by Susan Lewis
‘Oh, isn’t it looking lovely in here,’ Annie commented, her vivid green eyes drinking in every last detail of the worn old kitchen and as much as she could see of the dining room next door. ‘You’ve been having a bit of a spring clean by the look of it.’
Though Sarah had, she wasn’t about to admit it in case she found herself dragged into an area of conversation that would bewilder her utterly. ‘Would you like a cold drink?’ she offered. ‘I’ve got some lemonade in the fridge, or filtered water.’
‘Oh, definitely water for me,’ Annie responded. ‘Very good for the complexion, did you know that? Not that you have anything to worry about in that department. I only wish I’d been blessed with skin like yours. Not a line in sight, and after all you’ve been through! Wouldn’t mind your figure either, come to that. I have such a struggle keeping my weight down, you know. What I wouldn’t give to be a little rake like you.’
Since Sarah was certain that Annie was perfectly thrilled with her 38 double Ds and hips as curvy as a hippo’s, she merely smiled politely while going to sort out some drinks.
‘Ah, that’s better,’ Annie sighed after emptying her glass. ‘It’s pretty hot out there today, isn’t it? Not that I’m complaining, mind you. We could do with a decent summer after the sorry excuses we’ve had over the past couple of years, don’t you think? Now, I’ll just pop out and get my things from the car while you go and wash your hair, OK? Or would you like me to wash it for you? I’ve got some lovely shampoos you can choose from …’
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Sarah assured her, and accepting that it would be much simpler now to go with the flow, she went off upstairs to do as she was told.
Ten minutes later, with a nylon overall fastened around her neck and a portable mirror propped on the kitchen table in front of her, Sarah was watching Annie snip-snipping away at her ends and feeling almost envious of how much she seemed to enjoy her work. There was a time when Sarah had loved hers too, but the adrenalin rush of deadlines and thrill of snaring exclusives all felt a long way away now. Would she ever work as a journalist again, she wondered. Was the cut-throat rivalry of fashion designers, cosmetic giants, publishing houses, not forgetting the weekly magazines themselves, all in the past, never to return? During those hectic years she wouldn’t have been able to imagine surviving without the incredible madness of it all, or the camaraderie. Now she felt daunted even to think of trying to find her way back into the game.
‘You know, I’ve always said you’ve got beautiful hair,’ Annie was telling her chattily. ‘My mum remembers you as a youngster and she said it was always lovely then. And you really don’t do anything to the colour?’
‘No,’ Sarah answered.
‘There’s not many people can boast they’re natural blondes, you know, especially not with a shade like yours. Take me for instance, all out of a bottle, this is, and the time it takes touching up the roots … Your brother’s the same as you, isn’t he? Lovely thick blond hair. Got it from your dad’s side, I expect, because he was fair too, wasn’t he?’
‘That’s right,’ Sarah replied. ‘And a couple of our grandparents.’
Snip, snip, snippety snip. A pause to assess, then a casual, ‘So how is your brother these days? We haven’t seen him for a while.’
Remembering that Annie had a bit of a crush on Simon, Sarah said, ‘Oh, busy as ever.’
More snips, more assessing. ‘Still with the same woman, is he?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Mm, French, isn’t she?’
‘She is.’
‘Mm, very exotic. Of course you lived over there yourself, didn’t you, when you was married. I suppose you speak the lingo fluently?’
Sarah was starting to tense. Please, please don’t let her be leading up to asking about Kelvin. ‘I do,’ she confirmed.
‘And your mum’s still over there, is she?’
‘Down in the south.’
‘Lovely part. I went to Biarritz once, with my ex. Is that near your mum?’
‘No, she’s further over, in Provence.’
‘Oh, that’s right, I think you told me before. So, have you got any plans to go down there this summer?’
‘I was thinking about flying over the week after next, but Simon’s coming here now, so I’ll probably go later.’
‘Oh, Simon’s coming here, is he?’ Annie said, in a tone that was presumably meant to be casual, but actually reminded Sarah of the reputation she had of being a Venus mantrap. She wondered if Lucy was aware of the fling her husband had had with Annie – if she wasn’t, Sarah certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell her. ‘That’s nice,’ Annie went on cheerily. ‘And what about his lady friend? Is she coming too?’
