by Anna Jacobs
‘Sorry we’re late. Louis wanted to finish arranging his possessions in his new room.’
‘I’m here if you need help with anything.’
‘Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll manage. I usually do.’
She always tried to be so independent. Did she never accept anyone’s help? He looked at her son. ‘Would you like a glass of lemonade, Louis? And there are some crisps and other nibblies. Help yourself.’
But Louis’ attention had been caught by two of Emil’s favourite tinplate toys, something he’d been collecting for years and had now got out of storage. One was a 1930s car, complete with driver. The other was a World War I soldier who shouldered his rifle and marched up and down when wound up. He came to a standstill, his rifle back in its original position by his side, the butt on the ground.
The lad was across the room in a minute, staring at them in delight.
Emil smiled. ‘I’ll show you how to wind them up later, Louis, but first, I must get your lemonade and a drink for your mother and aunt. Prosecco all right, ladies?’
‘Yes, please. That’d be lovely.’
The conversation limped on for a few moments. Louis drank his lemonade and ate a few crisps, but continued to eye the tinplate toys longingly.
‘Let me show you how to get them working, Louis.’
Abbie looked at him anxiously. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t do that.’
‘They were made for children to play with and that’s what I like to see.’ Emil went across and lifted the toys down. As he demonstrated how they worked, he kept a wary eye on the little girl in case she tried to grab them. She was just that bit too young to trust. But at her mother’s command she sat obediently down on the floor and watched them perform, clapping her hands in glee.
‘She’s very well behaved about touching them,’ Emil commented.
‘She’s no angel, but I’ve had to teach her not to grab things that don’t belong to her,’ Keziah said. ‘My father was rather fussy about her touching his possessions.’
‘Louis didn’t have many things to touch, the flat was so small,’ Abbie said. ‘We’re still getting used to having all the space. What about you, Emil? Did you grow up in a big house?’
‘Well, we did have a largish detached house. My parents still live there. But I’ve been living quite rough at times in Australia. It’s a great country.’
‘Why did you come back? Didn’t you consider settling there? So many people do these days.’
‘I did think about it, but England is still home and my father needed me.’
‘You’re going to manage and expand the Wiltshire branch of his company, I gather?’
‘That’s the idea.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a job.’
‘What would you do with your life if you had a free choice?’ Abbie asked.
‘I don’t know. That’s the trouble. I started off playing soccer, rather well but not top flight. Then I went overseas to play for a club in Sydney. When I got injured, that career was off the table, so I wandered away to see the country, then came back here. Who knows where I’ll end up? In the meantime Dad needs help.’
He hoped he sounded convincing. His prognosis was good. But you never knew, so he wasn’t making long-term plans yet.
He caught Abbie looking at him as if she’d guessed he wasn’t telling the whole story, so he asked about her plans instead.
Her wary expression softened. ‘Thanks to Dad’s money I can take my time to find something. But I’d never want to be idle. I love history, may study it for my own pleasure. I’ve given up the job I was doing, though. They didn’t treat their lowly staff members gently.’
And that’s when it occurred to him. ‘You wouldn’t like a part-time job in my father’s museum when it opens, would you? We’re looking for someone to show people round, preferably someone who loves history.’
She leant forward as if eager to hear more, so he told her about the secret room and the small museum his father wanted to open in his own father’s memory.
‘I’d love to see it.’
‘I’ll take you round, if you like. What about you, Keziah? Are you interested in history?’
‘Not as much as Abbie, though I would like to see a secret room. I’m still trying to sort my life out. I’ll let you know when I think I’m getting there.’
When they left, he lay down on the bed. He’d enjoyed having guests, but he’d just have a little rest before he finished clearing up.
He woke around midnight, not knowing where he was for a moment or two, then visited the bathroom and went back to bed, still feeling drowsy.
When he woke again, it was morning and he’d had the most restful sleep in ages. Usually he tossed and turned, waking two or three times during the night.
He smiled as he remembered Louis’ bright alert face as he was allowed to examine the vintage toys, and the fond way Abbie watched her son.
Then something occurred to him about the picture in his mind. That’s what he really wanted. A family! Would his health allow him time to acquire and enjoy one?
Did Abbie want the same things he did?
She was certainly a good mother.
He had to get to know her better, break down those barriers in her head.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Late on Friday morning, Winifred walked down to Saffron Lane from her home on Peppercorn Street carrying the cupcakes carefully in a tin.
When she opened it in the gallery, she smiled happily when Ginger oohed and aahed over them.
‘I like decorating cakes. I’ve saved a broken one for you to try.’
Ginger nibbled it and rolled her eyes in bliss. ‘This is wonderful. Now, how much do I owe you?’
‘Just the cost of the ingredients.’
‘No, Winifred. Double the cost of the ingredients plus the cost of cooking, and that’s what I’ll pay you.’
‘I can’t ask you to do that!’
‘You didn’t ask me. But I do have an ulterior motive. I want to be able to order more supplies from you. If it’s not too much work?’
