by HANNA, H. Y.
“Oh, you must come and have a look at my range!” cried Angela. “There’s one dress which would be just perfect with your colouring! Come on, I must show you…” She grabbed Caitlyn’s arm and began dragging her across the village green.
Caitlyn hesitated. Her distrust of Angela was still strong but, on the other hand, she felt churlish for not responding to this offer of an olive branch. If Angela was keen to make amends, then she should be generous enough to match the other woman’s efforts.
So she let herself be led across the village green and down the main street of Tillyhenge, which hosted most of the shops in the village. They entered a boutique about halfway down and, as Caitlyn stepped inside, she had to admit to herself that whatever else she might think of Angela, the woman had great taste. The dresses on the mannequins were glamorous, elegant affairs, reeking of Paris and Rome, rather than frumpy middle England, and in the most beautiful combination of colours. She couldn’t help herself from reaching out to touch the sleeve of a floral sundress on a mannequin by the door.
“That one is lovely, isn’t it?” commented Angela. “It’s been one of my bestsellers this season. But not on you, darling—that yellow would clash with your hair. This dress, however, is absolutely made for you!”
She led the way to the back of the shop and pulled a dress off one of the racks. Caitlyn took a sharp breath. It was gorgeous. Made of a soft, floaty chiffon fabric, in a kaleidoscope of shimmering greens, from jade to aqua, emerald to mint, the dress had dainty straps attached to a fitted bodice, then skimmed the waist and fell in graceful folds to the ankles. It looked like something a sea goddess would wear as she rose out of the ocean.
“You’ve got to try it on!” said Angela enthusiastically.
A few minutes later, Caitlyn stood surveying herself in the cramped changing room. The dress looked even more gorgeous on her than on the hanger, which was a feat in itself. Again, she had to grudgingly admit that Angela had a great eye for colour and style—the other woman had been right that the mix of soft greens went perfectly with Caitlyn’s colouring, bringing out the glossy red of her hair and making her skin look creamier and her hazel eyes more startling. For the first time in her life, Caitlyn felt glamorous and beautiful. She wondered suddenly what James would think of her in this dress…
“How does it look? Do come out and show me!” called Angela from outside the changing room door.
Caitlyn stepped out almost shyly and stood in front of the other woman.
Angela gasped. “You look fabulous, darling!” She grabbed Caitlyn by the shoulders and turned her around to face the full-length mirror on the wall.
Caitlyn pivoted and turned to see the side view, then she frowned slightly. She realised that because of her pear-shaped figure, although the dress fitted perfectly on top, it was slightly too tight around her bottom half. As she moved, the bulges on her hips and belly were visible, not to mention the wobble of her thighs, and she winced as she watched her reflection.
“It’s beautiful… but it’s… a bit too tight around here, isn’t it?” she said, gesturing awkwardly to her hips and bottom.
“Oh, that’s easy to fix,” said Angela, grabbing a pin cushion and kneeling down next to Caitlyn. “I just need to let the seams out a little bit, give you a bit more room…” She pinned a few spots on the dress. “Don’t worry, I can do that in a jiffy this evening. I’ll adjust it and have the dress sent to you at the chocolate shop tomorrow morning. You’ll have it in time to wear to the party.”
“Wow… thanks. That’s really kind of you,” said Caitlyn, feeling ashamed now of her earlier suspicious attitude.
Angela gave Caitlyn a conspiratorial smile. “Well, us pear-shaped girls have to stick together, don’t we?”
Caitlyn wondered what Angela could mean since she was as thin as a rake and looked more like a string bean than a pear. But she kept her thoughts to herself and simply thanked the other woman again. She paid for the dress and finally left the boutique with a slightly surreal feeling. She had certainly never imagined that she would spend a “girlie afternoon” shopping with Angela Skinner!
She walked back to the chocolate shop in a happy daze, thinking excitedly about the rest of her outfit. She had a pair of strappy sandals which she could wear with the dress. They weren’t very glamorous but hopefully, since the dress was long, people wouldn’t notice her feet much anyway. And her hair? Maybe she could attempt to put it up in an elegant chignon, to accentuate the line of her neck…
Caitlyn came out of her daydreaming as she approached the chocolate shop and noticed that there was a familiar figure standing outside the window. It was Molly, the little girl with the pigtails. She was staring wistfully through the glass at the chocolates in the window display.
