“Don’t be silly.” She threaded a piece of hair into her mouth. “I don’t inspire anything.”
Yes, you do, Benedict said to himself. You inspired me.
* * *
The following morning, Gemma uncovered a tin of red emulsion in the shed, and one of yellow. Benedict had no idea why he’d bought those colors, but she sat on the lawn and mixed the two together, adding a touch of blue, until she created a coral shade.
“That’s rather bright,” Benedict said.
“A bit of color won’t kill you.”
“That’s what Estelle said about my shoes.”
Gemma eyed up his berry-colored loafers and nodded approvingly. “Your wife is so smart.”
Benedict again loaded up the trolley with the paint and extra sheets, and he and Gemma pushed it along the high street. The village was quiet, not yet awake. Only one shop, the newsagent, opened in Noon Sun on a Sunday, and Nigel closed up at lunchtime when he’d sold out of the Applethorpe Times. Crags and Cakes opened up at 11:00 a.m., ready to welcome walkers inside for a cup of coffee.
He used to relish lazy Sundays such as this. His parents used to call it their “family day.” It was a break from work, when Joseph and Jenny took Benedict and Charlie out to play or for a picnic. Benedict still remembered the sound of children’s laughter as they approached the park. As soon as they walked through the gate, Benedict and Charlie ran as fast as they could, their knees reaching almost as high as their chins. Charlie threw himself down the slide, on his belly, headfirst, and spun around on the roundabout until he felt sick. Benedict begged Rich Tea biscuits from Jenny, then took them down to the paddling pool, where he sat and dipped them into the gritty water before eating them. Everything stopped for family on Sundays.
Families were changing these days anyway, Benedict mused as he and Gemma reached the shop. Back then it was pretty much the norm to have two parents and two kids. Now there were more step-families and extended families, single-parent families and same-sex families.
He wondered if a family could ever be just two people, like him and Estelle. Did you have to have children to be a family? Could having Estelle and Gemma in his life be enough for him?
If he were honest, he didn’t know. He still wanted a child of his own so badly.
He unlocked the shop door, and the interior looked like the inside of an expensive shoe box. Everything was white except the door through to the workshop, which had dried to a streaky gray.
Again he and Gemma worked quickly.
Benedict found a signal on his phone and selected the Applethorpe FM radio station. He and Gemma laughed at the cheesy pop music played by the DJ. Gemma held out both her hands to invite him to take them. They both shook out one leg and then the other in an uncoordinated but enthusiastic dance.
They painted the walls with a second coat of emulsion and gave the skirting boards an extra layer of white gloss. Benedict tackled the streaky gray door.
When a knock sounded on the window, Benedict wobbled on the top of his ladder. “We’re closed,” he shouted out.
“Benedicto. It’s me.”
“Cecil.” Benedict clambered down.
His friend waved through the glass.
Benedict rushed to the door to unlock it and Cecil came inside. His eyes widened as he stared at the showroom, bright white and empty except for the ladder, sheets and cans of paint. “Benedicto,” he said. “What’s going down?”
“We’re redecorating.”
“Well, I can see that, Einstein.”
“Gemma is helping me. Gemma, this is Cecil.”
Gemma stood and karate-chopped out a speckled white hand. “Hello.”
“Aloha. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“How are you feeling?” Benedict asked.
“I’m okay. Maybe a bit wobbly. I just got out of hospital this morning and I’m still finding the feeling in my body.”
“Should you really be out and about?”
Cecil rolled his eyes. “You sound like the nurses.” He held up his piece of turquoise. “I have this to help me. Now.” He looked around the shop. “Where is my gorgeous white fluff ball? Is he camouflaged against the walls?”
“I moved him into my house while there’s paint around.”
“Fabio. Thanks for that.”
Benedict set down his paintbrush. “Do you want to come and see him? We can finish up here for the day.”
“I can’t wait to see his little furry face,” Cecil said longingly. “But can I come tomorrow instead?”
Benedict noticed the tiredness and fragility in his friend’s eyes. “Are you really sure that you’re okay?”
“I’m doing my best.” Cecil popped the gemstone into his pocket. His face grew serious. “Can I ask you a big favor?”
“How big?” Benedict asked with a smile.
“Ooh, ginormous.” Cecil held his hands wide apart to demonstrate. “One of my sisters has invited me on hols to Majorca for a few days. I can rest up and catch a bit of fall sun. There’s the shop and Lord Puss to think about, but I just want to feel well again.”
Of course Benedict didn’t mind Cecil taking time to recover properly, but he sucked through his teeth and shook his head to tease his friend. Then he laughed and patted Cecil on the arm. “We can cope without you for a while longer. His Lordship has already decided he’s the king of my house, and I have Gemma to help out here...”
“So, you don’t mind?” Cecil said with relief in his voice.
“No. You could do with some color in your cheeks. Come and visit Lord Puss tomorrow, and I’ll give you a hand to pack for your holiday. Gemma will be okay here on her own, or she can take a day off.”
Cecil looked at Benedict and then at Gemma. “And it’s okay, for sure?”
