Greengage Shelf

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Rachel frowned. “Normally, yes. Right now, though, she won’t talk to me. None of my usual tricks to cheer her up are working.”

  Laura made a sympathetic noise while Kit asked, “When did this start?”

  “Well…” Rachel trailed off, adjusting her skimpy halter top with fidgeting hands. “I suppose it was the day before yesterday.”

  “Okay,” Kit said. “What happened?”

  Finding a little of her usual cheerful mood, Rachel snorted out a laugh. It wouldn’t have been a flattering noise from anyone else, but somehow, she made it sound charming and vibrant. “I sort of got a bit plastered. More than usual, that is. I blame the Jell-O shots. They taste like sweets but get you drunk in two secs. They’re dangerous!”

  Shannon slammed down an empty bottle of Worcester sauce on the bar while clearing her throat in an embarrassed sort of way. Her dark skin nearly hid what Kit thought might be a blush. “You were more than drunk, Rach. You were pickled to the goddamned gills.” Her eyes only quickly flitted up to Rachel’s face and then back to the floor.

  Kit flinched. No eye contact. Whoa. That’s a bad sign.

  “When you get a chance, refill this.” Shannon pointed to the sauce bottle and then went back to the table she had been tending.

  Rachel watched her go with a furrowed brow. “Guys,” she whispered to Laura and Kit, “I think I might’ve really fouled up that night. Two days later and Shannon won’t tell me what I did or said when I came home. She only gives me the silent treatment.”

  “That’s not like her,” Laura said. “She’s usually good at communication and telling you exactly what hare-brained thing you did, because I’m sure it was exactly that—hare-brained.”

  Laura was right on both accounts, Kit mused. It probably was hare-brained, and Shannon was usually good at communicating. She was about fifteen years older than Rach and much calmer and more patient. She tended to handle Rachel’s revelries and occasional faux pas with ease. What could Rach have done to deserve this?

  Rach grabbed Kit’s arm. “Mate! Help me! This is the sort of thing you do best. After all, you helped us with Pinky last Christmas.1 Please figure out why she’s mad at me and how I can fix it. She’s the light of my life, I can’t have her angry with me. I’ll do anything!”

  “All right,” Kit said. “Chill. I’ll try to ask her at some point.”

  “Thank you! But don’t tell her I asked you to.”

  “Of course not. I’m not daft.”

  “I know, I’m just so worried,” Rachel said, pushing a ginger strand back into the messy up-do it had escaped from.

  Josh, one of the other owners, sashayed out of the kitchen. “Laura! Kit! Have you come here so I can poison you with my cooking?”

  “No, I’m afraid we’ve eaten,” Kit said with a theatrical pout.

  He looked her up and down. “You look like you could do with another meal. Have you lost weight?”

  Kit tried not to preen. “Maybe, but I’ve gained it in muscle. I’ve been working on my abs.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Ugh. Do you have to walk around like some sports magazine model and make the rest of us look bad?”

  “Blimey, I’m not that fit,” Kit shot back.

  Josh made a sceptical noise. “You know, I used to be quite fit and look after myself so I thought I could teach my future child how to lead a healthy, active life. Except, ever since we adopted precious but very high-energy Clark…”2 He paused to yawn, giving Kit a moment to think about how sweet Josh and Matt were with their new son. She couldn’t help wishing her parents had been like that.

  Josh picked up where the yawn had interrupted him. “…since then, I can’t get the motivation to do anything physical except play with Clark and go on our walks to the park.”

  “That counts as exercise,” Laura interjected.

  “Yeah, but not as much as my body is used to. I’m thrilled that we have such a speedy system for adoptions in this country, but I wish I would’ve been given more time to prep for this busy, exhausting life.” He patted the slight rounding of his stomach. “Or at least some warning so I could find new ways to stay healthy.”

  Kit knew nothing about being a parent but could spot an opportunity for a workout buddy when she saw one. “Why don’t you leave Matt and Clark on their own one Sunday and come over to my place?” she asked. “We could lift some weights together? Or go for a run?”