‘Oh yes,’ Sarah lied.
Annie’s disapproval almost sliced the air. ‘So how short do you want me to go?’ she demanded, standing back to take a look. ‘Oh hang on, that’s my phone,’ and responding to what bizarrely sounded like the Titanic going down, she dug into her bag and clicked on saying, ‘Hello, Annie speaking. Oh Kim, petal, I’m in the middle of … Oh, yeah, that’s right. No! Did you? So what did you think? Mm, me too. Really sweet, aren’t they? Oh, yeah, definitely give them my number. I’ll be glad to cut their hair. Right, you do that. I’ll call you back when I’m done.’
After ringing off she said, ‘That was my mate, Kim. She works at the kennels, you know, over by Wotton? Apparently she just ran into the couple who’ve rented the Old Lodge from the Mercers and they’re interested in going on my books. Isn’t that nice? A really lovely pair, they are.’
‘So I hear.’
‘Oh, so you haven’t met them yet? Actually, they was asking the vicar’s wife earlier if your family still owned the manor, so I expect they’re fans of your dad’s, don’t you, because we tend to get a lot of them coming round, especially in the summer. Anyway, apparently she told them the manor was still in the family, but that only you live here now.’
Not quite sure what to say to that, Sarah went back to watching her reflection in the mirror until her own phone rang and Annie scooped it off the counter top to pass it over.
‘Sarah? It’s Lucy. I’ve looked at the diary and if tomorrow at twelve works for you …’
‘That’s great,’ Sarah assured her, ‘but I’m afraid the wheelbarrow’s out of action.’
Laughing, Lucy said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll work something out. Hanna and I are going for another viewing in the village at eleven, so we can call into the manor on the way back.’
‘Thank you. I’ll look forward to it,’ and clicking off the line Sarah held the phone in her hands as she returned her gaze to the mirror. ‘Tell you what,’ she said to Annie, ‘it’s time I had a completely new look, so over to you.’ Turn me into a woman who’s not afraid of the world any more, she wanted to say, but never would to someone like Annie.
The following morning, at the far side of the village, close to the disused tabernacle with its slender towers that rose like stone candles into the crimson morning sky, the church clock was beginning to strike seven. In the street between the two buildings Harry Buck, the milkman, was making his final deliveries to the colourful almshouses, while down on the high street Bob Sherston was rolling up the shutters at the front of his bakery. As the delicious aroma of freshly baked loaves spilled out like a cloud over the cobbles, several more windows and doors started to rattle and open. Even at this early hour the temperature was rising into the twenties, and according to the forecast, it could go as high as thirty today.
Having risen with the larks, who were fluttering and chirruping around the rooftops, Lucy was already at her mother’s computer in the cowshed, making an early start on the emails. It was a long, narrow room with windows all along the front, overlooking the courtyard, and with four more desks in front of each and two secure booths at the far end for taking payments. Along the back wall was a haphazard arrangement of shelves and cupboards packed full of books, magazines and a cornucopia of curios that either hadn’t yet found their way to
pastures new, or had somehow managed to take up permanent residence here.
With the next auction due to take place in just over three weeks, the barn was already starting to fill up and offers of more lots were coming in all the time. As were requests for catalogues, dates and inspections, and enquiries about how to present an item for sale. There was also the scheduling of pickups and deliveries to be slotted into a constantly changing agenda; the organising of valuations; the registering and ticketing of each piece as it came in, followed by its careful storing with like objects to make sure it was easily found during the viewings.
