the circumstances when a thought struck her. “It’s not just the breakdowns, is it? There’s all those noises, and the doors always opening and closing, and the cold spot that sometimes shows up on the stairs. And that’s all because of a…a ghost?”

  “More or less.” Cam grinned at her. “Janet lives here, just like you do.”

  “Thanks a lot. That will help me sleep at night. Wait a minute—when you say Janet, do you mean our Janet? Janet from the photo downstairs?” Suddenly she made the connection that had eluded her before. “The photo downstairs!”

  She raced down to the kitchen, coming to a stop in front of the photograph of Janet and the children. She pulled the key that Grace had hit her with out of her pocket and held it up to the photo to compare it to the key Janet was wearing. They were identical. Even the cord was the same.

  She let out a whoop of joy and started jumping up and down. Cam came racing in, fear on her face. Unable to produce anything but squeals, Alex ran up to her and dragged her over to the photo, waving the key and gesturing wildly.

  “It’s the same key. Yes, I see that.” Cam was speaking slowly and soothingly, clearly trying to talk Alex down from what she saw as a fit of hysteria, but Alex didn’t care.

  Finally she was able to form sentences. “This is so amazing! I’ve got something in my hands that belonged to Janet, that was important to her.”

  Cam still looked less than comfortable, but Alex couldn’t seem to stop bouncing around and babbling. “It must have been, right? Otherwise why would she have been wearing it in the photo? Photos were a big deal back then, so she would have carefully chosen whatever was included. I wonder what it’s the key to? Oh, who cares!” She did a little pirouette. “It’s her key—her very own key! And now I’ve got it. It’s almost like she gave it to me.”

  “If you say so.” Cam put a hand on Alex’s arm. “Are you sure you’re all right? Finding out the truth about Dawson House must be a bit of a shock.”

  “I’m more than all right. I’m fabulous. We should celebrate! How about tomorrow night? Tell you what—I’ll make dinner and we can watch another film. Maybe you can get Dark Victory this time. How about it?”

  “Sounds lovely, only I’ve got a big job set for tomorrow and I can’t be sure what time I’ll finish up. Why don’t we say the following night instead?”

  “Sounds great. That’ll give me more time to shop and get everything ready. I know just what I’m going to make, too.”

  “So what are we having, then?”

  “You’ll see. I want it to be a surprise. Now go away and fix the water heater or something. I have a dinner to plan.” Alex sat down and started making a list.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Very bright and more or less early the next morning, Alex headed for the grocery store. As expected, they didn’t carry most of what she needed, but she found a nice piece of local beef and had the butcher grind it for her instead of having to make do with a package of generic mince. Her grandmother would have insisted on the sauce having at least three kinds of meat, but Alex preferred using just beef and, if she could find any, pancetta. Of course, her grandmother would also have been scandalized that she was planning to serve a pasta dish as the main course at dinner. Oh, well.

  Right after lunch, Nicola picked her up for a trip to Leeds to visit a store that supposedly carried genuine foods from Italy. It lived up to its reputation, and Alex was able to get almost everything on her list, including both pancetta and a can of San Marzano tomatoes. Unfortunately the store was out of tagliatelle, but since they did have fresh fettuccine she wasn’t really disappointed.

  Their next errand was for Nicola, who claimed to be in desperate need of a new dress but was being rather vague about the reason why. After they had scoured two stores without finding anything she liked and were rapidly working their unsuccessful way through the offerings in a third, Alex pulled her into a quiet corner and demanded more information.

  “All right, if you must know”—Nicola started to blush—“Sarah rang me a few days ago.”

  “Sarah? You mean your friend the vicar? What did she want?”

  “That’s just it. I’m not quite sure. That is, I know what she said. She wants to have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

  “Okay. So what’s the problem?”

  “She sounded, well, strange. Sort of nervous, like she was worried about something. But when I asked her about it, she just laughed it off.”

  “Maybe she’s got something she needs to talk to you about, but she didn’t want to say so on the phone.”

  “That’s what I thought at first. But ordinarily she would have just told me that straight out. And there’s something else.” Instead of continuing, Nicola started fiddling with her watch.

  “Come on. Spill it.”

  “Well, you remember that conversation we had a couple of weeks ago, just after the Lammas dance? We were talking about who was dating whom, and you asked me about Sarah?”

  “I’m unlikely to forget it. That’s when you told me about Cam and Rosamund.”

  “Oh, right. I did, didn’t I? Well, in any case, I’ve known Sarah for years and years, and I really like her, but I never thought of her that way before. But what you said got me thinking, and I started noticing things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, just little things, like the way she looks at me sometimes, or how whenever we’re out somewhere together she’s always checking that I’m comfortable, making sure the waiter is attentive, that sort of thing. Taking care of me.”