  He pursed his lips. “Not really my bag. Weights are more Matt’s thing. Can I bring my Pilates DVD and we can do that instead?”

  “Why not?” Kit said fast, worried he’d change his mind. “I’ll try anything once.”

  “Which is why Laura dates her,” Rachel said, looking far too pleased with the innuendo, right up until Laura sighed at her like a patient older sister.

  There was a sudden clanging noise and a curse in a deep male voice coming from the kitchen. Josh muttered his farewells and hurried towards the sound.

  “I wonder what Matt dropped this time,” Rachel said, eyeing the recently closed door. “I swear, ever since they got that kid, neither of them sleeps. It’s made them clumsy. Still, they seem content. Those two were born to be dads.”

  Thinking about parents and children brought Kit’s thoughts back to Alice and her sons, reminding her why she was here. “Oh, Rach. I actually came by to ask you about something.”

  “Ooh, interesting. What was it?”

  “It’s about Alice Caine’s books,” Kit said.

  Rachel adjusted the strap on her skimpy top again. “Huh?”

  “About you being related to Alice and apparently helping set up her bookcases,” Laura clarified.

  “Yeah, both those things are true. Why on earth have you come here to ask me about that?” Rachel said with a laugh.

  The Jessica Jones theme song sounded, signifying that Laura’s mobile was ringing. She excused herself from the others and went over to the pub’s farthest corner to take the call.

  Kit concentrated on Rachel. “I wanted to check if you know anything about what’s been going on with Alice’s bookshelves. I guess you knew they’d been tampered with?”

  Rachel hummed pensively for a couple of seconds. “Do you mean last year when she was saying that someone had moved her books around?”

  “Yep, exactly.”

  “Sure, I remember that. Didn’t one of the books get nicked as well? Who would do that? Especially to someone as nice as Alice?”

  Kit leaned in. “So, you know nothing about—” Her sentence was interrupted by Laura coming back with the air of someone who had been told that all desserts have been banned by the police.

  “Bloody hell, are you all right?” Rachel exclaimed.

  Laura stared into space. “No. He is… He has… I mean, I knew he would. It’s what he does. But so soon? Without warning? And with all the changes?”

  Kit put a hand on her shoulder and caressed it. “Sweetheart, you’re making no sense. What are you on about?”

  “Uncle Maximillian. He has moved into Howard Hall right this minute and is now wondering if he can rearrange the layout of the ground floor. Or rather, he’s not so much wondering as currently doing it.”

  Kit made a split-second decision. The book mystery could wait. Right now, she had to make sure that the love of her life didn’t find her home, and the keepsake of her deceased parents, turned into an eccentric uncle’s play area.

  She squeezed Laura’s shoulder and then let go. “That’s it, we’re going to Howard Hall and stopping him right now! Rach, I’ll have to talk to you about this later.”

  They headed for the door as Rachel called after them, “Good luck! Oh, and please don’t forget about my… problem.”

  Kit shouted back that she wouldn’t, and they left.

  Chapter Five

  The Duke of Wellington Said What?!

  They hurried up the hill until the Georgian manor house that was Howard Hall loomed in front of them. It was one of those June evenings when the balmy air s
mells of honeysuckle and sun-warmed strawberries. However, if she was being less poetic, Kit would have to admit that it might be Gage Farms’ nearby orchards that she smelled. She breathed in and for a second almost forgot that they were on a mission. The look on Laura’s face brought her back to the present with a jolt.

  Kit took her hand and held it tight. “How could your uncle just move in like that? And start shifting your stuff around?”

  “I’m afraid that’s Uncle Maximillian for you. He has the same forcefulness and propensity for action as Aunt Sybil and my father had. Sadly, he also has the eccentricity of Father and Sybil, but ramped up to the top level.”

  Kit fell quiet as she tried to imagine someone being more eccentric than the barmy aunt that used to run Gage Farm and Howard Hall.

  “So, you’re not surprised by all this, babe?”

  Laura brushed a thumb over Kit’s hand. “Surprised, no. Upset? Yes.”

  They shared a quick kiss before Laura opened the big, creaking door to Howard Hall. From inside came noises of furniture scraping across wooden floors and a man huffing, badly out of breath.

