Pulled by a Dream

by Kathryn Greenway

  When she saw the gilded sign for Merryfeathers, she came to a dead stop and stared in through the window at the assorted antiques and collectibles. It had been her favorite shop when she was little: Jane often brought her along when she paid a visit to Mr. Merryfeather, usually to discuss one of Emily’s grandmother’s many paintings. Of course, Emily’s reasons for recalling the shop so vividly might have had less to do with the antiques, and more to do with Mr. Merryfeather’s son, Peter, a few years older than Emily, and quite the most gorgeous boy she’d ever met.

  She smiled to herself. Well, I was seven at the time and he was eleven….

  The door to the shop opened to the sound of a tinkling bell, and she glanced up. The man in the doorway stared at her, his brow creased, and then he smiled. “Em?”

  Oh my God. He was older, of course, his face slightly rounder than she remembered, there was a little less hair, and now he wore glasses, but it was unmistakably Peter.

  Emily had never been so happy to see a friendly face.

  “Hey, it’s good to see you.”

  Peter frowned. “Shouldn’t you be in the pub by now? I was going to go myself, but Dad’s not feeling so well.” He cocked his head to one side. “I put the kettle on a minute ago. Want to join me for a cup of tea?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I’d love that.” Hot tea was the perfect antidote to a cold November day.

  Peter beamed. “Great. Come on in. We’re closed today. I think everyone is, out of respect. I only opened the door because I came into the shop for something and saw you through the window.” He led her through the shop, and she made her way carefully, avoiding the edges of small tables and writing desks, and especially surfaces containing fragile-looking objects.

  “God, it feels like yesterday. I can still hear Jane saying, ‘If you break anything, you’re the one who’s going to pay for it.’” It amused Emily to realize she was breathing in as she passed through.

  Peter laughed. “Is that why you always held your breath when you came through here?”

  “Yes!” When they reached the far door, she let out an exaggerated sigh, and he chuckled.

  The back of the shop was cozy. It wasn’t a large room, but there was a heater blasting out warm air, and a couch that had seen better days, but looked supremely comfortable. On a table beneath the single window stood a kettle, a fat teapot, cups and a carton of milk.

  “Sit down while I fix us some tea. Milk, lemon, sugar?”

  “Just milk is fine,” she assured him, leaning back against the seat cushions. The quiet, homey environment soothed her, and she let out a sigh. “Seeing you and Fran has been the best part about today.”

  “Familiar faces?” Peter poured boiling water into the dark brown teapot. “It can’t have been easy, coming back here after all this time.”

  Time….

  Emily peered at her watch. “I have just under an hour until my meeting with Mr. Tremmond.”

  “Then relax. Today must have been stressful.” Peter covered the teapot with a crocheted tea cozy and joined her on the couch. He smiled. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”

  “Whereas you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Peter’s cheeks pinked. “Liar,” he said with a chuckle.

  Emily stared. “Oh my God, you still blush.”

  Peter got up from the couch and busied himself with the tea. It was an adorable reaction.

  The last thing Emily wanted was to make him uncomfortable. “So, does your dad still run the business?” He had to be in his sixties by now.

  “We run it together. Dad doesn’t want to let go of the reins just yet, but he’s sixty-six next month. I want him to take it easy, but all he ever talks about is me settling down.”

  “You’re not married, then?”

  “No, but not for want of trying. Dad signed me up for an online dating agency last year. Oh, and then he got me to agree to a speed dating night in Bath last month.” Peter handed her a cup of tea. “Fair warning. If you visit the shop when Dad’s around, don’t be surprised if he suggests us going out for dinner or something.”

  She laughed. “Thanks for the warning.” She took a sip of tea. “I gather his efforts to pair you off haven’t been successful.”

  Peter took off his glasses and cleaned them on his waistcoat. “I’ve been on a few dates, but the consensus is that I’m too quiet, too sweet, too… nice, if there is such a thing.” He shrugged. “To be honest, I’m happy as I am. The business is my life, and I get to travel round the country, going to antique fairs. I enjoy the freedom.”