  “Right, so what’s the problem?” Didn’t seem like a problem to her.

  “She’s never actually said anything. But I think maybe tomorrow night is supposed to be a date.”

  “That’s great! At least, I hope it’s great.”

  “No, it’s terrible. What if it isn’t a date, and I end up embarrassing both of us?”

  “You could play it by ear. You know, just be cool about it and see how it goes.” What was she missing?


  “But what if it really is supposed to be a date, and she thinks I’m not interested?”

  “Are you interested? Do you want it to be a date?”

  “Yes. No? I don’t know. I think so.”

  “I’m starting to see the problem. Why don’t you talk to her about it? No, that’s a terrible idea. If she’s been beating around the bush this long, the direct approach will probably scare her and she’ll end up denying everything just by reflex.”

  “Oh, Alex, what am I going to do?”

  “You know, if I were a gambler, I’d bet on its being a date. You must have picked up on something that made you think it might be, so why not trust your instincts? And maybe you could give things a push in the right direction.” Alex started looking through the dresses on a nearby rack.

  “What do you mean?”

  Alex pulled out one of the dresses and held it up. “How about a little cleavage?”

  “More like a lot of cleavage. I don’t think I could wear a bra with a neckline that low.”

  “And that would be a problem…why, exactly? At least try it on. Like the song says, Faint heart never won fair lady.”

  “All right, I will. Now what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You had me drive you all the way out here to buy a bit of bacon and a tin of tomatoes. Just so you could make dinner for Cam. They sell bacon and tomatoes in Bramfell, you know.”

  “Not the right kind.”

  “And it’s got to be the right kind, because…”

  “Because I take my cooking very seriously.”

  “Alex.”

  “All right. I want dinner tomorrow night to be special.”

  “So is it a date?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “Do you think she thinks it’s a date?”

  “Well, the last time she came for dinner we ended up kissing.”

  “What? When was this? What happened?”

  “Rosamund happened. It was last Saturday, and Cam was kissing me, and then she showed up, and…and I do not want to talk about Rosamund.”

  “No more do I. Let’s talk about Cam instead. So she kissed you, did she? Was it wonderful? Never mind, don’t tell me—my thirteen-year-old self will hate you forever.”

  “All right, I won’t tell you it was wonderful. And fabulous. And amazing.” Nicola smacked her on the arm, and Alex grinned. “She’s wonderful. I just wish I could be sure.”

  “About what?”

  “Whether she’s really interested in me. I keep getting these mixed signals. I wouldn’t have wasted so much time on what’s her name otherwise.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Cam. I should have thought she’d be absolutely the last person to play games.”

  Alex, thinking of some of the stunts Cam had pulled, rolled her eyes.

  “You know what I mean. She’d never hurt somebody’s feelings, not deliberately.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I think she’d sooner chew her own arm off than see me hurt. Maybe she’s just scared. Has she said anything to you?”

  “About you? Not a whisper. She doesn’t kiss and tell, not our Cam.”

  “Unlike me, you mean? Don’t answer that. You’ve known her a lot longer than I have. What do you think is going on?”

  “At a guess I’d say she’s more likely unsure of you than herself. She hasn’t been involved with anyone since Rosamund—I was going to say not seriously involved, but I doubt she’s been involved with anyone, full stop, in all that time. How would you rate that kiss?”

  “What, on the steam scale? Well, if one is I’ve enjoyed our evening and five is Come for dinner, stay for breakfast, it was definitely bacon and eggs.”

  Now it was Nicola’s turn to roll her eyes. “Quite the romantic, aren’t you? I think perhaps you need a bit of help in that department.” She pulled out a dress. “How about this one?”

  “It’s pretty. But I can’t get all dressed up like that for a casual dinner. She’ll get the wrong idea.”

  “Don’t you mean the right idea? You want her to kiss you again, don’t you? At the very least?”

  “I guess when you put it that way…” Alex grabbed the dress from Nicola. “Let’s hit the fitting room.”

  *

  Alex spent all of Saturday morning cooking. As she chopped up the pancetta and the vegetables for the soffritto, she thought back to her conversation with Nicola the previous day. Maybe Nicola was right, and she was the one who had been driving Cam to distraction, and not the other way around. In either case, a little clarity was long overdue. Well, they would have plenty of time to talk over dinner.

  If she could get up enough nerve to broach the topic. She should take her own advice. She went to get the meat out of the refrigerator and happened to glance over at the photo on the wall. She smiled at Janet’s image.