“Leave it all to me.” Gemma batted her hands together. “If Uncle Ben moves the cabinets back into the showroom today, I can arrange all the jewelry tomorrow. And I’ve got a few ideas on how to make the shop look amazing.”
“Amazing?” Benedict questioned and Cecil raised an eyebrow.
“You know that you can trust me, Uncle Ben.”
Now that they’d talked about her words in the journal, and about Charlie and Janice, he felt that he could. “Definitely,” he said. “Of course I trust you.”
25.
CITRINE
warming, generosity, uplifting
CECIL AND LORD Puss got reacquainted by rubbing heads and noses in the front room whilst Benedict went to put the kettle on. He made Cecil a cup of tea, and when he made his own, he spooned in just one sugar. When he returned with the drinks, Lord Puss rolled onto his back, showing off his fluffy belly. He purred loudly and pawed at Cecil’s hand and nuzzled his nose into his palm.
“I’ll only be away for a few more days, my fine furry friend,” Cecil said. “Then I’ll be all tanned, relaxed and healthy again, and ready to take you home with me. I will treat you like the prince you are.”
“When you get back from holiday, we can chat about your return to the shop,” Benedict said.
“I can’t wait to get back to work.”
“I know that, but you must be sensible.”
“That’s not the best way to describe me.” Cecil sighed.
“Now look at this.” Benedict slowly reached out and scratched the back of Lord Puss’s neck. The cat closed his eyes with pleasure.
“Wowser,” Cecil said. “Wonders never cease.”
“Tiger’s-eye,” Benedict said knowingly.
* * *
After feeding Lord Puss, the two men walked to Cecil’s house. He lived in a small stone terrace behind the community center. The outside looked plain, rather ordinary, but inside was an explosion of colors and textures, with teal velvet throws, sheepskin rugs and
hand-printed floral wallpaper.
Once there, Cecil insisted that he make Benedict a shepherd’s pie. “I love cooking, but my nieces only want beans on toast. Where is the adventure in that?”
They ate together at the kitchen table and Cecil laughed when Benedict told him about his efforts to woo back Estelle on the balcony, and about Bernard the llama. “So you’re really trying to joust for her?” he asked.
Benedict closed his eyes and imagined himself wearing a full suit of armor. “I’m attempting to pick up my lance.”
“Well done, Benedicto. Let’s hope it works. Have you spoken any more about adoption?”
“No. But when the time’s right, we will do.”
Benedict spent the whole day with his friend. He helped to do Cecil’s ironing and pack for his break in Majorca, and it was almost teatime when he arrived back at the shop.
The first thing he noticed was the new logo on the coral-colored back wall. Gemma had painted the words Stone Studio in her own handwriting in two-foot-tall rose-gold letters.
“Do you like it?” she asked as she wiped her hands on a piece of paper towel.
Benedict’s mouth fell open. “It looks so stylish...”
“What do you think about the rest of the shop?”
Gemma had rearranged the cabinets more haphazardly, so instead of you having to circle the showroom like a caged tiger, the new display took you on a journey from one cabinet to another. She had rescued a wooden chair with peeling turquoise paint from the shop’s backyard and set it at the end of the counter for customers to sit down on.
Benedict always displayed his jewelry in straight lines, like bar codes, but Gemma had laid it out in a more spontaneous way. A silver belcher chain bracelet dangled from a piece of driftwood. His silver clamshell test piece sat within a real clamshell. His recent work, the triangular brooches, didn’t look as Star Trek–like displayed on a small broken tree branch. His geometric platinum triangle earrings lay in contrast next to the organic shape of his silver blossom brooch.
Gemma had added small heaps of gemstones to the glass shelves, and they glimmered under the tiny white fairy lights strung along the top of the cabinets so they connected like stalls at a fairground.
A silver sea-horse pendant hung on a piece of navy leather cord, and Gemma had positioned it so it emerged from a small plastic chest. “A miniature treasure chest,” Benedict said, pointing at it.
Gemma nodded. “I bought it from Deserted Dogs. It’s from an aquarium, but no one will know.”
A silver necklace with a long teardrop-shaped pendant was draped over a pebble next to a bangle Benedict had made, and forgotten about, for his mother. He caught a lump in his throat as he saw it. He never had the chance to give it to her.
“Are you okay?” Gemma asked. “You look weepy.”
“The wind outside made my eyes water a bit.” Benedict suddenly felt like laughing at this huge change in his shop. He leaned his head back, baring his teeth, and an unadulterated roar came out.
“You’re laughing at it?” Gemma asked in a small voice.
“No. Not at all. It looks so...brilliant. I was just thinking about what Estelle will think when she sees this change.”
“Are you going to invite her over?”
“Yes, but there’s something else I want to do first...”
“Okay. And there’s another thing,” Gemma said, reaching into her handbag. “It’s something I bought for you, for looking after me and stuff.”
“For me?”
“Yeah. Don’t get too excited, though.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Close your eyes.”
Benedict expected her to press a gemstone into his palm, but the thing he felt was soft and light. When he opened his eyes he saw a folded silk handkerchief, the same color as the coral wall, rested on his open hand.
“It’s for the top pocket of your suit jacket.”
