“I’m not running anywhere. Look at this.” She searched for a page on her phone and passed it to Flora.
“The Autumn Antiques Fair in Bristol. What about it?”
“Why don’t I go? Find myself a B and B. Spend a couple of days at the fair finding us lots of lovely stock while also removing myself from Mr. Persistent-Pain-in-the-Arse’s reach? Good idea or not, what d’you reckon?”
“I had thought we might go to that together.”
“And close the shop? Again?”
And so it was decided. Guilt at how easy it had been to deceive her mother sat heavy as a stone in Xanthe’s stomach, but she was relieved that she had found a way to do what she planned to do. What she had to do. Not that there weren’t a dozen other things to be taken care of before she could go anywhere. She would have to convince Flora that she had booked a room at a bed-and-breakfast, without leaving her any details of it in case she tried to contact her and found she had never checked in. She had to assemble clothes that would not make her look like a madwoman in 1605. She had to pretend to leave, this time in her taxi, park it somewhere miles away, get back to the shop, and into the blind house in the garden without Flora seeing her. She had to make absolutely certain, of course, that she had the gold locket her mother had given her with her at all times. It was her ticket home and she would never forget how she had felt when she thought it lost forever. She also had to remember to “forget” to take her phone. Again. Leaving it in an obvious place in the house, so that her mother couldn’t try to call her and then worry when she didn’t answer. Or else think up a story about it not working. And she would have to find some antiques from somewhere; coming home empty-handed was not an option. And then there was the chocolate pot. Xanthe would have to make sure it was hidden somewhere in the garden so that she could quickly retrieve it and use it to step back through the centuries, having not had the chance to try it and see if it would work. Very quickly, Xanthe’s initial relief at setting up the lie for her journey disappeared and was replaced by a level of stress that took a great deal of effort to manage without Flora noticing that something was wrong. Xanthe decided if her mother questioned her mood she would just blame it on having Marcus around.
She was sufficiently distracted to have forgotten that she was supposed to be collecting the pine dresser in Devizes with Liam. Flora had to remind her to be ready, saying that she would mind the shop.
“I can clean some of the silver while I’m in there.”
“I suppose it will do you good to get out of the workshop, try your hand in the shop again,” Xanthe told her.
“Might as well get used to it if you’re going to be off gallivanting for three days.”
“I don’t even know how to gallivant. It’s a stock-buying trip, remember?”
“Think I’ll set up a little workbench in a corner of the shop. Make best use of the hours I’m in there. And don’t forget we need to start planning Christmas.”
“Mum, there’s just the two of us.”
“I know that, but we’re still going to do it properly.” Flora’s tone was businesslike but Xanthe knew her too well. She knew how much her mother loved Christmas. This would be her first in twenty-five years without her husband. Her first with Xanthe in Marlborough. It mattered.
“Of course,” Xanthe said, nodding emphatically. “First one in our new home. It’ll be special.”
“We’ll need a turkey, even if it’s a small one. There’s an organic butcher’s stall in the Saturday market. We can order one from there. It’s got to be free range. And a tree, we need to find out where to get one of those.”
“And where to put it,” said Xanthe, thinking of the muddle that was their flat.
By the time Liam arrived with the van Flora was happily organizing her china repair tools and an angle-poise lamp in the shop, her head full of preparations for the festive season. The borrowed van was large and in good condition. Liam drove, and they took the main road out of Marlborough toward the auction house in Devizes.
“You OK?” he asked Xanthe after a few miles. “You are unusually quiet.”
“Am I usually noisy?”
“You usually speak.”
“Sorry. Thanks for taking the time to do this. Hope I’m not holding up a crucial bit of classic car restoration.”
“You are, but you’re forgiven. As long as we get lunch somewhere on the way home.”
“I’m going away, did I say? Got a ton of things to do.”
“Somewhere exciting?”
“Antiques Fair in Bristol. Mostly Victorian stuff.”
“You antique women know how to have a good time.”
Xanthe gave him a look. She leaned forward and tried the switch on the van radio. “Does this work?”
“Of course!”
