“No, of course I haven’t, but that doesn’t explain a full frontal attack. You didn’t give me any indication when we met the other night that you felt so strongly. In fact, you were encouraging me to talk about it.”
Suzie couldn’t help smiling.
“Yes, I know you’re a reporter and any potential story needs to be pounced upon, but this was something different. You didn’t ask me about design. You didn’t ask to see the plans. Whatever makes you think I’m not amongst the rest who take a pride in their neighbourhood? You’ve condemned me out of hand and you’ve done it publicly.”
Guy didn’t raise his voice but it had a steely edge to it.
“It’s my job, Guy.”
“No doubt, but was this the only way you could go about it?”
“If you must know, it seemed the best way to get support quickly. Your plans haven’t been passed yet and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure they’re not. The last thing we want is a blot on our beautiful landscape.”
“I’m sure you’ll get a lot of support from your readers. You’ve appealed to their basic emotions with your very one-sided article. I just wanted to let you know I’m not going away. I believe in this project and I’m going to see it through. In case you’re wondering why I’ve come here, it’s to let you know I don’t do things underhandedly. You’ve crossed the wrong person this time, Suzie.”
In spite of his cool appearance Guy was so wound up he thought better of taking the car and decided to walk off his rage. No doubt about it, Rills Ford was picturesque. Leaving the main road Guy wove his way through the long-forgotten but vaguely familiar roads. Each house was different to its neighbour, varying in size and appearance, but everyone was worthy of the epithet ‘chocolate box cottage’. He knew that in a couple of months there would be a profusion of colour as wisteria, clematis and honeysuckle flowers adorned walls that at present seems as if they were covered in dead wood. Honeysuckle. Seems I just can’t get away from her. He passed the tiny dwelling that was home to Mrs Worthington and hesitated, thinking he might pay her a visit. No, he wasn’t quite ready for people yet. Another turn brought him to the town school where children were running around in the playground. Guy looked at his watch. The Rills Ford Post hadn’t arrived at The Grange until mid-morning and though he’d gone straight to see Suzie he’d been walking for a while now. His watch told him it was lunchtime and explained why the playground was full. He paused at the gates, old memories flooding back, and was surprised when a voice from the other side said: “Guy? How lovely to see you. I’d heard you were back.”
Guy found himself staring into the face of Mary Simpson, his old teacher, and was a child again. In those days primary teachers went right through the school with their pupils and Mary Simpson had been one of the few people who’d recognised Guy’s loneliness and knew the reason for it.
“Mrs Simpson! You’re still here!”
“I’m not that old, Guy, though it must seem that way to you. I’m headmistress now.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude. It was just all such a long time ago.”
“And you went away, made your fortune and now you’re back again,” she said, but kindly. “I always knew you were destined for great things.”
Guy tried to hide his embarrassment.
“Not great.”
“You were always a good student. You tried so hard to please. I expect that was compensation for what you were going through at home.”
“You knew.”
“Of course I knew, and from what I’ve seen in today’s paper you’re still carrying the burden of your mother with you today.”
“You’ve seen it then.”
“There will be few who haven’t. A small place like this likes its local news. Don’t be too hard on Suzie.” How does she know? “She’s only doing her job and doing it well even if you don’t like the circumstances. It’s up to you to put your own side of the story. I’m sure you have one.”
Suddenly Guy didn’t seem quite so alone.
“I do but it isn’t one I want made public at the moment. Mrs Simpson, I could hug you.”
“It’s just as well we’re on opposite side of this gate then. Whatever would the children think?”
“I wonder would it be an imposition if I came to see you from time to time. There are things I’d like to talk about and I trust you to honour a confidence.”
“The school phone number’s up there on the board. Make a note of it. Calls are diverted to me when there’s no-one here. I’d love to see you and you’re right; anything you tell me will remain between the two of us.”
Mary Simpson had always been an ally and it seemed that hadn’t changed. Guy walked on feeling a whole lot better.
Suzie on the other hand wasn’t feeling better. Suzie was feeling guilty. Did I jump the gun? Was I really that unfair?
“What do you think, Jack? Was I too quick off the mark?”
Jack saw a vulnerability in Suzie he hadn’t known was there. She’d always presented such a go-getting image he’d assumed she was as self-assured as she appeared. Obviously that wasn’t the case and the ‘new’ Suzie had a certain amount of appeal. Suddenly he felt protective towards her.
“It’s a good story, Suzie, and I wouldn’t have given you the front page if it didn’t deserve it.”
Suzie told him what Guy had said, that she’d never seen the plans.
“And what difference would that make? We’ve all seems examples of his work. In any case, even though The Grange is private property it’s part of this place as much as every other individual building that lines our roads. Whatever he chooses to build would also be part of it. Somehow, to my mind at least, a custom built care home would stick out like a sore thumb. Why couldn’t he just leave it as it is?”
“He wanted to come home.”
“He should have thought of that before he leased The Grange for its current use.”