Though Lucy was already reasonably au fait with how the place ran, there were certain aspects that she’d only been fleetingly involved in before, such as assessing the worth of each item, or putting the lots under the hammer. However, the latter was always left to professionals who came in for the two-day sale, while the former was generally undertaken by her mother and Maureen, unless they felt a particular item was in need of an expert eye. The day-to-day finances was another area shared by Maureen and Daphne, and had always looked, to Lucy, to be about as penetrable as a Greek knitting pattern. However, she felt certain that the firm’s accountant would be happy to devise a more user-friendly system that she could follow, if she requested it. Once the emails were dealt with, she began to try and transfer the contents of the company Outlook Calendar over to her new BlackBerry, but it wasn’t long before she was ready to hurl the whole lot against the wall. No matter how closely she followed the instructions nothing would budge, so for the sake of her own sanity she decided to make it a project for Maeve, the part-time office assistant and computer genius, when she next came in. A few minutes later she was in the process of printing out a set of draft catalogue pages to take over to the barn when the phone made her jump.
Though she knew Ben would most likely call her mobile, given the hour her heart leapt with hope anyway, and grabbing the receiver she almost sang, ‘Good morning, Cromstone Auctions, can I help you?’
A bored female voice came down the line. ‘It’s Bevan’s Courier Service,’ she informed Lucy. ‘We’ve got your delivery scheduled for between ten and twelve this morning. Will someone be there to sign for it?’
‘Yes, they will,’ Lucy assured her.
‘OK, thanks,’ and the line went dead.
Going back to her computer Lucy decided to check her bank account, not because she needed to, but because she wanted to feel the thrill of seeing her finances looking so healthy since her parents had transferred such a generous sum to help get her started. There was going to be no difficulty meeting Hanna’s school fees now, or any more struggles for the next couple of months trying to make ends meet. Of course, money problems would reappear if she didn’t make a success of things, but she wasn’t going to worry about that now, instead she was going to close up the screen and answer the phone.
This time it had to be Ben!
‘Hello, is that you?’ she cried eagerly.
‘What?’ a countrified male voice demanded gruffly.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I was expecting someone else. You’ve reached Cromstone Auctions, can I help you?’
‘Is that Daphne Fisher?’
‘No, it’s her daughter. Is there …?’
‘I want to speak to Daphne or Brian Fisher.’
Careful to keep a matching belligerence out of her own tone, Lucy said, ‘I’m afraid my dad’s away at the moment, and it’s still quite early so Mum’s not in the office yet. Perhaps I can help.’
‘Tell them Eric Beadle rang and they’re going to be hearing from my solicitor.’
Lucy’s eyes widened.
‘They know they cheated me,’ he growled, ‘and they’re not going to get away with it. You tell them that from me,’ and he hung up.
Replacing her own receiver Lucy looked at the name she’d written on the pad, then returning to the computer she carried out a quick search to see if it appeared anywhere in the files. She didn’t have to delve far. Apparently the man had submitted a walnut commode into May’s sale which had gone for one hundred and twenty pounds – thirty below the list price. After a further investigation she discovered that the buyer had come to collect the item a day after the sale, and Mr Beadle had been sent a cheque, minus the agreed commission, a week later.
‘Lucy,’ her mother said brightly as she came into the office. ‘I thought you must be out here when I saw the coffee had been made. Couldn’t sleep, or eager to get started?’
‘Bit of both,’ Lucy admitted, as Daphne came to stand behind her. ‘Do you mind me sitting in your chair?’
‘It’s yours now,’ Daphne reminded her. ‘You know, I’m sure half these things can be thrown out,’ she added, surveying the mountains of catalogues, photographs, trade papers and old files. ‘I can’t think why we’ve hung on to them this long.’
As she started a quick glance through it all, Lucy told her about the call from Eric Beadle. By the time she’d finished, although Daphne’s back was turned she was shaking her head in dismay.
‘He’s always been a tricky customer,’ she said with a sigh, ‘and this time he’s annoyed because the chap who bought the commode was a dealer who happened to sell it on a few weeks later for somewhere around a thousand pounds. Eric’s now got it into his head that Dad and I were in cahoots with the dealer and we’ve cheated him out of what was rightfully his.’
Knowing that her parents’ honesty could make even the squeakiest clean look smeary, Lucy said, ‘Do you think he really has consulted a solicitor?’
Daphne reached up to take down a broken clock. ‘Who knows? If he has he’ll be wasting his money. Unfortunately these things happen once in a while; someone gets wind of their lot being sold on for a much better price and they take exception. You know, I think we ought to try and get this working again,’ she said, opening the back of the clock. ‘It would be a shame just to throw it away when it could be quite pretty if we cleaned it up a bit and found it a new hand.’