“I didn’t think they still made them like this.…”
“And you call yourself a lover of all things vintage? Here, you have to press that.” Without taking his eyes from the road he prodded the right button and the elderly device burst into static and then song. “Wow! Gotta love a bit of Neil Sedaka,” he declared, joining in with “Oh! Carol.” His voice was melodic and rich, note-perfect and tuneful.
“Very impressive,” Xanthe told him.
He paused to grin at her. “What, just because I play lead guitar you thought I wouldn’t be able to carry a tune in a bucket?”
“I’ve seen Tin Lid perform, Liam, remember? I know you can sing. But driving at the same time? Well…”
“Some of us blokes can multitask, you know.” He went back to singing, hamming it up for Xanthe’s benefit. When she began to giggle he feigned hurt. “You could help me out here instead of taking the Micky. Come on, you’ll know the words even if you think you don’t. Here we go with the high bit. ‘Darlin’ there will never be another…’”
Despite herself, Xanthe was unable to resist joining in. Their voices were good together and Liam quickly gave up playing the fool so that he could sing properly with her. Xanthe felt the tension in her shoulders easing.
Three songs and several miles later a news bulletin came on. Xanthe switched it off and they continued in companionable silence for a while. As they neared the town of Devizes, Liam spoke again.
“I saw Harley last night,” he said. “He mentioned you’d had a visitor. From London.”
“Did he?”
When Xanthe didn’t offer anything else Liam let it drop for a while, but eventually curiosity got the better of him. “I’m guessing from what, Harley said, and what he said your visitor said, we’re talking the toxic ex here. So … you gave him your new address? Only, I thought he was the baddest of bad from your dark past and you never wanted to see him again.”
“Yeah, well, Marcus has never been very interested in what anybody else wants.”
“So you didn’t invite him?”
“I did not. Nor do I have any idea how he got my address. Might have pestered my father for it, I suppose. Oh, turn left here.”
“What?”
“The auction house is to the left of the town center. We need to turn off the bypass.”
Liam did as she instructed, taking the hint that Xanthe didn’t want to discuss her ex any further. They soon arrived at their destination, parked, and got out of the van. Xanthe felt awkward not explaining things to Liam when he was giving up his time to help her, but he didn’t need to know every detail of her life. Things were complicated enough without letting him get more involved. At that moment it was all she could do to concentrate on the practical details of her journey back to the seventeenth century. She felt bad for having allowed herself to forget that Samuel was in trouble. Here she was singing, enjoying Liam’s company, when Samuel was in danger. Once again her head filled with panicky thoughts: what if she was too late? What if Samuel got moved before she could travel to his time? Time that seemed to move at a different rate to her own, so that she could not be certain how many days or weeks he was being held, or when he might face a trial. The clock was ticking, and yet
in the present day she felt as if everything was moving with maddening slowness. As if she were in some awful dream, her legs leaden, her every action clumsy and unhelpful. She didn’t have time to tell Liam everything he wanted to know. Didn’t have the energy to worry about his growing feelings for her. Not then.
The dresser, when taken apart, fit snugly into the van. Xanthe spent some time tightening bungee cords and wedging blankets around its edges so it wouldn’t get damaged on the journey. As she worked, it occurred to her that this could be a good place to park her taxi while she was away. Leaving Liam to make the final adjustments to the load, when she settled up in the office she checked that they wouldn’t mind accommodating her vehicle in the car park for a couple of days. There was a cafe at the auction house so she was able to persuade Liam to get a quick bite there rather than seek out a pub. A leisurely, chatty lunch was something Xanthe had neither nerves nor time for. On the journey home he was sufficiently sensitive to pick up on the fact that something was bothering her.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said as he steered the van amid traffic swirling around a roundabout.
“Tell you?”
“About whatever it is that’s bugging you. It’s OK. We hardly know each other.” There was a pause before he added, “That’s where you’re supposed to disagree and tell me that we’re friends and of course friends share stuff.…”
“Sounds like you can have both sides of that conversation.”
“All I’m saying is, if your ex is giving you grief, well … I’m a good listener.”