‘I’m happy to bake for you a couple of times a week.’
‘And since you don’t drive, I’ll pick them up from you.’
Winifred suddenly realised what the ring on her companion’s left hand meant and touched it gently. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
Ginger could feel herself blushing. ‘Yes. An engagement ring.’
‘Iain?’
‘Does everyone know about us?’
‘Everyone connected with Dennings and the top end of Peppercorn Street, perhaps. We’re a gossipy lot and we knew you were seeing him. Just as they all know about me calling Janey a relative. We’re more like a small village than part of a town.’
‘That’s nice. I like being part of it. Now, let me drive you back. I’m nipping into town to do a bit of shopping.’
Winifred hesitated. ‘Well. All right. If you could let me pick up my library books from home on the way, I’d be most grateful. I’ll get a taxi back. I usually do that, walk down the hill, ride back up it.’
It only took a few minutes to help Winifred and get back, because Ginger didn’t really have any shopping to do. She set out the cakes on the surface of a display plate with a cover. This was one of the treasured items she’d left in the storage unit, because it was one of the few things her mother had left her. She set out the plain white plates Nell had brought down from the big house and filled the kettle.
When all was ready she decided to spend a little time sewing. She was in the middle of a rather nice figure of a young child.
She looked round and sighed happily. Much as she loved Iain, she didn’t want to rush into marriage, needed some time to live peacefully on her own first and ‘get her balance’, as she thought of it. That’d give her a better foundation for settling into her new life – or so it felt to her at the moment.
She needed to shake off the shadow of several bleak years, and there was the ongoing worry about Donny.
; And Iain, bless him, understood that. Oh, she was so lucky to have met him!
Nell and Angus came down to Number 1 together and admired the way Ginger had set out the shop space for the interviews, then she went back into her flat till refreshments were needed.
Stacy joined them almost immediately and the three of them discussed what they hoped for from the applicants.
‘No formal questions,’ Nell said firmly. ‘We want to follow their lead and find out what they’re really like.’
The first candidate arrived early, a cheerful young man with a twinkle in his eye: the cartoonist.
Nell took to Rashid at once, because he had such a lovely smile.
He seemed completely at ease as he answered their questions, adding information and confessing that he’d been in trouble a lot at school because of his irreverence and ability to see humour in most situations.
‘It suits me to be a cartoonist, but I want to do some bigger cartoon pictures as well, a bit like Heath Robinson’s only covering the vagaries of today’s society and technology.’
Stacy beamed at him. ‘I love Heath Robinson. I have some books of his cartoons. I do steam punk gadgets myself sometimes.’
‘I’d love to see them.’
On Nell’s signal, they took Rashid for a quick tour of the houses at the end of Saffron Lane while Ginger made a pot of tea.
When they came back, they fed him one of the cupcakes and he ate it hungrily. Nell only poured half-cups of tea for the panel or they’d be awash by the end of the morning.
After they’d explained the potential living arrangements, Rashid shrugged. ‘I don’t mind sharing the smaller house, if I get a residency. I enjoy company. In fact, I don’t think I’d work as well if I were living on my own.’
After he’d gone, Angus said at once. ‘He’d be great.’
Nell and Stacy agreed unconditionally.
By mid afternoon, they’d interviewed the three others.
One was a woman who made soft toys, such cute little creatures Nell immediately wanted to buy one. In the nicest possible way, Debbie was just like her toys, small and plump, with a perky face.
The third person was a weaver, who’d need space for his loom and was less outgoing than the first two candidates, though pleasant and positive. He seemed another very acceptable person for a residency.
It came out in the interview that he volunteered at a local care home for people with Alzheimer’s and when Nell asked about it, he flushed and said his grandmother had had it and he liked to make the old people happy. ‘I sing a bit but I don’t like to perform in public except at the home. I just enjoy singing. Anyone I shared a house with wouldn’t have to mind, because I don’t even know I’m singing half the time when I’m on my own.’
The fourth person was a man who made costume jewellery and he too needed space for his various bits of apparatus. He was older than the others, nearly sixty and had turned a hobby into an income for his retirement. He made a point of telling them that he was gay, not in a challenging way just as an aside. But he looked at them very carefully as he said it, Nell thought.
‘That’s none of our business,’ she said at once. ‘It’s your art that matters to us here.’
His face cleared, he gave her a little nod and let the matter drop. He pulled out an example of a new venture, making small items that were a cross between jewellery and ornaments.
When he showed a sample to them, Nell immediately reached out to touch it and set the small dangling ‘jewels’ quivering.
‘That’s just the effect I want,’ he said. ‘Make people want to touch it and enjoy the glitter. Bling with a heart.’
When the fourth interview was over, they discussed the candidates, but it didn’t take long.
‘Any problems that you see?’ Nell asked the other two.
‘No. They’re all good as far as I’m concerned,’ Angus said.
‘I agree. And I want one of those little toys to stand on my windowsill. Aren’t they cute?’