  “Uncle Maximillian?” Laura called out while she took off her shoes.

  “This armchair is without a doubt better suited for the east side of the room,” a man’s voice shouted back.

  “Hello to you, too,” Kit said under her breath.

  They ventured farther into the house, following the noises of furniture being moved. They found the culprit pushing a wing-backed armchair around in the library, Kit’s favourite room in the house. Sure, it wasn’t as big as the fancy mansion libraries one saw in movies, but still, the fact that there was a room dedicated to books here made her librarian’s heart soar. She couldn’t quite see why there was a need to shift the cosy, old armchair, though. More importantly, she certainly couldn’t see why it was a good idea to stack a bunch of old dictionaries in a corner and place a half-eaten sandwich on top of them.

  Kit obviously couldn’t see it herself, but she was sure her face was as scrunched up and disapproving as a raisin arguing with a political opponent.

  The pest who was pushing the poor armchair around halted to stare at them. “Ah, Little Laura. There you are. Jolly good. Oh! And you brought Susan.”

  Kit and Laura looked at each other and in unison said, “Susan?”

  Maximillian Howard —a short man with cottony, combed-over tufts of white hair and the shape of someone who stayed in his house and ate as many pies as his housekeeper could serve him —kept staring at them.

  “Yes, silly girl! Susan.” He pointed to Kit.

  “Uncle Maximillian, I’m not sure who Susan is. This, however, is Kit. She’s my—”

  “Best friend,” Kit filled in.

  It wasn’t a lie. Laura had been her friend before they became a couple, and she was still her best friend. If they spent a couple of weeks focusing on the platonic part of their relationship to not hurt this old man, who mattered to the family-orientated Laura, Kit was fine with that. In fact, she now saw the need for it. The man in front of them was clearly as loopy as an inbred kitten on catnip. He’d picked up the half-eaten sandwich, taken a bite, and then replaced it. However, instead of putting it on top of the dictionaries like before, he’d now wedged it between two of the volumes. This had made the sandwich’s gloopy filling spill all over the poor dictionaries. Kit swallowed down a few curses.

  Huffing and puffing, Maximillian ignored the introduction and fixed Laura with a perturbed look. “Poppet, I think moving this armchair is all I have energy for tonight. Tomorrow, however, we must discuss the glass cabinet and how much of it I can use. I have this new fox, you see. It requires a home.”

  “Of course,” Laura said patiently. “If I’d been aware that you would move in tonight, I could’ve made more room for you before you arrived.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, as Wellington always told his troops, with family you should never warn of your approach. Unlike when you attack the French. It’s bad for the blood.”

  He turned away and began moving the armchair again.

  Kit nudged Laura in the ribs and whispered, “What? The Duke of Wellington? The one who beat Napoleon at Waterloo? ‘Bad for the blood?’ He can’t have said that! What’s your uncle on about?”

  Laura stepped back so they could have a whispered conversation out of his earshot. “Yes, I believe that’s who he’s referring to, and no, I can’t imagine Wellington ever said anything like that. My uncle makes things up. We play along. I should have warned you, sorry.”

  “Have you… Had him checked out? I mean, by a therapist or a GP?”

  “Yes, both. All the doctors were very thorough. All his tests showed normal results when it came to his intelligence and brain patterns.”

  Kit watched him wrestle with the armchair, moving it in circles now. “Good. As you said before, unique behaviour does run in your family. Still, it seems rampant with this guy.”

  “Mm, afraid so. The psychologist said Uncle Maximillian’s behaviour stems from a daydreaming personality type with disregard for the outside world, combined with a somewhat strange childhood and, well, a need for attention.”

  In front of them, Maximillian was realising that his sandwich was beyond rescue. It was squished between an English dictionary and a French one, neither of which would ever be the same again. He grunted at the books, but then chuckled and began wiping them down with what looked like a monogrammed silk handkerchief.

  “So, he’s not really as much of a plant pot as he seems?” Kit asked. “But puts it on to get attention?”

  “Something like that. I believe he doesn’t care what people think about him but knows that acting eccentric helps keep people away and lets him get what he wants. Is that an unkind thing to say?”

