“You know where Miss Clapham is?” Nina said.
“No. But I know what she has gone to do.”
“And?”
“It is for Miss Clapham to say,” Claudia said.
“When will she be back?” Nina said.
“When she’s ready, I expect,” Claudia said. “Miss Clapham is very good at doing things when she is ready.”
“Before the fete?”
“When she’s ready. It is unlikely she will cut short her mission for the fete.” Claudia sighed. “I’ll pop in to see you’re alright later on.”
Nina watched Claudia through the slats of the wooden blinds. Laud Mayor watched Claudia, then his eyes turned to rest on Sweet Treats. Presently his gaze moved to Staceys. Then he looked at his watch, tapped his fingers against his knees, patted the skinny cat once more – was it the cat which yowled outside her window every morning – then looking neither right nor left he strode towards the beach.
So he’d seen it all. Laud Mayor now had his ammunition, his proof, that there was no essential service provided in the village and so was it not worth the cost to the council. Every single shop had closed at the same time right when a busload of tourists arrived in the village. Miss Clapham would not be proud of her at all. Nina raised her eyes to the austere figure of Queen Victoria. “I did try,” she said. “You know I did.”
The locals didn’t complain about the little food store being open for limited hours, but the tourists did. At the end of that long day, in which she’d run between the two shops looking for toilet paper, or emery boards, or fire lighters or any of the myriad items which travellers seemed suddenly to need, Nina made a decision. She would continue to make confectionery but she would sell it from Staceys. She’d bring over a few jars of the favourite boiled lollies, then put a note on the door. It seemed more important to have the general store open than a novelty sweet shop.
It worked well. Claudia looked at her with approval. Old Tom chopped wood, had the fire lit for her as the sun came up, and cleared up the mess when she had finished and dashed over to Staceys. Mrs Potts showed no interest whatsoever.
And then Laud Mayor came to town with an entourage of councilors in tow. He tore Nina’s note from Sweet Treats. He barged into Staceys and slammed the crumpled paper onto the counter. A young boy waiting for his ice cream fled the shop in fright, and Claudia – who hadn’t quite opened the café and was scrounging for a packet of marbles that she wanted for a visiting grandchild – ducked out of sight. The councilors did not know where to look, if they should stop him, or if they should join in.
“Why?” Laud Mayor hissed, his voice icy, his tone cold. “Why do I continue to prop up this little backwater when you so blatantly refuse to operate as any normal twenty-first Century retailer ought?”
Nina gulped. She would not be menaced. He always twisted the truth to his own ends. She felt her vision narrow and her brain thump. Her hands shook, but she hoped he would not notice. She took the account book and placed it onto the wooden counter. The action momentarily silenced Laud Mayor.
“I am not asking to be shut down,” she said in a low voice. “I am doing my very best to keep this town going. You are the one who makes life impossible. You take away our services – libraries, schools, the church – things that are essential to the life of a community. You laud it over every single person in this village, demanding servitude when it is your place to serve the people. You don’t even have the decency to pay your bills, even though it is our taxes that pay your wages. Here,” and she tore a page from the book, “this is how much you owe this shop. If you haven’t paid the debt in full by the end of the week I will forward it to our debt collectors.”
“You don’t have a debt collector,” Laud Mayor sneered, but Nina interrupted him again.
“You don’t know who I am or what my life was like before I came here,” Nina said. “I could be a debt collector for all you know.”
“You could be the archangel Gabriel himself,” Laud Mayor said with a glare, but the fight had gone from him, and Nina was nearly certain he would send a cheque before the day was over. “You are a daring woman and I will remember your insolence.”
“Now that was a magnificent scene,” Claudia said, after the Mayor departed. “I told you Miss Clapham would be proud of you.”
“Miss Clapham,” Nina groaned. “I didn’t even think about how Miss Clapham might deal with the situation. Probably I have ruined her life.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” Claudia said. “Time will tell.”
The boy came back for his ice cream. “Who was that?” he said.
Nina groaned again. A tourist had witnessed what could only be described as a verbal brawl. The story would snowball. There would be no end to the repercussions.
Chapter 51
c. AD 1450, MEXICO: Aztecs believe chocolate has magic powers and use it in religious ceremonies; TURKEY: Anatolians savou1r a jelly called lokum, made with grape molasses, honey, and flour, later called Turkish Delight.
Mrs Potts plunked a bowl of cabbage soup and a hard roll in front of Nina that evening. “The Mayoral party came to town,” she said.
“The Mayoral party came to town,” Nina agreed.
“And?”
“You’ve heard, haven’t you?” Nina said. “What did you hear?”
“That he is furious. Publicly humiliated, he says.”
“How do you know?”
Mrs Potts tapped the side of her nose. “Word gets around,” she said. “Word gets around.”
Nina sighed. Life by the beach was meant to be a holiday. She didn’t think she’d worked so hard in all her life. “See you in the morning,” she said when Mrs Potts moved towards the television.