“Hi, Molly,” said Caitlyn softly as she came up behind the girl.
The six-year-old whirled around in alarm, then relaxed slightly as she recognised Caitlyn. “Hullo…” she said shyly.
“Do you like chocolates?” Caitlyn asked, glancing at the glass pane. The Widow Mags had changed some things in the window display, adding several new items she had created for the Garden Party.
The little girl smiled, showing a gap in her front teeth, and nodded.
“Me too,” said Caitlyn, returning the girl’s smile. “What’s your favourite kind?”
Molly shrugged shyly, looking down and fiddling with her dress.
Caitlyn tried again. “What about the things in the window—which one do you think would be your favourite?”
The girl looked up and pointed eagerly through the pane. “Those!”
Caitlyn saw that she was pointing to a container filled with milk chocolate lollipops in the shape of smiley faces. They were a new design that the Widow Mags had just started making.
“Those look cute, don’t they? Would you like to try one?”
Molly looked uncertain. “Mummy said I’m not supposed to…”
“Oh.” Caitlyn hesitated. She didn’t want to go against the girl’s mother’s rules. “Is it because you’re not supposed to eat sweets before dinner or something like that?”
Molly shook her head. “No, she says I can eat sweets from the other shop but not from this one… because the witch lives here!” She threw a scared look through the open doorway of the shop.
Caitlyn felt a flash of irritation at the girl’s mother but she didn’t let it show on her face. Instead, she crouched down next to the girl and gave her a reassuring smile. “Molly, I promise you there’s nothing to fear from the old lady who owns the shop.”
“She’s a witch though, isn’t she?” asked Molly.
“Um…” Caitlyn wondered if this was one of the times when it was okay to tell a white lie. “Well, she’s certainly got a special magic with chocolates.”
“You mean, she’s a chocolate witch?”
Caitlyn suppressed a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”
Molly gave Caitlyn a tentative smile and said, “In stories, sometimes there’s a good witch and a bad witch.”
Caitlyn nodded. “Oh, the Widow Mags is definitely a good witch! After all, how could any witch who makes such delicious chocolates be bad, right?”
The little girl giggled.
On an impulse, Caitlyn ducked into the store and reached into the window display, lifting out one of the chocolate smiley face lollipops. She came back out and offered it to the girl. “Here you go. Try it and see what you think."
The little girl beamed, but just as she was about to reach for the lollipop stick, a sharp voice interrupted them.
“Molly Jenkins! You’d better not be thinking of taking that!”
The little girl gasped and jerked around. Marching up to them was a middle-aged woman with a stiff perm. It was Winifred Harris, from the village committee. She frowned at Molly.
“What are you doing here? Your mummy is looking for you.”
The little girl gave her a fearful look, then turned and ran off down the lane.
Winifred Ha
rris glared at Caitlyn. “What do you think you’re doing? How dare you corrupt the children of this village?"
“It’s only chocolates,” said Caitlyn, taken aback. The way the woman was acting, you would have thought that she had been offering Molly drugs!
Mrs Harris narrowed her eyes. “These aren’t normal chocolates. They are bewitched—full of dark magic! It’s bad enough that we have to have them at the Garden Party, without you peddling them in the street too!”
She stalked into the shop and Caitlyn hurried after her. Mrs Harris marched over and faced the Widow Mags and Bertha across the counter. The two witches paused in their conversation and looked at her in surprise.
“I don’t know how you did it,” she said, jabbing a finger at the Widow Mags. “You must have bewitched Lord Fitzroy too—cast some evil spell on him, to convince him to include your abominable chocolates in the Garden Party menu!”
Bertha gasped in outrage. “That’s a lie! My mother would never use dark magic that way, and anyway, she wouldn’t need to! Her chocolates are delicious and that’s the reason Lord Fitzroy asked for them to be included on the menu.”