  “Seems pretty accurate to me.”

  Laura sighed. “His behaviour has worsened in the last couple of years. Now I can’t tell how much of it is for show and how much he has truly lost connection with the real world. Either way, he’s perfectly lucid and sharp when he needs to make decisions about finances or the businesses in which he is a silent partner. In other words, he’s fine. Merely eccentric.”

  Maximillian abandoned the dictionaries and said, “These will need cleaning. And I fear I shall require a new sandwich.”

  Laura stepped closer to him and gave him that beaming smile of hers. “I’m sure Kit wouldn’t mind cleaning the dictionaries, considering she’s a librarian and a book lover. You and I can go rustle up another sandwich.”

  He smoothed down his comb-over, which had come unstuck while moving the armchair. “Yes, yes, jolly good! We will do that later. First, back to my fox. Have you seen it, Susan?”

  “Um, it’s Kit, not Susan. And no, I haven’t seen your… fox,” Kit said, nearly able to hide her confusion and scepticism.

  A curl tickled her ear as Laura leaned close to whisper, “It's not a live fox. He’s an amateur taxidermist.”

  Kit sucked in a breath and whispered back, “You mean he stuffs dead things? And now wants to keep them in glass cabinets in your house?”

  Maximillian was tutting at the sandwich-splashed dictionaries and didn’t seem to notice their whisperings.

  Laura winced. “I’m afraid so. Well, he gets an expert to do the actual stuffing, but still.” She rubbed her forehead. “We used to have a lot of taxidermy here, including deer heads on the walls. I got rid of the last ones when Aunt Sybil moved out. It appears they’re going to be restocked.”

  “Ugh. Bloody marvellous,” Kit muttered.

  Laura faced her uncle and said, “Neither I nor Kit I have seen your fox, but I’m sure we can find a nice spot for it.”

  Sure, a nice, dark place where no one will see it, Kit thought.

  Maximillian shook his head, upsetting his comb-over again. “No, no. You misunderstand me, dear girl. I wanted to find the fox so I could give it to Susan. As a gift. Like a present. For Susan, don’t you know?”

  Laura took an audible, long breath. �
��You mean Kit?”

  “Yes, Kit. Or Susan. The beautiful young lady next to you,” he said with a dismissing wave of the hand.

  “Uncle, while that’s very kind of you, I don’t think Kit wants that fox.” Laura’s voice had lost some of its patience. She rubbed her furrowed brow again.

  Kit couldn’t stand the look of unease on her face.

  “Choose your battles, babe,” she whispered. Then she smiled at Maximillian. “Sure, I’ll happily accept the gift.”

  He clapped his chubby hands. “Jolly good! I shall fetch it.”

  As he hurried out of the room, Kit took Laura’s hand. “Babe, you have enough on your plate with him shifting stuff around in your house and his sudden moving in. I’ll accept the dead fox and figure out what to do with it. I’ll head home after I get the thing and leave you to focus on this mess. Perhaps you can swing by the cottage when he’s asleep?”

  Laura shot her a glance.

  Kit stepped back. “Whoa. What does that look mean?”

  “It means that my uncle doesn’t sleep much and always insists on having the bedroom next to mine. Sneaking out will be very hard. He’s already promised he’ll be with me all the time I’m at work and most of the time when I’m not,” Laura said, gritting her teeth between sentences.

  “Bloody hell. Um, okay, so when will I see you?”

  “Every chance I get. That's not the problem, though. The problem is meeting up without Uncle Maximillian.”

  Kit shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to not appear as dejected as she felt. “You mean we can’t even meet up alone in my cottage?”

  “Dearest darling,” Laura said, her voice softening. “We can try. However, it’s on the same grounds as Howard Hall and Gage Farm. Maximillian will follow me wherever I go. It’s not like I can shake him on that two-minute walk.”

  “He’ll go with you everywhere?”

  “Well, not into the most crowded places, as he is a bit of an agoraphobic. But anywhere not too busy, he’ll follow me, I’m afraid. He doesn’t understand personal space.”