‘The only thing to decide is who gets which accommodation.’ Nell looked from one to the other. ‘Though even there, it seems obvious that the weaver and jeweller are the ones who particularly need more space.’
‘We’re good to go, then,’ Angus said. ‘Do you agree, Stacy?’
‘Definitely.’
‘I’ll contact them,’ Nell said. ‘If only the first group of applicants had been as easy. We were all right with you and Elise, Stacy, but we made a mistake with Cutler. While I think of it, any more trouble with him, Stacy?’
She hesitated.
‘Go on.’
‘I don’t know whether you noticed but the plants we put outside our houses are dying, all four of them.’
They went out to look at them and exchanged angry glances.
‘That’s not natural,’ Nell said. ‘One might die – it happens – but not all four equally.’
‘Smell them,’ Stacy said.
Angus picked one up. ‘Bleach.’
They all looked towards Number 4 then went back into Number 1.
‘He was watching us again,’ Stacy said. ‘He seems to think we can’t see him if he stands at the back of the room, but we can either see him or his shadow.’
‘Damn the man!’ Angus said. ‘I doubt we can prove anything, but I’m going to reinstate the CCTV cameras. We didn’t think you’d want to feel spied on, Stacy, but I think we need to keep an eye on things.’
‘Wait till he goes out to do it,’ Stacy said. ‘I can phone you when the coast is clear. He does go shopping now and then, but doesn’t leave the street otherwise. He seems to want to live completely alone.’
They stood there thoughtfully for a moment, and she added, ‘I’ll tell Elise you agree with us about the vandalism, if you like, and warn her about the CCTV. She’ll be glad about having that, I’m sure, because she’s furious about him killing her plants.’
‘She hasn’t accused him openly?’
‘She was going to, but I persuaded her not to because I think this is only a small sample of how nasty he could get.’
Nell was startled. ‘Do you feel unsafe?’
‘Let’s say I’ll feel better when the newcomers move in.’
‘Well then, we’ll get everything going as quickly as possible, including finishing off and opening the café.’ Her face took on a determined look. ‘I’m a demon when I want something to happen.’
Nell wanted the shopfitters to start work on both the café and the art gallery the very next week and thanks to a job cancellation and her offer to pay as much overtime as needed, the owner was able to oblige her.
Though the gallery didn’t need a lot of fixtures, Nell felt they needed some flexible shelving that could be erected, changed or removed at will. It was a big, light room and always felt welcoming to her.
She discussed this with Ginger, who took her to the antiques shop Iain had shown her. The shop fittings they’d seen were still languishing at the back and contained a couple of screens, the sort characters used to change behind on the stage and which Ginger promised to brighten up.
When they got back she walked up and down the gallery, then suggested using narrow protruding columns on the long wall, ones which only jutted out about thirty centimetres, to which shelves or screens could be attached. ‘If we used mirror tiles on them, they’d enhance the exhibits.’
Nell stared at her in surprise. ‘You’re brilliant at this sort of thing, Ginger.’
‘Oh. Well. I’ve always changed houses and places inside my head because I could never afford to do it for real. I can often see how to improve places. I used to do it while I was doing boring jobs in cafés which were set out inefficiently.’
‘You’re a real treasure. I’m so glad we found you a niche here.’
‘She’s sucking up to you,’ a voice exclaimed. ‘Just – sucking – up! Her ideas won’t work. Can’t you see that?’
They turned in shock to see Cutler standing in the doorway glaring at them.
He didn’t wait for her response. ‘It’d be better to discuss the needs of people who will require shelving for their exhibits. You should deal with the artists not the café attendant who hasn’t an original idea in her head.’
He strode forward suddenly, bumping into Ginger as he passed and knocking her to one side. He said, ‘Oh, sorry!’ but didn’t even look at her. ‘What you need here, Nell, is a wall across the back, to separate the overflow art from the eatery, if you must have a café, and—’
Nell didn’t intend to stand and be harangued. ‘This building isn’t open to the public yet, Mr Cutler, so I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. Nor have I asked for your opinion about the design.’
His jaw dropped in shock at this direct command. ‘But I need to tell you about what I—’
‘You don’t need to tell me anything. This is my project and you’re a temporary participant only in our artists’ group, so I’ll finish it my way.’ She walked towards the door, gestured at it with one hand and waited for him to leave.
With a dirty look at Ginger that somehow managed to threaten future retribution, he walked slowly out of the building.
Nell shut the door and locked it, then went across to Ginger. ‘Is that man mentally unbalanced, do you think? He always acts so abruptly. I don’t think he knows the meaning of polite.’
‘I think he has a personality disorder.’
‘He makes me feel uncomfortable just to be in the same room with him. And the way he went out so slowly was the act of a sulky child, not an adult.’
‘I agree.’
‘Look, Ginger, I don’t care how hot it gets, will you please keep all the doors locked when you’re on your own?’
‘I can’t always do that. There will be men working here soon doing the fitting out. But I’ll be very careful, I promise you.’
Chapter Twenty-Six