In all honesty Suzie could see Guy’s dilemma. If he wanted to return to his roots why shouldn’t he? Rills Ford was like that. It became a part of you. Why shouldn’t he reclaim his heritage? It was the proposed new building she had a problem with.
Breaking News
Honey was pretty busy in the tearooms. When she wasn’t serving she was attempting to balance her books and figure out a costing for the patisserie Guy had asked her about. She always tried to do her admin stuff during quiet times at work as most of her evenings were spent in the kitchen, something that would increase if she took up Guy’s offer. At this time of year she was almost into her savings, the meagre ones she had, hanging on by her fingertips until the tourist season began. The extra income would be very welcome and she was excited about having an opportunity to expand her artistic talents. Consequently it wasn’t until mid-afternoon that she even glanced at her own copy of The Rills Ford Post. As soon as she saw the headline she sat down to have a proper look, keeping an eye on her customers in case they needed her.
Oh my God, Suzie, that really is hitting hard!
Honey had reservations as to whether or not Suzie had overstepped the mark but she was no journalist and it was certainly an eye catching headline, followed by a piece that packed a huge punch. There was also a rather nice photo of the Guy. Honey wondered where Suzie had got it from. She also wondered for a moment if Guy had seen it yet, the article not the photo, and what he thought.
I can’t worry about that though. It may be a bit strong but if it stops the development and helps my mother and the rest of them that’s all I care about.
In truth she cared about a lot more. For one thing she was certain Guy wasn’t on the make. It didn’t fit his character. For another, although she’d convinced herself she’d left her feelings for him behind years ago, she was honest enough to acknowledge to herself it wasn’t true. Not that she would ever tell a soul. Not even Suzie. Suzie had never known how Honey felt about Guy. Nobody had, and that was the way she was going to keep it.
Oddly enough none of her customer
s seemed to have seen the paper because, in as usual for her afternoon cup of tea, Mrs Worthington asked Honey if she could have a look when she’d finished.
“I was that busy this morning I didn’t get a chance to read my own copy. Good gracious, if I’d seen this I’d have made sure I did,” she said when Honey handed it to her. “Mine was folded over with the banner side down so I didn’t see the headline. Look, you can see it’s just into the top half of the page.”
Once she’d read it everyone else wanted to as well. With the exception of Mrs Worthington, perhaps the only person in Rills Ford apart from Mary Simpson who sensed what Guy was really like, they were unanimous in their condemnation of the proposal.
“Just like his mother, he is, and I never liked her either,” one said.
“She cut me dead every time she saw me. I wasn’t good enough for the likes of her,” said another.
There was more, a lot more, and it became a hate campaign against Alexandra Ffoulkes, rather than a consideration of the impact the changes might have on Rills Ford.
Honey didn’t join in the conversation. She was keeping a low profile until she had more information. Whatever she might think of Guy’s plans this wasn’t about his mother. It was about hers. A sudden hush descended on the tearooms as the man himself walked in.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said affably. “I hope you’re all well.”
If he noticed the strained atmosphere he gave no indication of having done so. Guy was no fool. Even without a copy of the Rills Ford Post laying on one of the tables he would have to have been completely insensitive not to be aware of an unsettling silence. Unsettling to the ladies that is. He was completely at ease. Having left Mary Simpson at the school he’d collected his car and driven the short distance to a small patch of woodland with the river that gave the town its name running through it. Already wearing casual clothes, he took his walking shoes from the boot of the car and spent a peaceful couple of hours renewing his acquaintance with one of his favourite childhood haunts. He chose not to step the boulders across gently flowing water. As a boy he’d got his feet wet more than once but he didn’t have spare socks with him and adulthood had brought with it at least a small semblance of common sense. That’s not to say he wasn’t tempted.
By the time he walked into the Honey Bunny Tea Rooms he was ravenous!
“I’m looking to you to save my life, Honey. Please tell me you have some sandwiches left from lunchtime or, better still, quiche and salad. I’m not used to all this fresh air and it’s given me an appetite.”
“Quiche I can do. Hot or cold?”
“Hot, please.”
“What fresh air. I saw your car go past before,” she said, sorry immediately that she’d mentioned it in case he thought she was looking out for him.
“I’ve been walking in the woods; you know, like we used to when we were kids.”
“And you used to push me off my balance into the water. Yes, I remember. How did you say you wanted that quiche? Over your head, was it?” she said, taking it out of the microwave and putting it on a tray with a bowl of salad. “Anything to drink with this?”
“A pot of tea with your little honey bee on the outside would be lovely.”
“Coming right up.”
Honey knew most of the people in the café were giving her sideways glances, and they weren’t complimentary either, but this was her place and she owed it to every customer to give the best service she could. Anyway, she didn’t like that she could see this becoming a vendetta against Guy rather than a protest about his project.
“Won’t you join an old lady, Guy? That is if you don’t mind watching me eat cake. I can recommend it when you’ve finished your lunch.”
At least one of them’s on his side
“Delighted, Mrs Worthington. It’s always a pleasure to sit and chat with you.”
