by Ann Bennett
‘Come through to the kitchen. Would you like tea?’
‘Don’t mind if I do. Two sugars if that’s alright. Miss B didn’t ever used to have sugar in. Didn’t approve of it.’
Sarah looks up from putting the kettle on. ‘So, you know the house?’
‘Oh yes. I used to come and do odd jobs from time to time. Needs a proper going over, though. I used to tell Miss B that, but I don’t think she wanted to spend anything on the place.’
‘No. It looks as though the roof and gutters need attention. And of course the windows all need painting and renovating outside. Is that something you could quote for?’
He nods. ‘I’ll have to look in daylight, but I don’t think you need a new roof. We should be able to patch it up. Replace some of the tiles.’
‘That’s good news. I’ve also got some ideas for a few changes inside. Shall I show you round? We can bring our tea.’
He follows her around the ground floor as she explains her plans.
‘It’s mostly decorating as you’ll see. The only structural thing I’d like to do is to open the kitchen out into the conservatory. Make it all one big room.’
He nods approvingly. ‘Yep. We can take down the back kitchen wall. Put an RSJ in there to hold it up. There’ll be a step down, of course. Floor levels are different. But I can deal with all that. No problem.’
They pass the study door. Sarah follows his eyes as he glances inside.
‘I’ve made a start on the decorating myself, actually,’ she says. Then she sees he’s staring at the exposed wall cupboard.
‘It was very odd. I found that cupboard completely sealed up under the plaster when I took the paper off.’
He laughs. ‘Sealed it up myself. Only last year as a matter of fact. Couldn’t fathom why the old girl wanted that done, but she insisted.’
‘It was very strange. There were some interesting things in there too.’
‘Really? She said there was only old junk in there.’ He laughs again. ‘Well, she always was a strange one, Miss B. Probably lost her marbles. She must have been well on the way before.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Sarah asks.
‘Very strange family, the Burroughs. Her and the sister, Miss Evie. Lived like church mice they did, in their old age. This old place falling down around their ears. They must have had cash though, at some point. They used to be rich in their father’s heyday. At least that’s what me old dad used to say.’
‘Did your father know them?’
‘Oh yes. Dad started the family business. He was a carpenter. He built that old desk over there in the corner,’ he says, nodding in the direction of the bureau.
‘Well, it’s a beautiful piece of furniture. He must have been very skilful.’
‘Oh yes. He was skilful alright.’
‘I’m sure Miss Burroughs would have kept it, only they couldn’t get it out of the room.’
‘There’ll be a way of dismantling it and putting it back together again. Dad always built them like that. Don’t suppose the removal men realised.’
‘Really? It might be good to move it out of the room, so I can decorate properly. Perhaps you could help me one day?’
‘Alright. If you show me what else you’d like doing, I’ll send you an estimate. When I start work I’ll help you move the desk.’
She smiles. ‘It’s a deal. When would you be able to start?’
‘Next week. I’ve hit a few problems on another job. Waiting for some materials, so I’ve got some free time.’
As she shows him out he turns back and says. ‘I’m glad you’re doing the old place up finally. Used to give me the creeps when I was a kid. It was rotting away even then. I’ve been dying to get my hands on it for years.’
Nineteen
Sarah
Sarah’s life falls into a regular routine. Each morning she gets up early, crosses the road for the newspaper and a few groceries and to pass the time of day with Jacqui in the newsagents. She spends the rest of the day decorating the study. Terry starts work as he’d promised the following Monday. He brings his workmate Rodney, a diminutive man with a ruddy face and a shock of white hair. Their first task is to renovate the living room, to take out the old gas fire and restore the marble fireplace. Every few hours Sarah takes the men tea or coffee and stops for a chat.
It’s good to be distracted by their banter and hearing the local gossip. Through them and through her daily conversations with Jacqui she gradually begins to feel part of Weirfield. Alex and her life in London starts to fade into the background. But not completely. Every week or so she gets an email from Judith Marshall, updating her on the progress of her divorce and the financial negotiations with Alex. She tries not to dwell on it; throws herself into renovating the house. Over time she thinks about it less, and after a while is able to put Alex out of her mind for several hours at a time.
He hasn’t been in touch since she moved in, but sometimes, in spite of her resolutions, in moments of weakness, she takes the card he sent her out of the bedside drawer, and lets her mind wander back there to the restaurant, to their home. She finds herself wondering what she would be doing now if the police hadn’t knocked on the door before dawn that morning; it seems so long ago now.
After Terry and Rodney have gone home each day, Sarah drives over to her father’s house to spend the evening with him. They take it in turns to cook, and after they’ve eaten they play chess or cards until it’s time for Sarah to go home. She relishes these moments with her father, and although she’s only too aware that they are finite, it feels as if she’s at least doing something to make up for lost time.
Each day she enters his house anxiously, wondering how he’ll be. Sometimes he’ll be lying down in the sun room, under a blanket, his face drawn and grey with pain.
‘Bad day?’ she’ll say, and he’ll nod with a rueful smile and heave himself up on his elbows, grasping for his pills.
‘Not so bad now you’re here,’ he’ll say, then insist on getting up and moving to the kitchen where he’d want to know how the house is coming on.
On other days he’ll already be in the kitchen when she arrives, chopping onions and garlic, his apron on, humming to the radio. He’ll turn and kiss her and she’ll know it’s been a better day. But she also knows it will only be a matter of months that they will have like this, before his condition gets worse and he’ll have to go into hospital for treatment. They both know that the treatment might not work and that he might not be coming back, but they don’t speak of that directly, it’s present in their looks and their gestures, and implicit in the plans they make.