For all his joking she knew he was being sincere.
“Thanks,” she said, and meant it. “If I need to talk, I’ll…”
“Excellent!… Will you look at this plonker in front of us; does he even know he’s towing a caravan? You can’t throw an old banger of a car around like that. Give me strength.…”
* * *
Back in Marlborough, Liam maneuvered the van down the cobbled alleyway so that they could park outside the shop. Flora appeared in the doorway, eager to see their new acquisition.
“You’re back quickly,” she said.
“Liam is a demon driver,” Xanthe explained.
“And your daughter has something against leisurely lunches,” Liam added.
At that moment a man emerged from the shop behind Flora, who turned to smile at him. Xanthe thought he looked familiar but could not place him. She noticed how her mum seemed to like talking to him and felt a little lurch of love for her and a surge of hope. If her mother could enjoy working in the shop and meeting new people it would be so good for both of them.
“A happy customer?” Xanthe asked as the man left with a wave.
“Yes and no. He did buy that pinchbeck snuffbox we found last month in Melksham market, but he really wanted to talk to me.”
“Oh?” Xanthe stopped hefting one of the doors of the dresser and watched her mother’s face closely.
“I bumped into him in the Saturday market. He runs the artisan bread stall. I mentioned we have this place and…”
“He came looking for you.”
Liam stepped out of the back of the van with another door. “Where do you want this, Mrs. W?”
“Oh, take it on through to my workshop, please.”
“Mum.” Xanthe wanted to hear more about the mysterious visitor. “The man from the bread stall? Did he come here to chat you up?”
“What, Graham? Don’t be silly, love, he’s a happily married man. No, he came because they are short a person for their bell-ringing team at St. Luke’s. He wondered if I could help out. I think I rather like the idea. Thought I might give it a go.”
“Bell-ringing? Well, that sounds … but what about your hands? Do you think you’d be able to manage?”
“Perfectly well, thank you very much. I’m not a complete cripple, you know.”
“Mum!”
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m allowed to make jokes about myself, aren’t I? It’ll be fun. Do me good to get out of the shop and the flat every now and again. Now, come on, let’s have a look at this lovely dresser and get it inside before it starts raining, shall we?”
Flora directed operations, with Liam and Xanthe slowly manhandling the dresser through the front door, along the hall, and into the workshop. Once installed they left Flora to enjoy inspecting the new treasure and went back outside.
“Here,” Xanthe said, handing Liam the money to give to his friend for the use of the van. “Thanks. Really, I couldn’t have done it without you. And it was … nice.”
“Nice? OK, it’s a start, I guess. Nice. Hmmm.” Liam flashed her a smile and then climbed into the driver’s seat.
“I should pay you for your time too.”
“Not necessary,” he insisted, starting up the engine. “But you could buy me a pint of Henge later. Deal?”
“Deal,” she agreed, and found herself torn between wanting to show how much she appreciated his help and needing to prepare for the impossible journey she had to make.
As she was helping him reverse out of the narrow street Gerri came out of her tea shop.
“Was that a Welsh dresser I saw going into your shop?”
Xanthe nodded. “Mum can’t wait to get at it with her paintbrush.”
“I don’t suppose it came with lots of lovely china, by any chance?” She left the doorway and came over to stand next to Xanthe, brushing icing sugar off her hands before wiping them on her pristine apron. “Been finishing off a couple of Victoria sponges. This stuff gets everywhere.”
“We did get a box of assorted plates if you want to come in and have a look,” Xanthe told her.
They found the box behind the desk that served as a counter in the shop. Xanthe let Gerri dig through the wrapping while she looked at the takings for the morning.
“Mum’s done quite well for a weekday,” she murmured.
“She’ll be taking over your job as head of sales if you’re not careful.… Ooh, that’s a lovely strawberry pattern. I’ll definitely take that one. Can’t have too many plates,” she said, putting it to one side.
“Actually, she’s going to have to do everything for a few days. I’m going to an antiques fair in Bristol.”
