Honey Bun
Natalie Kleinman
Copyright © Natalie Kleinman 2015
Natalie Kleinman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved. If you have purchased the ebook edition of this novel please be aware that it is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and refrain from copying it.
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For Louis
Table of Contents
Mr Right
Reflections
The Story So Far
A Pleasing Proposition
Confrontation
Breaking News
Secrets and Promises
A Step Too Far
Out of the Blue
Bittersweet Reunion
An Unwelcome Visitor
Dilemma for Guy
Emergency at the Grange
Frantic Search
All Change
The Hand of Fate
Always on his Mind
Whirlwind Romance?
A Goodnight Kiss
Dinner Dates
Shock Discovery
Change of Heart
Mr Right
Honey was standing behind the counter absentmindedly moving around the display of cakes and thinking about her mother when someone tugged at the doorbell. She looked up to see a ghost from the past.
“Guy! What on earth are you doing here?”
The smile that had caused her toes to curl all those years ago had lost none of its power to charm. The boy had become a man. He’d always been tall but now the body had filled out to fit the frame and it was a muscled giant she saw before her, his jeans and sweater well-fitting enough to show the evidence.
“Not the reception I was hoping for, Honeysuckle. The prodigal son I’m not but I expected at least a hug from an old friend.”
“Old indeed. It’s been, what, close on fourteen years!” she said when in fact she knew to the day how long it was. She found herself engulfed in an embrace she’d spent most of her teenage years dreaming about.
“What brings you back to Rills Ford after all this time? I thought you’d left the rustic country town behind you.”
“I’m here on business partly, and partly for pleasure. I’ve missed the old place. Didn’t Bas tell you I was coming?” he said, raising one eyebrow quizzically in a way which brought youthful memories flooding back.
“Not a word. Did you have a good time in Australia?”
“It was great. Hard graft but I enjoyed designing the building. All glass and angular sections. It’s a modern arts centre and I’d love to see it when it’s finished but I’ll have to make do with the video. There’s far too much I want to do here.”
“I’d love to be able to see a bit of the world. Not much chance of that at the moment though.”
There was a pause until Guy remembered he’d been charged with a message.
“Bas asked me to pass this on to you, by the way, to give to your mother,” he said, handing her a photo of the five year old nephew she’d never met under which was written in spidery letters, ‘To Gran with love from Tom’.
“He was hoping it would mean something to her. He told me... he thought, well, that since her fall she’s become a little confused; that…”
Not quite sure how to continue, Guy left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air and Honey focussing on how much her mother had lost. With Daisy’s disability had come a lack of independence and Honey, her mother’s daughter to her fingertips, had taken the tough decision to agree that she would be better off in a care home than in the cramped living premises of the Honey Bun Tearooms. The suggestion had come from Daisy herself. Ever pragmatic she’d said, “I think it’s probably time I went and mixed with people my own age. I know several of the residents at The Grange and I’m no use to you here anymore.” There was no self-pity in the statement. To her it was a matter of fact. A broken leg and a fractured wrist had left her pretty much helpless. Her confusion was sporadic and, the doctors had said, probably the result of trauma. It was to be hoped it would pass as quickly as the time it would take for broken bones to mend. In the meantime she professed to be loving every moment she was being spoiled.
Honey dragged her thoughts away from her mother and looked up at Guy.
“Look, why don’t you sit down. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“Now I know I’m home. The Englishman’s answer to all problems - a cup of tea.”
“English MAN?” she couldn’t resist asking, a little archly and completely out of character. He’d always had the power to rob her of her ease.
“It was a figure of speech.”
Honey wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her but she was glad to have something to occupy her hands though she was doubtful of her ability to prevent the tea spilling into the saucer. She overcame the problem by making it in a pot. Guy was peering into the counter inspecting the array of cakes.
“Do you make all these yourself? Any chance I could have a piece of chocolate fudge?” he asked disarmingly.
“Yes I do and of course you can.”
By the time they sat down Honey had regained some of her composure. Guy looked around.
“It’s exactly as I remember it, even down to the prints on the walls. Except this. I don’t remember this,” he said, pouring himself a cup and running his thumb over the bee logo on the teapot then sucking it because it was hot. “Your idea?”
“Yes.”
“I like it, and that you’ve carried it throughout, even down to the serviettes.”
Honey warmed to his praise.
“Thank you. But you’re right about the rest, although the walls do get painted regularly; the same colours though. People like continuity.”
“I’ve always liked change.”
Didn’t she know it! She remembered the stream of girlfriends that had passed through his hands. Basil had been good at keeping his sister updated. Much as she’d longed to, she’d never been one of their number. She pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate on what Guy was saying.
“I stuck with the name though, Honey. Somehow I never got around to changing that and in its way it’s been quite useful in business. Once they’ve heard it, no-one’s likely to forget.”