Knowing her mother was seeing it as some kind of orphan in need of adoption, or a patient on a waiting list for surgery, Lucy suppressed a smile as she said, ‘So Mr Beadle doesn’t have any grounds for his complaint?’
Daphne was still inspecting the clock. ‘I’m sure he thinks he does,’ she replied, ‘but I’m afraid it’s the chance you take when you put something up for auction, which is why you, my dear,’ she turned to look at Lucy, ‘must be sure that you always get the client to sign an agreement when you set the price. That way there can’t be any comeback later.’
Though Lucy already knew that, she nodded to show that she was happy to hear the advice again. ‘So what should we do about him?’
Daphne tucked the clock under one arm. ‘There’s nothing we can do, unless a solicitor’s letter turns up, but I really don’t think it will. And even then it’s not going to change what happened, so let’s hope he gets over his chagrin soon and finds something else to occupy his time. Now, I’ve come to offer you a spot of breakfast to get you into the day. Fancy some eggs and bacon?’
The rumble of Lucy’s stomach answered for her, making them both laugh, and abandoning her familiarisation programme for the moment, she linked her mother’s arm as they started back across the courtyard. ‘Did you speak to Dad again last night?’ she asked as her mother stopped to unhook an empty bird-feeder.
‘Not for long,’ Daphne replied. ‘By the time he’d spoken to you and Hanna his battery was running low, so we probably won’t hear from him again until he’s charged up and back in range. Are you satisfied now that he’s fine and there’s nothing to worry about?’
‘I admit he sounded on form,’ Lucy conceded, ‘but to have forgotten to tell you where he was going wasn’t good, Mum. And you know it’s not the only time it’s happened, because …’
‘All right, all right, don’t let’s start getting into that again. We all become forgetful as we grow older, but it doesn’t mean we have to go rushing for the nearest Alzheimer clinic. Anyway, he’
s coming back tomorrow, so you’ll see for yourself that he’s in no danger of losing his marbles just yet. Now, you can fill this up with peanuts if you will while I get started on the eggs. Shall we wake up Hanna or leave her to sleep in?’
‘Let’s leave her for now. I’ll take her into Moonkicks for a latte and muffin on our way to see the Mckenzies.’
‘Ah, yes, about that,’ Daphne said, taking a frying pan from a shelf and placing it on the Aga. ‘I thought I’d go myself, if you don’t mind. I ran into them the other day at the baker’s, but it was a little awkward, so I’d like to say hello properly before Dad and I leave. Two eggs or three?’
‘Two,’ Lucy replied, impressed that her once shy mother would now go out of her way to welcome a couple of strangers when, before coming to Cromstone, she’d far rather have avoided it. ‘And the same for bacon,’ she added. ‘Are you going to have toast?’
‘I probably shouldn’t, but I’ll share a piece with you if you don’t want a whole one.’
After cutting off a slice of wholemeal and popping it in the toaster, Lucy said, ‘That’s fine about the Mckenzies. When I called yesterday to set a time they said around eleven, if that’s OK. Hanna may or may not go with you, I guess it depends what sort of mood she’s in when she gets up.’
‘Why on earth would she want to come?’ Daphne asked, going to the fridge. ‘I’d have thought she’d be much keener to try and hook up with some people her own age.’
‘Hopefully she will when she gets over her superiority complex,’ Lucy muttered. ‘Anyway, they seemed a very nice couple as far as I could tell, and quite taken with Hanna … Oh my God, what’s this?’ she demanded, pulling a small handgun out of the cutlery drawer.
Daphne glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh, it’s Dad’s,’ she replied dismissively. ‘He found it ages ago in a box that came in with a lot of other stuff from someone over near Monmouth, I think it was.’
‘So what’s it doing here, in this drawer? Is it real?’
‘I think so. I suppose Dad put it there.’
‘But Mum, it’s a gun. You’re not allowed to own one without a licence, so you should be finding out who it belonged to and returning it.’