  “You seem happy.”

  Peter opened his mouth, but snapped it shut when a quavering voice called out, “Peter? Who’s that you’re talking to?”

  Peter laid a finger across his lips, before shouting out, “Just a friend. Do you need anything?”

  “Some soup would be good. Do we have any soup?”

  “I’m sure there’s a can in the kitchen. I’ll be up in a minute.” Peter met Emily’s gaze and smiled, shaking his head. “He complained this morning of an upset stomach and feeling tired. I told him to stay in bed, seeing as he’s a man of leisure today.” He waited, but nothing further came from upstairs. Peter relaxed once more and sipped his tea. “So, I heard you’ve been busy, building up your own interior design company in London.”

  Emily didn’t have to guess how he knew. “Just how many people did Jane talk to about me?”

  He snorted. “Anyone who stayed still long enough. She was so proud of you.” He paused. “Jane never mentioned a husband or a partner, so I’m assuming you’re still single too.”

  She nodded. “Let’s just say I had other priorities.” Such as making the business a success, built on her own efforts, on her own terms—and without one penny of family money.

  They spent the next forty minutes or so catching up, with a brief interlude while Peter warmed up some soup and took it upstairs. When the time approached to leave, Emily was genuinely sorry. Tea with Peter had been an oasis of calm, and it was as if the intervening years had fallen away as easily as cobwebs. In place of the teenage boy he’d been when she last saw him, there was now a middle-aged man with a gentle smile, a warm laugh, and a kind heart. His face still held traces of the boy she’d crushed on, however.

  “You appear to be contemplating me very carefully.”

  Emily blinked. “Was I? Sorry. I was actually remembering something a little embarrassing.”

  “Well, it can’t be that bad, because you’re not blushing.”

  She gazed at him steadily. “I never blush. And all it was, was that when I was little, I had a crush on you.”

  Peter burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” She tried hard to sound indignant, but his laughter was infectious. “Come on, spill the beans.”

  He regained his composure. “It just struck me as funny. You lusting after me, and—”

  “Lust? Hardly that—I was seven, for God’s sake.” She was laughing now.

  “And meanwhile, I thought Fran was just wonderful.”

  Emily gaped. “Seriously? Did she know?”

  Peter opened his eyes wide. “God, no. When she started dating Vic, I was utterly heartbroken.” His eyes gleamed. “Well, maybe not quite heartbroken. I got over it fairly quickly.” He gave her a stern glance. “And you are not to breathe a word of that to Fran, do you hear me?”

  She nodded. “My lips are sealed.” Another peek at her watch confirmed her fears. “And now I have to go.”

  “So, what do you think Jane left you?” Peter asked as he led her to the main door of the shop. His brown eyes twinkled. “Seeing as I know virtually every item of interest in that house, after all these years.”

  She gave him a speculative glance. “Why am I thinking that somewhere you have a list?”

  Peter gave a mock gasp and pretended to clutch at his heart. “As if I would.” That twinkle was still present, however. Then he stilled, his gaze focused on the front of the shop.

>   Fran was at the window, staring in at them.

  “Remember your promise,” he whispered as he unlocked the door, before greeting Fran with a cheerful smile.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We need to go to Mr. Tremmond’s office.” Fran tapped her finger against her watch face.

  “Sorry, I was reminiscing.” Emily held out her hand to Peter. “Thank you, for the talk and the tea.”

  To her surprise, he ignored her outstretched hand and pulled her into a brief hug. “It’s good to see you again,” he said quietly. As he released her, his smile faded. “In spite of the circumstances.”

  His words shattered the fragile bubble that had enveloped them for the past hour.

  They said goodbye, and she and Fran left the shop to walk about three doors down, to a narrow, two storied building. The lower half was constructed in the honey-colored stone so prevalent in the Cotswolds, with arches across the entrance and the windows, and leaded windows above them. The upper story was half timbered, done in wattle and daub, with one large central window flanked by two long, narrow ones.

  Emily smiled. “You wouldn’t find a solicitor’s office like this in London.” She pushed open the red door, and they stepped into a warm interior. Directly in front of them of them was a narrow wooden staircase.