“That’s for sure. Everyone’s knows Guy Ffoulkes, even if you do spell it differently.”
They both smiled, remembering the bond that had held the three of them together, Honey, her brother and his best friend. It wasn’t as bad for Honey and Basil. Only Guy had ever called her Honeysuckle, and only to tease. Basil didn’t really mind his name though in any case most people called him Bas. But Guy; somehow he could never forgive whatever evil genius had prompted his parents to saddle him with a name that summoned up thoughts of bonfires and fireworks. Early November was never a great time for him. Of course they couldn’t help their surname. He knew that, but he couldn’t help feeling that something like Harry would have been better?
“Is there a Mrs Ffoulkes,” Honey asked though she already knew the answer. She’d followed his career through the eyes of her brother and on line.
“No. Those first few years I was too busy making my fortune.” He meant it, literally. Guy was a hugely successful internationally famous architect, most of his work looking as if it came from some futuristic film. He was represented in many of the capital cities around the world.
“I’ve had the odd fling but I’ve never found what Basil and Lucy have.”
Honey didn’t think he sounded too distressed and Basil had reported many ‘odd flings’ over the years. Certainly it would appear Guy had not been lonely.
“What about y
ou? Is there a Mr Bunting?”
Obviously I was never part of Bas and Guy’s conversations or he would know that already.
“No. As you know, Dad died three years after you and Bas went to Uni. Mum lost interest in the tearooms – totally out of character - and it was even harder to get away. Not that I wanted to. I love it here,” she said, sounding defensive though she hadn’t meant to. “Anyway, Mr Right hasn’t walked through the door yet.”
This wasn’t strictly true. Her Mr Right had come through the door barely half an hour ago though she’d known it was him when she’d waved him off as a love-struck sixteen year old. She’d cried herself to sleep many times. She’d have been glad to know he’d never suspected but then he never had seen her as anyone other than Bas’s scruffy little sister. Nowadays her auburn curls were under control, pulled back under a chic mob cap because she worked with food but in a way that flattered her elfin face. At other times she let them fall free on her shoulders, swinging as she walked in a way that made heads turn to follow her progress down the street. A smart black dress had taken the place of a rather unflattering school uniform and the baggy leisure clothes she’d worn to hide her burgeoning figure, now slimmed down to a rather attractive size 10, perfect for a woman of 5’ 8”. She was hoping he’d noticed that much at least.
“Well, you’re looking good,” he had noticed “so I wouldn’t give up yet.”
“Does anyone ever give up? Have you?”
“I’m not sure anyone would have me. I’m not easy to live with as any of my ex-girlfriends would vouch for, I’m sure.” He changed the subject, somewhat abruptly it seemed to Honey. “So how bad is your mother?”
“At the moment she’s a bit mixed up, but it’s been a lot for her to take in. The accident, the total change of lifestyle. She’s been trying to help me here since I took over from her but like I said, since Dad passed away, her heart hasn’t been in it. Frankly the move to The Grange has been wonderful for her. It’s been years since I’ve seen her this contented.”
“I can’t believe it! I remember sneaking in here; confiding in her; tasting her chocolate fudge cake which, by the way, was in no way superior to yours – and I always thought hers was great.”
She leaned across the table and wiped the corner of his mouth with a serviette.
“Thank you, but you’re supposed to put it in your mouth,” she said smiling.
He raised his own napkin as she withdrew hers and their hands touched briefly. Guy seemed not to notice Honey’s confusion.
“She was always a great listener as well as a great talker. I’m sure half of Rills Ford confided in her.”
“Why don’t you come and visit with me? You never know; it might trigger some memories.”
“Well, if you think it’ll help, I’d love to see her. I’ll do anything I can. I still remember how good she was to me. There was always an extra hug and I wasn’t the only one either. We kids would be falling over ourselves to see her and not just for her cake.”
Honey struggled to cope with the lump in her throat that these memories had brought back. The tea shop had been a magnet for all generations.
“Don’t be upset if she doesn’t recognise you. Like I said, she’s a bit confused at the moment. Mind you, you might be just what she needs.”
“In that case I’ll pop in when I leave here. I don’t suppose you can come right now?”
“No, but I go every evening after I close the shop.”
“Shall I wait till later, then? Does six thirty suit you? If you’re free maybe we could have dinner.”
Honey managed not to squeak. She told herself the invitation was only offered because he was at a loose end but there were some things it was better not to be too proud about.
“That would be lovely.”
“Daisy might not give me a hug like she used to but it will be enough if she holds my hand; even better if she gives it a squeeze. She always knew how to made us all feel good, whereas my mother; well, let’s just say she knew her place.”
“Several rungs up the ladder from the rest of us mere mortals.”
“Oh yes. ‘Choose your friends wisely’ she said to me. I was never in any doubt as to what she meant by that. Bas and I laughed about it all the time. She wasn’t too keen that I spent most of my time with the scruffiest boy in the school and his equally scruffy little sister.”