“Don’t you dare call me a liar!” cried Mrs Harris shrilly, her face getting red. Her hands clenched spasmodically. “I know evil when I see it! And I won’t have it, do you hear me?”
“It’s not your party, woman,” growled the Widow Mags. “If Lord Fitzroy is happy to have my chocolates there, it is really none of your business.”
Mrs Harris’s face went purple and she looked as if she would burst a vessel. “YOU… YOU—!” She grabbed a glass jar of home-made chocolate sauce from the counter and raised it threateningly at the Widow Mags.
“Whoa…!” said Caitlyn, grabbing her arm. Good grief, the woman looked like she had serious anger management issues. Caitlyn almost felt sorry for her. Maybe if Winifred Harris didn’t go around buttoned up so tight and bristling with respectability, she wouldn’t be so cranky.
Mrs Harris calmed down slightly and shook Caitlyn’s hand off her arm. She thumped the jar back down on the counter and said furiously:
“I might not be able to stop them being served but I’m going to make sure that nobody touches your filthy chocolates!”
She stormed out of the shop. There was an awkward silence after she left, then Bertha said brightly:
“So… what have you been up to, Caitlyn? I haven’t seen you all day.”
“I’ve been over at the Manor most of the day… and I’ve been shopping,” said Caitlyn with a grin. “Getting my dress for the Garden Party tomorrow.”
“Ohhh, Evie’s very excited about that. Especially as Pomona has promised to come over tomorrow morning and show her the proper way to use mascara.” Bertha chuckled. She adjusted her kaftan around her shoulders and said, almost girlishly, “I’ve got a new kaftan too, especially for the party—I thought I’d get one in a new shade.”
“Oh? What colour?” asked Caitlyn with a smile.
“Purple!” Bertha beamed.
“Er… right.” Caitlyn looked at the voluminous purple kaftan that Bertha was wearing at the moment. Every item of clothing she had ever seen the older woman wear had always been purple.
“Well, I’ll come over tomorrow morning to help with the chocolates,” said Bertha. “See you then!”
Left alone with the Widow Mags, Caitlyn fidgeted nervously and agonised over what to do. She hadn’t forgotten her adventure with Evie last night and that picture in the photo album was still on her mind. She had meant to find a chance to ask the Widow Mags about the photograph this morning, but somehow things had got side-tracked with the murder investigation. Now, however—as she helped the Widow Mags shut up the shop and retire to the kitchen to rustle up something for dinner—she thought about mustering up the courage to ask about the photo.
The problem was, there was no way she could mention the picture without also admitting that she and Evie had been trespassing in the Widow Mags’s bedroom and snooping through her things. They had even used a spell to reveal what the old witch had wanted to keep hidden. Caitlyn cringed at the thought of confessing their prying to the old woman. The Widow Mags would be furious and, to tell the truth, Caitlyn was a bit scared of her. She’d seen the old witch in action and she didn’t want to end up with chocolate warts all over her body—or worse.
Besides, it wasn’t just that—Caitlyn also felt guilty and ashamed of what she and Evie had done. It had been wrong of them to go through the Widow Mags’s private belongings and there was no excuse for their behaviour.
Sighing, Caitlyn decided to follow the example of the Matt O’Brien dilemma and put things off until after the Garden Party.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Caitlyn had planned to wake early the next day but she must have been more tired than she realised because, when she finally opened her eyes and looked blearily around, she was horrified to see that the clock on her bedside table showed that it was well past nine-thirty. Throwing on some clothes, she ran downstairs to find the Widow Mags already busy in the kitchen.
“Oh! You should have woken me!” she cried, eyeing the activity around her. “I was going to help you—”
“You needed the rest,” said the old woman calmly. “Stop fussing, girl! The party doesn’t start until 2 p.m. There is plenty of time. Go back upstairs—I don’t want to see you back down here until you’re showered and dressed.”
Meekly, Caitlyn did as she was told, thinking to herself that the Widow Mags was acting like a bossy grandmother already! She followed the old woman’s advice, though, and took her time washing her hair and drying it as thoroughly as she could with a towel, before dressing and going back downstairs.