  “Please come up,” Mr. Tremmond called to them.

  Emily led the way, and they entered the upper front room, where a wide oak table sat in front of the window, five chairs along one side, a single chair facing them, where Mr. Tremmond sat.

  “Please be seated, ladies.”

  Emily and Fran took the remaining empty seats. Emily was at one end, and at the other sat her cousin. Phillip was leaning back in his seat, hands in his trouser pockets, apparently bored to tears. The two figures beside him were a man and a woman, neither of whom Emily recognized.

  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for attending this meeting. I will not waste your time any further.” Mr. Tremmond opened the manila folder in front of him and cleared his throat. “I should state at this point, that this is not how I usually go about such proceedings. The solicitor reading the will to an assembled group? Very… Hollywood.”

  Beside her, Fran snickered. To Emily’s relief, Mr. Tremmond smiled. Then he addressed them all.

  “We are gathered here because this is what Jane Phelps requested. To begin, I must state that this is the Last Will and Testament of Jane Phelps, née Trenchard, also known as Jane Drummond prior to her divorce. I am named as her executor.” He peered at the documents in front of him. “I shall begin with the bequests. These will be distributed once the will has cleared probate, and after any outstanding debts, the funeral costs, the estate administration expenses and inheritance tax have been paid.”

  He paused to take a drink of water from a nearby glass. Emily wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t done for dramatic purposes. Certainly, Phillip appeared riled by the proceedings, his earlier boredom fled. He sat upright, fingers tapping the table, his lips pressed together.

  Mr. Tremmond addressed the lady to Fran’s right. She was perhaps in her mid-thirties, with a kindly face. In her hand she clutched a handkerchief.

  He read aloud, “To Doreen Fielding, I leave the sum of twenty thousand pounds, in gratitude for all your services during the last sixteen years. I hope it provides you with a nest egg for the future.”

  Doreen gave a choked gasp. “She never did. Oh my.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

  Mr. Tremmond continued, turning his attention to the elderly gentleman sitting next to Phillip. “To Ted Pelshaw, I leave the sum of twenty thousand pounds, in gratitude for all your services, especially during the last few years. You continued with your labors when I no longer had the heart to carry on.”

  Ted swallowed hard. “Aw, bless ’er ’eart. She didn’t need to do that.”

  Mr. Tremmond’s smile held more than a hint of sorrow. “There were a great many things that Jane didn’t need to do, but she did them regardless.” He turned to Fran. “To Frances Doherty, I leave the sum of twenty thousand pounds, in gratitude for all your kind attentions during the last thirteen years. You acted selflessly, with no thought of recompense but rather out of goodness, which you have in abundance.”

  Fran gave a startled sob, before bursting into tears. She rummaged through her handbag, muttering, “Why is it… you can never find… a tissue… when you need one?” she hiccupped.

  Mr. Tremmond reached behind him and placed a box of tissues in front of her. “I’ve learned from experience always to have a box handy.” He turned his attention to Phillip. “To my son, Phillip Drummond, I leave my ornate silver gilt Rococo mirror, so that you might reflect on the person you have become.” He fell silent.

  Phillip gawked. “That’s it? That’s all?” His face was turning an alarming shade of red.

  Mr. Tremmond arched his eyebrows. “You will be able to read it for yourself,” he commented dryly. “Although I would ask that you wait until I am finished.” Then he ignored Phillip’s exasperated growl, and turned to Emily. “To my niece, Emily Darrow, I leave my house and all its contents, and all land pertaining to the property, in the hope that it will bring you what you need.”

  Emily stared at him, shocked to her core. “She left me… everything?” It wasn’t sinking in.

  Mr. Tremmond nodded slowly. “There will, of course, be inheritance tax to be paid on the property, but yes, the house and all its land are yours.” His eyes held understanding and compassion. “She loved you very much.”

  Phillip lurched to his feet, sending his chair flying, and came around the table to where Emily was sitting, stumbling into the chairs of the others. He leaned over her, his face now bright red.