“You’ll wash the dishes.”
“I’ll wash the dishes.”
*
No sooner had Nina opened Staceys in the morning than Mrs Potts turned up. “I’ll work the shop,” she said. “You go back to Sweet Treats.”
*
Miss Clapham sat at the solid kauri writing desk and chewed her pen. It was a most unlady-like thing to do, but Miss Clapham was in a most unlady-like situation. A missive to Nina was necessary, but she knew the girl could be frightened right out of town if Miss Clapham’s words were not clearly written.
She chewed the pen a little more. A crack shouted in the silence. Miss Clapham spat shards of plastic into her hand. There was nothing for it; she would have to be blunt.
Dear Nina, she began. I will not be back for…
She stopped in mid-scrawl and screwed the paper into a tight ball. She could not risk making Nina run. She would write John instead – see if he thought Nina had the stomach to manage the shop for another week or two. But she wouldn’t do it now. She’d do it later.
*
John, when he read Miss Clapham’s letter, groaned aloud. He’d had no idea he was throwing Nina into a situation where she would be abandoned. He knew she had the nous to make a success of Sweet Treats, but did she have the resilience? He’d thought she was going to be cared for by Miss Clapham – it now seemed entirely preposterous to have ever thought Miss Clapham could help Nina move on in her grief.
He fiddled with the buttons on his cell phone. Why didn’t Nina have her own cell phone? Why didn’t Miss Clapham have a landline, for crying out loud?
There was nothing for it but to write a letter himself. He addressed the envelope to Sweet Treats, stuck on a stamp, and flipped it into the post-box. Clearance 6pm Mon-Fri, he read. It would probably be two days before Nina received it. He heaved a great sigh and ran a hand through his hair. If he wasn’t scheduled for a blood transfusion, he’d visit Nina himself. After the transfusion, he promised himself. He’d be fine for a few days – long enough to make the journey and give Nina a little moral support.
She was a fine girl, he thought. A very fine girl, and if life had been different for him, he’d have made her his girl. Then again, if life had been different they would never have met. And he
would never have caught a glimpse of how life could have been if he were well.
It did not bear thinking about. He’d stood for too long at the post-box; he became aware of a small boy clutching an envelope waiting for him to move aside. He smiled at the child, weakly. He was glad for what life he had. Truly.
Chapter 52
c. AD 1452, ITALY: Pope Nicholas V permits slave labour of ‘infidels’ on sugarcane plantations.
Nina saw Mrs Potts beetle past her window. She heard the back door of Staceys bang shut. The ice cream sign, the fresh fruit sign, and the newspaper stand would be set up first. Then Mrs Potts would drag the papers in from the front step where they had been left in the very wee hours of the morning, and stack them neatly on the counter. She would take the enormous canvas sack with the outward-bound mail within and tie the top with the fat string. The courier driver would be along shortly to collect the sack of correspondence and to dump the week’s supply of letters and bills, which Mrs Potts would then sort and distribute to her hopeful public throughout the day.
Across the road, Claudia waved. “Maudie’s back later today,” she shouted.
“Good,” Nina shouted back. “Tell her I’m desperate to see her, to hear her tales!” She was surprised to realise her words were true.
Claudia laughed. “So am I,” she said. “Maudie knows how to spin a good yarn.”
Laud Mayor walked up from the beach. Why did he always come from that direction? Why was he always snooping about the village? Why didn’t he just get on and live his life in one of his more promising townships? Could it be that he was waiting for Miss Clapham to return, that he wanted to nab her the minute she puttered back into town?
Laud Mayor lingered outside Staceys, watching Mrs Potts haul out the fresh fruit and vegetables, and clearing the entrance for her customers. His voice boomed through the early morning air and along the street, causing Nina and Claudia to glance his direction. “So we’re open today, are we?” he said.
“Indeed,” Mrs Potts said. Her voice was quieter, but feisty nonetheless. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Laud Mayor went ahead of her into the shop. Nina shook the doormat, and made small talk with Claudia. They paused in their chatter to wonder if one of them should perhaps go to Staceys to give Mrs Potts a hand, but neither of them made a move. Fingers crossed, Nina thought selfishly, Laud Mayor would limit himself to Staceys for a paper, and to the café for a coffee. Fingers crossed, she wouldn’t have his sour body fill Sweet Treats with its bitterness.
She had barely finished counting the coins into the cash drawer than an almighty great ruckus sounded out on the street. She flung the shop door wide but, as suddenly as the noise began, it ended. There was no one on the street except for Laud Mayor, poncing along as he always did.
Except he was drenched.
Nina’s face paled. What had Laud Mayor done to Mrs Potts? She slammed the door to Sweet Treats, heedless of the opportunity she gave the Mayor to criticise and judge, and raced across to Staceys.
“Watch your step,” Mrs Potts said. “There’s water on the floor.”