Mrs Worthington was delighted too. Even at her age she wasn’t immune to Guy’s charm. Knowing he had a sense of humour she made the most of the situation that had fallen into her lap and asked him, “Have you seen this, Guy,” she said, pointing to the paper. “It seems there are those who don’t approve of what you’re trying to do. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Guy was delighted. He knew she was an ally.
“I’m trying to do what’s best for Rills Ford and, more particularly, for those in my care. And it would be nice too to have my old home back,” he added mischievously.
“In your care? You’ve been away all this time and you say these people are in your care?”
“The assumption is that because I’ve not been here there hasn’t been any contact. It would be better all round if assumptions weren’t made and conclusions reached without possession of all the facts.”
Guy threw a quick glance at Honey, hoping he’d made his point.
“Well, we all know how people love to gossip. Making mountains out of molehills, that’s what they’re doing.”
Guy silently blessed the old lady. He might almost have been feeding her the lines; everything she said was designed to make a point. No fool, Mrs Worthington. Guy made an on the spot decision and hoped he wouldn’t regret it later.
“How about coming up to The Grange tomorrow and having tea with me. The catering is excellent and I could discuss my plans with you if you like.”
Mrs Worthington beamed at him. She knew she was being drawn into a conspiracy but she didn’t care. If the whole of the town was conspiring against Guy he deserved to have one or two people on his side. Apart from which it was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in years.
“I’ve got a few old friends living there. It’s a while since I’ve seen them. Yes, Guy, I’d be delighted. I’ll visit them first and then we can have a nice little coze.”
Honey had watched this exchange from behind the counter. Everybody in the place had watched though a few at least kept up some pretence of having their afternoon tea.
What’s he up to now? She wondered.
“That was delicious, Honey, thank you. Now, what about one of your lovely scones? I’ve been wanting to try them ever since I saw Mrs Worthington eat one with so much enthusiasm the other day. Do you have any raspberry jam? I prefer it to strawberry.”
Honey couldn’t help chuckling to herself though she maintained a business like exterior. He was working them all just like the professional he was. She wasn’t surprised he was so successful in his work. He could charm an angry bull.
“Raspberry jam it is.”
Only human, Honey found herself wondering about Guy’s invitation to Mrs Worthington. He was up to something, she was sure of that, and it wouldn’t be taking advantage of an old lady. He was a nice guy. I remember the first time I heard that. I must have been about six and I thought they were talking about him. I stroked his arm and said ‘Nice Guy; Nice Guy’. Oh my God, how embarrassing. I hope he doesn’t remember. Honey could only speculate but for the first time ever she was feeling tied to the premises. It was Saturday the next day but she wouldn’t be able to go and see Daisy until early evening by which time the afternoon tête-à-tête would be well and truly over. During the summer she always hired a student to help her in the shop. Maybe the extra income from the patisserie would enable her to do that at Easter as well. She could bake during the day and at least have a couple of evenings free for socialising. I need to get a life! Only it had never bothered her before. She had to ask herself who she might be wanting to see on those evenings off – as if she didn’t know already.
I’m still his best friend’s kid sister. In his eyes I’ll never be anything else. In any case, she thought, the sparks are going to fly over this petition. Nobody is going to ride roughshod through my mother’s life.
Honey felt better after her inward rant. She’d been more than content with her single life. That wasn’t going to change just because her knight in shining armour had returned from the crusades. He wasn’t here to rescue her and she certainly was no damsel in distress. She wondered
what the chances were of pumping Mrs Worthington when she came in again on Monday. Probably not great.
Secrets and Promises
When Guy got home he phoned Mary Simpson.
“Hello, Guy. How lovely to hear from you again so soon.”
“I was wondering, Mrs Simpson, if you were free to come for tea tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to ask your advice.”
“I’d be more than delighted to help if I can. You don’t have to offer me tea as well, young man.”
“Mrs Worthington is coming too. What more could a man ask than to have his two favourite ladies share his table?”
“You’ve lost none of your charm over the years, Guy Ffoulkes, have you? Will three o’clock suit you?”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Guy took a deep breath. I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Only time will tell.
Come Saturday morning and Guy couldn’t resist going into Honey’s tearooms to buy some pastries. The catering up at The Grange would have been more than adequate but somehow he was drawn to the little shop in the main street. Basil’s warning to him all those years ago still had the power to pull him up short. Apart from that, in spite of Honey’s polite exterior she’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t approve of him – and it wasn’t just his plans for The Grange. He wondered how much was due to his friend’s feedback over the years. Guy had made some foolish errors in the romance stakes, going from one girl to another, always ending any relationship before they might think there was a future in it. His heart had long ago been lost to a tomboy – though he had to admit she was no tomboy these days – and he had inadvertently built himself a reputation as a womaniser. He was as certain as he could be that Basil would have kept his sister informed of his friend’s progress over the years, not through any malice but because they’d all been so close as children. So what was he doing walking into the shop – again. I’m buying cakes; that’s what I’m doing.
Honey Bun Page 4