  “This isn’t over, do you hear me? I’m going to contest this. I’m going to prove she wasn’t in her right mind when she wrote that will.” Spittle hit her in the face, but Emily calmly reached for a tissue to wipe it off.

  “Good luck with that,” Mr. Tremmond murmured, but Emily doubted Phillip heard a word of it. Then he raised his voice. “I have a copy of the will here for each of you, where you will see that one of the witnesses was Jane’s GP. Any doubts regarding her ability to direct her affairs are completely groundless, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  “We’ll see what my solicitor has to say. Because I’m bloody certain it’s against the law to disinherit your only child. Don’t make any plans, that’s all I’m saying.” Phillip straightened, still glaring at her. “Because we are not finished. Not by a long shot.” And with that he stormed out of the room and down the stairs.

  When the door below banged shut, Emily let out her breath in one long shuddering gasp. “Oh, God.” Now that it was over, she was shaking, her stomach churning.

  “If I might make a suggestion?”

  She glanced across at Mr. Tremmond. “If it involves a stiff drink, count me in, because I need one right now, believe me.”

  Ted chuckled. “I could do wi’ a pint meself.”

  “Then let us go over to the Vale. I’m sure you must all have a lot to talk about.”

  That had to be the understatement of the year.

  Chapter Four

  Once inside the Vale, Emily peered at the people still present from the reception. To her relief, her parents were no longer there. Doubtless she’d receive a call or a text before long: her mother wasn’t one to leave questions unanswered. Most of the mourners had taken their leave too, and the pub seemed almost empty. At the bar, a lone figure sat on a stool, his back to them, but Emily didn’t need to see his face to recognize Jake Matthews. She realized he was observing them in the mirror behind the bar.

  Then she corrected her assessment: he was observing her.

  What is it with that man? She had half a mind to go over there and say something.

  Fortunately, Mr. Tremmond signaled the landlord. “Can we sit anywhere, Brian? I wasn’t sure if you still had clearing up to do.”

  Brian was a forty-something g
uy with tattoos covering both arms and a neat black beard that somehow balanced his shaved head. “Nah, not much to do, to be honest, so sit where you like. There’s still some food left, if you’d like me to plate it up and bring it over?”

  Emily’s stomach rumbled, and she groaned. “I’m so sorry.” To her chagrin, Jake caught her eye in the mirror and smirked. Oh, God. He heard.

  “Not surprising, really,” Fran commented. “You’ve been on the go since early, and I’ll bet you didn’t eat anything when you were in here, did you?”

  Emily shook her head, trying her damnedest not to glance in Jake’s direction. “I was too busy talking.”

  “Then yes please, Brian.” Mr. Tremmond pointed to the large table by the window. “We’ll be over there.” He led the group over to it, Ted and Doreen subdued, and Fran seemingly shell shocked.

  Emily was still reeling, only now she wanted answers. She especially wanted to know more about Ted and Doreen. As they sat down, Brian bustled over. “As we’re quiet, I thought I’d come to you, see what you wanted. After all, it’s not exactly your typical Friday, is it?” Before Emily could ask what he meant, Brian patted her on the shoulder. “Just wanted to say, loved Jane and Clare. They were a game couple. You should have seen ’em in ’ere on Quiz night.”

  Emily stared. “Quiz… night?” Somehow, she couldn’t picture her aunts in the village pub.

  Brian snorted. “You didn’t know? Man alive, we used to swear they were cheating, that one of them ’ad to have a phone ’andy so they could Google everything, but nah, they were just smart old birds. They were at the top of the leader board so often, that there was talk of trying to nobble ’em.”

  Emily couldn’t hold back her laughter. “My aunt Jane…?” It was beginning to feel like there was so much she didn’t know.

  Brian’s expression softened. “I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t get the chance to say anything earlier, but we were mad busy in ’ere. And I know ’ow much they both thought of ya.” He straightened. “Now, what can I get ya?”

  Before any of them could give him their orders, a loud voice erupted from the far side of the pub. “What does a man have to do to get served around here?”