“Oh?” Gerri glanced at her just long enough for her surprise to register. Xanthe counted herself lucky to have made a new friend so soon after moving to Marlborough, but there were times when a person knowing the ins and outs of your working and family life had its drawbacks.
“Mum’s been in quite good shape recently,” Xanthe assured her. “The arthritis seems pretty manageable right now. And anyway I … I need to get away. Just for a while.”
Gerri stopped rooting in the box, sitting back on her heels. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that good-looking stranger who called yesterday, would it?”
“Sort of. That was Marcus.”
“Ah, the infamous Marcus. Well, easy to see why you fell for him. Is he trying to win you back?”
Xanthe pulled a pale cream tea plate from the box, running her finger around its fluted edge, which was decorated with tiny ivy leaves. “Let’s just say if I’m not here he can’t make a nuisance of himself. Here, you can have this one,” she said, handing her the little plate.
Gerri smiled, picking up the larger one too. “Thank you! It will be put to good use. And this one is just the right size for a Victoria sponge. Fancy being paid in cake again?”
“This time, can I beg a favor instead?”
“Of course.”
“While I’m away, could you just keep an eye out for Marcus? I don’t want him bothering Mum. He really pushes her buttons.”
“Do you want me to send him off with a flea in his ear?”
Xanthe smiled and shook her head. “Maybe just pop into the shop if you see him go in? Any trouble, Harley’s your man.”
“Sounds like I’m getting a good deal,” Gerri said, admiring the plates as she left the shop.
“Happy hunting,” she calle
d over her shoulder.
As soon as she had left Xanthe began to assemble the things she would need for her trip. She could hear Flora singing along happily to Christmas songs in her workshop, deeply absorbed in her latest project. Xanthe’s first task was to sort through their collection of old coins and pick out any that were the right date. There were worryingly few, and it was a slow business sifting through a deep box of worn coppers, holding each one up to the light to check the inscriptions. After half an hour she gave up, fairly certain that she was wasting her time. She chose a couple of simple silver rings instead. Precious metal was good currency in any era. She put her finds in a drawstring velvet bag and then helped herself to a small pocketknife. She had decided against taking such a thing the last time she went, but now that Samuel himself was in trouble, who knew what lay ahead. She had to be as well prepared as possible. Only now did it really begin to sink in that she was actually going to risk traveling back in time again. She felt a mixture of excitement and fear at the thought of it. She told herself, over and over, that if she was careful, if she used what she had learned on her previous trips, she would be fine. She would keep risk to a minimum. She would help Samuel, and then she would come home. To strengthen her resolve she allowed herself a moment to close her eyes and just think of him. To see if she could still summon up his face. To recall the sound of his voice. She had been trying so hard to forget him, and suddenly her head was full of him again.
“Samuel,” she whispered, “where are you?”
Xanthe packed two bags. One to leave the house with, full of the normal, two-days-away sort of things. She felt more than a little crazy folding clothes as her mother watched and they chatted about what sort of things she would look for at the fair. The other bag, which she packed once Flora was busy downstairs again, was her canvas shoulder bag for her journey back to bygone Marlborough. Into this she put a woolen shawl, a hairbrush, the clothes she would change into before making the step through time, and some painkillers. She vividly recalled being in pain without any chance of relief on her last visit. The clothes consisted of a long peasant-style dress, leggings, a vest and long-sleeved T-shirt, a white cotton blouse, and a pinafore dress on top of it all. Her hair she would attempt to fix up with pins and tie a small scarf on it. She wished she had thought to just order a medieval-type costume but there hadn’t been time. Luckily, her trusty Dr. Marten’s would not look too out of place, and she decided on taking her First World War greatcoat. There were advantages to most of her clothes being vintage. She thought nervously about how cold it might be, given that she had no idea of the time of year she would arrive. That afternoon she sneaked out into the garden and hid the smaller bag and the wrapped chocolate pot in the bushes beside the blind house, doing her best to ignore the vibrations and sounds coming from it. Back in the house she fetched her overnight bag and looked in on Flora in the workshop.
Secrets of the Chocolate House Page 5