“A package arrived for you.” The Widow Mags pointed to a soft parcel, wrapped in brown paper and string, sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Oh, that must be my dress!” said Caitlyn in delight.
So Angela had kept her promise. Caitlyn was ashamed again of doubting the other woman’s good intentions. Picking up the parcel, she held it close to her chest, feeling a little thrill of excitement. Dreamily, she wondered what James Fitzroy would think when he saw her—would he be surprised? Would he think she looked beau—
“Are you going to help me or are you going to stand there mooning about?”
Caitlyn started and blushed as she met the Widow Mags’s sarcastic eye. Quickly, she laid the parcel back down, donned an apron, and approached the wooden table. The rest of the morning passed in a blur and Caitlyn was surprised when she finally looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall and saw that it was nearly one o’clock. James had thoughtfully sent some of his staff over to pick up all the chocolate fudge, truffles, bonbons, and other decadent treats and transport them over to the Manor. They had just left in the Range Rover and were returning soon for the final item: the chocolate fudge cake.
Well, “cake” was a bit of an understatement. It wasn’t a cake—it was a chocolate masterpiece: four tiers of moist dark chocolate sponge, filled with milk chocolate buttercream and covered with rich chocolate fudge frosting, accompanied by dainty chocolate curls and shavings. And arranged around each tier of the cake were clusters of lush strawberries and raspberries, their jewel-red colours glowing against the deep brown.
The Widow Mags beckoned to Caitlyn and pointed to the tray next to the cake. “Those are the final touch. You can put them on the cake.”
Caitlyn reached towards the tray, which held dozens of delicate chocolate filigree butterflies, just like the one she had made two days ago, and carefully picked one up with her thumb and forefinger. She reached up and placed it next to a juicy strawberry on the top tier, then stood back to admire the effect. Humming to herself, she continued adding chocolate butterflies to the rest of the cake, until all four tiers were randomly covered in dainty wings. She stepped back at last to see the result and sighed happily.
Now it really is a masterpiece, she thought, smiling. In fact, the cake looked almost too magnificent to eat.
&nb
sp; “Are you sure they’ll be okay transporting the cake?” she asked the Widow Mags in concern. She winced as she imagined the men dropping the cake or even knocking it by mistake and damaging some of the decorations.
“This is why we add one more thing…” The Widow Mags pointed to a small bowl filled with snowy white powder. “Vanilla-scented icing sugar,” she explained at Caitlyn’s questioning look. “And mixed in with it, a little bit of… let’s call it fairy dust, shall we?” The old woman grinned.
As Caitlyn watched, the Widow Mags scooped up a bit of the powdered sugar and placed it in the palm of her hand. Then, holding her flattened palm up to her lips, she blew gently towards the cake. The sugar billowed outwards in a white cloud, covering the surface of the cake in a soft white mist which sparkled with magic for a moment, then faded to look like an ordinary dusting of icing sugar.
The Widow Mags nodded with satisfaction. “There. I have put a charm on the cake now and it will be protected from damage. Don’t worry, it will fade in a few hours… otherwise no one will be able to cut it!” She chuckled. Then she looked at Caitlyn and said, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready, young lady?”
“Oh my goodness, yes!” cried Caitlyn, springing up and untying her apron. She glanced at the clock again. She had barely forty-five minutes to get dressed. Thank goodness she had washed her hair that morning!
She grabbed the parcel from the counter and hurried eagerly upstairs. Tearing the brown paper open, she sighed with pleasure as she looked at the dress again. It was just as beautiful as she remembered it. Quickly, she unzipped the back and stepped into it, then pulled the fabric gently upwards. It jammed around her hips. She looked down in surprise. Gently, she wriggled and tugged, trying to slide the dress further up her body. Surely it hadn’t been this difficult to get on at Angela’s shop yesterday?
Maybe I’ve put on weight, thought Caitlyn guiltily. She wasn’t sure how one day could have made so much difference but there were things like bloating, right? And if she was being perfectly honest, she had indulged in quite a lot of chocolates lately. Maybe it was all catching up with her now…