  “So we’re sharing Dawson House, are we?”

  As she started browning the meat, it seemed natural to just keep talking. “I know I should be weirded out by the whole ghost thing, but I’m actually kind of glad you’re still around. Or sort of around. Whoa!”

  She should have been expecting Grace to show up, drawn by the cooking aromas. If she had, she wouldn’t have jumped half a foot and splattered herself with olive oil just because Grace rubbed against her leg. The cat was now busy devouring the shreds of meat that had ended up on the floor.

  “Helping clean up, are you?”

  Having finished providing this valuable service, Grace was now licking her whiskers and gazing up at Alex, clearly hoping that further assistance would be required. Alex resolved to frustrate that expectation, keeping a careful eye on Grace’s meanderings to avoid any additional accidents.

  Finally it was time to add some liquid to the sauce, starting with a little wine. While the alcohol cooked away, she opened the can of tomatoes and paused to consider. She had bought the smallest can they had, but it still looked like too much. In the end she used about half the can and put the rest in the fridge. Last of all, she stirred in some milk—another of her grandmother’s secrets.

  Now all she had to do was let the sauce simmer for three or four hours, throw together a couple of salads, boil up the pasta water, and set the table. And try not to lose her mind waiting for seven o’clock.

  *

  Precisely at seven, Cam gratefully stopped pacing about in the back garden and knocked at the kitchen door. She knew you were supposed to be right on time for a dinner invitation, but she had arrived far too early, despite having changed her shirt three times and her trousers twice, and by now was chilled right through. She should probably have stayed in the van.

  It took a few moments before the door opened. Alex was much more dressed up than she was. Perhaps she should have worn a jacket and tie after all.

  Alex seemed a little flustered. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so soon. I forgot. Americans aren’t usually quite this punctual.”

  Alex accepted the bottle she was holding out and gave her an awkward little one-armed hug. “Oh! You’re frozen.” Alex jumped back as if in dismay, but then grabbed her hand to lead her inside.

  Just as well, because it was pitch dark. She couldn’t see a thing.

  “Come over to the fire. It got so chilly that I went ahead and lit it. First time so far this year. At least for me. I’m sure Mrs. Tate had the fire going all winter for last year’s Scholar.” Alex sounded nervous. Relieved that she wasn’t the only one, Cam found herself able to relax for the first time all day.

  Once they reached the hearth, Alex let go of her hand. Cam stepped closer to the fire and held both hands to the flames. “Oh, that’s lovely.” She rubbed her arms, feeling warmer already.

  “What’s this you’ve brought?” Alex tilted the bottle to read the label by the firelight. “Perry? What’s that?”

  “It’s just like cider, but it’s made from pears.”

  “That makes sense. Should we have it with the meal?”

  “It might be better to save it
for afters—I don’t think it would go so well with tomatoey garlicky things.”

  “How do you know what we’re having? I so wanted to surprise you.”

  “If you wanted to keep it a secret, you should have done the cooking elsewhere. I knew the moment you opened the door—the smell’s a bit hard to miss.”

  “Oh, of course. I’ve stopped noticing after being around it all day. For a minute there I thought you had X-ray vision or something.”

  “Why is it so dark in here, anyway?”

  Alex smiled at her. She had done something with her hair that was really pretty. “Why does anything ever go wrong at Dawson House?”

  “Oh, no—not our friend?”

  “That’s my guess. Everything was fine until about five minutes ago, and then the lights went out. But only in here. The lights in the hall are still on.”

  “That is peculiar.”

  “More than you know. It isn’t even all the electricity that’s out in here, just the lights. I checked and the refrigerator’s still working. I’ll bet the TV isn’t affected either.”

  “Bloody hell. I must be going soft in the head. I forgot about the DVD. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not really in the mood for tragedy tonight anyway.”

  “Neither am I, as it happens. Well, looks like it’s a busman’s holiday for me. I’ll just get my kit from the van.”

  “No, don’t. After Janet’s gone to all this trouble, it seems a shame to spoil it.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “Think about it. What do people do when their lights go out?”

  “Swear? Hunt for a torch, discover the batteries in it have gone dead, and swear some more?”

  “No, silly. They light candles.”

  “Oh. Oh! You mean she wants us to have dinner by candlelight. Sorry, I seem to be a bit slow tonight.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. From what I’ve seen of your slow setting, it suits me just fine.” Alex reached out and slid the tip of one finger gently across Cam’s lower lip for a brief moment, then stepped back and shot her a mischievous grin. Caught off guard, Cam’s brain seized up completely.