“Are you alright?” Nina gasped. “What happened?”
“I’m alright, and not a lot happened,” Mrs Potts said, but her eyes were bright and her knuckles were white as she clutched the now-empty bucket tight.
“But you are shaking,” Nina said.
“You’d be shaking too if you’d just hurled a bucket of dirty water at the mayor.”
“You didn’t!”
“I jolly well did and I’d do it again if need be.”
“But why did you do it? What did he do?”
“Oh, he’s done many things over the years,” Mrs Potts said, “but when he said you were a pernicious perpetrator and a public nuisance I couldn’t put up with his arrogance a moment longer. He wouldn’t leave when I asked him, so I helped him out the door.” She looked at the watery mess dripping from the shelves and onto the floor. “Nothing a mop and a towel won’t fix,” she said.
“Thank you,” Nina said. “I am very grateful. You are amazing.”
“I’m not sure Miss Clapham would think so.”
“You don’t think Miss Clapham would have defended my honour?”
“I don’t think Miss Clapham would have lost her temper and thrown a bucket of water. She wouldn’t consider it very ladylike. And she wouldn’t think it good for business. I hope the Mayor won’t lodge a complaint with the police.”
“Do you think he would?”
“I think he would do himself more damage than it’s worth. Stuff would come out.”
“I wish you’d tell me what stuff you’re talking about.”
“Oh, just things,” Mrs Potts said. “Just things. If they’re meant to be known, you’ll find them out. Now trot along. I’ve got work to do.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“It’s Miss Clapham I’m worried about,” Mrs Potts said.
“Why?”
“I represent Miss Clapham in Staceys,” Mrs Potts said miserably.
A surge of pity rose in Nina’s chest. “You’re helping Miss Clapham,” she said. “Without you, the shop would be shut. Don’t worry so much.”
She returned to Sweet Treats, but her day, which had begun so gladly, now had darkened edges. Mrs Potts was right. She represented Miss Clapham, and so did Nina and so did Claudia. Or Maudie when she returned.
She poked the coals in the fire, then sighed at the pots on the table. As though it were having its say, the clock chimed the half hour.
Nina stood and tucked a strand of hair beneath her cap. “We’ll sell boiled lollies today,” she said. “Boiled lollies and licorice. I’m not cooking.”
Chapter 53
c. AD 1487, ITALY: the Duke of Ferrara serves 188kg (260lb) of sugared almonds, called confetti, at a wedding banquet for his son.
Claudia barely had time to straighten her face and look like she hadn’t seen Laud Mayor receive his comeuppance before he walked in. He glowered at her. “A towel,” he snapped. “Now.”
Claudia gave the mayor the first teatowel to hand. Laud Mayor looked at it disparagingly. He turned away and rubbed his face, his balding head, and his neck. He dabbed at his shirt, and straightened his tie.
“Would you like a coffee?” Claudia said.
“Coffee?” he roared. “I do not want a coffee. I want Marilla to come back so I can sort this place out.”
*
Nina’s face flushed and her heart hammered in her ears. Laud Mayor stood in her shop. Laud Mayor was apoplectic with rage. Laud Mayor slammed his fist onto the shop counter. The sweet jars jumped in protest, and a crocheted doily slid to the ground.
“You tell Miss Clapham next time you call her that she has not won. She has not, and she will not. I don’t care how many of you she pits against me, but this village is not hers; it is mine, and I shall do with it as I see fit.”
Nina kept her lips firmly buttoned. The Mayor did not need her response. He would only become more irate no matter what words she uttered. What’s more, she knew her fear of him would be revealed in her shaking voice. She had nothing to say. She wished Miss Clapham would come back.
Laud Mayor glared at Nina one last time and barged down the steps and along the street. Perhaps he would sit on his horribly lonely chair, Nina thought. Perhaps he would walk all the way home. She didn’t much care what he did, so long as he didn’t make Sweet Treats his favourite destination.
Chapter 54
c. AD 1506, DOMINICAN REPUBLIC: Pedro d’Arranca successfully grows sugarcane. A sweet harvest with a sour history – slavery takes root in the Americas.
At 1pm a bus pulled up outside Sweet Treats. Its passengers stretched and yawned and hobbled stiff-legged off the bus. They straggled into the café, into Sweet Treats, off to the public toilets. The last man off the bus was grey-faced and gaunt. His clothes were too big, but he made an effort to tidy himself up, tucking his shirt into jeans that were too baggy, with
an unattractive beanie perched atop his head. As he slung his duffel bag over his should, Nina thought it looked too heavy.
It was his walk that gave him away.
“John!” Nina flew at him. “John, you’re here! You should have sent a message. Can you get up the steps? I am so glad to see you.” The words fell over themselves and she suddenly found herself speechless with only a big grin (exposing every tooth, she knew) showing her pleasure.
John shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other. “I’m fine,” he said but, like his face, his voice was grey. “Is there a chair in there?”
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