Honey bristled slightly. It was all right for her to describe herself that way but she didn’t like it from Guy. She did feel sorry for him though. Mrs Ffoulkes wasn’t a warm woman. No-one had missed her or her husband when they left Rills Ford. It was unanimously agreed in the town that The Grange was being put to far better use nowadays.
“Do they like living abroad?”
“Are you kidding? A villa; staff; wonderful weather and nothing to do but worry about whether her nail varnish is chipped?”
“And your father?”
“Does as he’s told. Always has. What about you, Honeysuckle. It’s been your life then, this little town in middle England?”
“Don’t knock it, Guy,” Honey replied with a definite edge to her voice. “I’m perfectly contented here. I can think of worse places to live.”
“Oh I wasn’t knocking it at all. It’s a wonderful town. I meant it when I said I’d come home partly for reasons of pleasure.” Honey was pleased he still regarded it as home. “The pleasure will be restoring my old home and making it suitable to live in. I’ve had enough of change. I want to come back to my roots.”
“Your old home! But you can’t! People are living there. You can’t just throw them out.”
“That’s where the business part comes in,” he said excitedly, not realising how he’d upset her. “I’ve designed a new care home which I’d like to build in the grounds of The Grange. As soon as it’s finished the residents can move across and I’ll start renovating the house. The facilities will be much better than they are now – in both places.”
“You can’t,” she repeated, this time raising her voice. “My mother lives there. What gives you the right to mess with people’s lives like that?”
She saw him stiffen; didn’t care. All she could think about was the plight of the residents. Doesn’t he have any idea what it’s like? Any change in routine could be catastrophic. Does he really think he can come back here after all this time and turn everything upside down!
“The right? It’s mine. I own it. So if you’ll pardon me I’ll do what I damned well please.”
Reflections
Guy tried to calm down as he walked the mile and a half back to The Grange but he wasn’t used to being crossed in quite such a forthright manner. The truth was he was stung by Honey’s reaction. Following his success and the accumulation of an almost indecent amount of wealth he’d turned his hand to what he thought of as giving something back. It isn’t as if I wanted a pat on the back. She didn’t have to be quite so aggressive. In fact his philanthropic projects were always anonymous because that was the way he preferred it. It was true he wanted to settle again in Rills Ford. It was true he wanted his family home back. He knew as Honey would if only she were honest that The Grange wasn’t best suited to be a care home. I wonder if she knows it was me who gave consent in the first place - or did she believe my mother had suddenly undergone a surge of altruism and allowed her old home to be used in such a manner?
Guy had bought The Grange from his parents some years ago, partially to fund their move and partly because he’d always had the intention of returning to his corner of England where as a child, and in spite of his mother, he’d been happy. He looked around him now and was more than ever conscious of how much he’d missed the place. Even in February the bare trees added a gentleness to the quaint architecture that was prevalent in this part of the country and the golden coloured stonework that formed the structure of the buildings reflected warmth in the winter sun.
“Guy. Guy Ffoulkes! Would you look at you now. I nearly didn’t recognise you.”
He loo
ked down at the old lady standing on the pavement directly in his path and whom he’d almost mowed down, distracted as he was by his surroundings and his memories.
“Hello, Mrs Worthington. It’s nice to see you again.”
Guy realised there were going to be a lot of surprised people and he would probably have to go through this ritual several time in the next few days.
“Whatever brings you back to Rills Ford? We all thought you’d gone for good.”
“And glad of it, I expect, eh?”
“No, no. It wasn’t you.”
Mrs Worthington realised the implication of what she’d said and had the grace to blush. There weren’t many who’d liked Alexandra Ffoulkes. Guy smiled at her embarrassment.
“Would you like me to carry that bag for you? It looks rather heavy.”
“God bless you, no. It’s just my little bit of shopping and we’re obviously not going in the same direction. Well, well. Guy Ffoulkes,” she muttered as she went on her way.
Calmer now, the encounter had the effect of pulling Guy out of what was left of his bad mood and by the time he reached The Grange he was in a much better frame of mind. Eight bedrooms and mine has to be one of the three without en suite. He smiled at this to him unfamiliar austerity. He had the means these days to live in luxury, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the trappings of wealth. It was the way it was, unlike in his mother’s day when she was at pains to create what she referred to as a good impression. Back then when she had chosen to entertain – which meant getting someone else in to do the work while she acted the gracious hostess – she’d made sure there were adequate facilities. They didn’t however extend to the whole property. There was no way she was prepared to share her bathroom but she didn’t provide such niceties for her only child. In any case, even if Guy’s room had been one of those with an en suite it would have been given over to one of the residents in his absence.
“How was your walk, Guy?” the manager, Betty Grant asked as he came in. “Is Rills Ford as you remembered it?”
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