Benedict had never worn a handkerchief before, and he wouldn’t have chosen an orange one, but he pushed the small square of silk into his pocket anyway. And when he patted it, he felt as if he’d finally begun to sparkle as brightly as the jewelry he made.
26.
BLUE TOPAZ
learning, honesty, inspiration
A FEW DAYS LATER, after plucking up courage, Benedict phoned and invited Estelle over to the shop at 6:00 p.m. that evening. This gave him and Gemma enough time to add the finishing touches to the shop’s interior.
Whilst sorting out the newsagent store cupboard, Nigel had discovered a large roll of coral-colored ribbon and given it to Benedict. Gemma fashioned it into a large bow and Benedict adhered it to the door using sticky tack.
Time until Estelle’s arrival passed by too slowly. Benedict and Gemma shuffled around the shop, straightening up necklaces that didn’t need to be straightened and rearranging piles of gemstones into different shapes on the shelves.
Eventually, with five minutes to go before Estelle’s arrival, they stood behind the counter with their arms folded and their backs straight.
When Benedict caught sight of his wife’s plum coat, he nudged Gemma in the ribs. “She’s coming.”
“Ouch. I’ll open the door.”
“No. I’ll let her in.”
He moved to the window and watched as Estelle stopped still on the pavement. Her eyes widened as she stared at the huge coral bow on the door. Then she peered through the window into the shop and shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe what she saw. She pressed her hand to her chest as she came inside. “Benedict,” she said. “It looks beautiful.”
The small white shop, rechristened Stone Studio, was alive with the colors of the moors.
Benedict had hung any paintings left behind in her studio on each of the walls. A canvas with daubs of navy and powder blue, depicting stormy skies, reflected in the glass cabinet closest to the door. Rolling emerald-and-lime hills contrasted with the sharp shapes of Dinosaur Ridge on a slim, wide canvas near the till.
Benedict knew that he’d struggle to find words to say to her, so he kept them simple. “It’s for you,” he said. “This is your shop, too.”
“Mine?”
He nodded. “I eat too much,” he said as he picked up a bottle of prosecco off the counter and poured her a glass. “And I need to help out more in the house. I don’t have a llama to show you today, or a hat with a feather in it. I know that you need space, and that’s okay. I just want you to consider if my jewelry and your paintings could work, side by side. For this to be our family business.”
Gemma sighed and rested her chin in her hands.
Estelle touched her neck. “When did you do all this?”
“We’ve both spent a few days working on it,” Benedict said.
“It looks amazing.” Estelle turned to Gemma. “I hope you didn’t do too much.”
Gemma yawned and covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m exhausted.”
“You should rest up.”
“I will. I’m going to bed after this.”
“Oh,” Benedict said. “I was going to invite the two of you over to the Pig and Whistle for a drink, to toast Stone Studio and to try out Nicholas’s new menu.”
Gemma rubbed her eye with her fist. “You two go. I need to sleep.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, though he liked the idea of spending time with his wife alone.
Gemma nodded. She took Estelle’s old purple coat out of the store cupboard and draped it over her shoulders.
“We’ll walk you back home,” Estelle said.
Gemma shook her head. “It’s only fifteen minutes away.”
“It’s dark outside...”
“I’m fine.”
Benedict looked at his watch. “It’s only six thirty. Just stick t
o the high street instead of the towpath.”
“Yeah. I will.”
“Take care, won’t you,” Estelle called after her as she left the shop.
* * *
Benedict and Estelle walked over to the Pig and Whistle, where they ordered Nicholas’s fancy new version of cheese-and-onion pie. The pub was fuller than usual, with a buzz of conversation and laughter in the air.
At a table in the corner, Benedict spied someone facing the wall. She wore a paisley turban and dark glasses. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said to Estelle and headed over to see Violet.
She sat with her hands clasped around a glass of whiskey. Her elbows were stiff in her bottle green velvet coat. A pile of black-and-white photographs lay on the table.
Benedict placed a hand gently on her shoulder and she immediately shot up the back of a hand like a target springing back into place in a funfair shooting game.
“No photos,” she said.
He curved to the side of her. “Violet. It’s me. Benedict Stone.”
“Oh, Mr. Stone.” She lowered her dark glasses to peer over the top. “It’s very lovely to see you again. I thought you must be a fan.”
“So, you’ve been brave and ventured into the village?”
“Frank suggested that I might like to look at the old photographs on the wall in here, and Nicholas the chef passed me some, too. It’s poignant to remember Noon Sun as it was.” She took a sip of her whiskey and her hand shook a little. “Surprisingly no one else has approached me yet, though I am well covered.”
Benedict smiled. “It’s great to see you out and about. I’m here with my wife, Estelle. Would you like me to introduce you?”
“I don’t intend to stay for long. And women can be a little jealous of me.” She shook her head. “Frank passed the yellow stone on to me. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, but it was a nice gesture. He’s hoping that the gemstones you gave him will work wonders.”
“I hope so, too, but it’s the person who owns the gem that makes the changes...”
“Hmm,” she said.
“Have you had any luck selling your jewelry yet?”
Rise and Shine, Benedict Stone Page 21