A couple of weeks after her first visit, Sarah goes to the nursing home again to see Connie Burroughs. This time the old lady seems more confused than before. She’s preoccupied when Sarah arrives, fiddling with her necklace and drifting off, her blue eyes far away in another place, another time. She has a small blue hardback book on her lap. It looks like a diary, but it’s firmly locked with a small metal clasp.
After they’ve been speaking for some time, Sarah decides to take the plunge.
‘Miss Burroughs. There’s something I’d like to ask you.’
The old woman turns her eyes towards her, but they’re not focusing.
‘It’s about the orphanage. I hope you don’t mind me asking you this. It’s just that my father was actually there when he was a baby.’
The blue eyes come to life and Miss Burroughs sits up straight. She turns her gaze on Sarah and it’s as if a beam from a lighthouse has suddenly swung round to point at her.
‘Do you mean he was one of the children there? Perhaps I remember him. What’s his name, my dear?’
‘His name is William. William King.’
Miss Burroughs relaxes slightly and frowns. ‘I don’t remember anyone of that name, I’m afraid. And I used to know all the children by name. I grew up amongst them, and when I was old enough I became a teacher there too. I’m afraid you must be mistaken. There was no Willia
m King there.’
‘Well, he wasn’t there for long. He was just a baby. He was only there for a few months I believe. He was adopted you see. Adopted by Mr and Mrs King. They took him to live with them in Bristol. That’s where he grew up.’
‘Adopted?’ Miss Burroughs dabs her lips with a screwed-up handkerchief. Sarah sees that she’s started shaking, just as she had when Sarah mentioned the artefacts in the cupboard. Her right hand makes its way to her throat and her fingers fiddle with a chain there, working their way up and down, up and down.
‘I could bring you his birth certificate…’ Sarah begins, but stops, seeing something in Miss Burroughs’ widened eyes that looks almost like terror.
‘No. No. Don’t worry. I won’t do that. Perhaps that’s not a good idea. Please don’t distress yourself. I’m sorry I mentioned it. It’s just that my father’s always wanted to find out more about his birth. He knows nothing about it.’
The old woman closes her eyes and Sarah can see that she is trying to compose herself.
‘Are you alright?’ Sarah asks. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’
Miss Burroughs shakes her head vehemently. ‘No. No it’s quite alright. It’s just all so long ago. I’m not sure I can remember back that far. When is your father’s birthday?’
‘September 1934. His birth certificate describes his parents as ‘unknown’.’
Miss Burroughs’ eyes snap open again and now she is looking intently at Sarah. Leaning forward and peering at her as if she’s searching for something.
‘September you say? September 1934? Are you quite sure it was September. September, not earlier in the year?’
Sarah shakes her head. ‘Quite sure. His birthday is in September.’ Miss Burroughs slumps back in her chair and her face seems to collapse. She whispers something under her breath that Sarah barely catches.
Sarah goes home deflated, not sure how to explain to her father that it’s all come to nothing. That Miss Burroughs doesn’t remember him as a baby. She’s not sure she wants to tell him just yet. She doesn’t want to disappoint him. So when she visits him that evening, she decides to let him down gently. She tells him that Miss Burroughs couldn’t remember anything, but is going to have a think about it.
A few days after her second visit to Miss Burroughs, Sarah is in the newsagents getting some cigarettes after Rodney and Terry have gone for the day. Jacqui is just telling her about a couple along the high street who have gone their separate ways after thirty years of marriage. Sarah is just turning to leave when the door opens and in bursts Simon, the young waiter from the Bistro. Sarah smiles briefly and steps aside. The boy’s face is full of panic.
‘Dad sent me to ask you a favour. Do you think you could come and help out with the evening shift?’ he asks Jacqui.
Jacqui sighs. ‘I suppose I could. I was going to do the stocktaking, but I’m sure that can wait if it’s an emergency. What’s happened?’
‘Chef’s ill. Got flu or something. Dad’s got to man the kitchen by himself this evening. He needs someone to greet the guests, deal with the money. I can’t really cope on my own.’
‘Ok,’ says Jacqui, reluctance in her voice. ‘I suppose I could shut up the shop. Just give me five minutes.’
‘I could come,’ Sarah blurts out, not quite understanding why even as she’s saying it. ‘If it would help. I’ve worked in restaurants all my life. I’d just need to call my dad to let him know.’
The boy looks at her in surprise. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. What time do you need me?’
‘About six if that’s OK. Thank you.’
He dashes out of the shop. ‘Well thank you,’ says Jacqui. ‘That’s a load off my mind. Can’t say I was looking forward to it, but I would have gone.’
Sarah dresses carefully for the evening, in her little black dress and strappy shoes. She puts her makeup on, and her onyx earrings. She feels the thrill of anticipation that she’ll spend the evening doing what she loves. She hadn’t realised how much she’s missed it.
When she arrives at the bistro, Matt emerges in his chef’s whites from the kitchen, a relieved smile spreading across his face.
‘Sarah! How kind of you to help out. I can’t thank you enough.’ He takes her coat.
‘Thank me after the evening,’ she laughs. ‘Let’s see how it goes.’
He laughs too. ‘Come on, let me show you how things work.’
He quickly demonstrates how the till and online booking system work and then with further profuse thanks he dashes back to the kitchen.
Within minutes the first guests arrive. She greets them smoothly, showing them to their table, making sure they’re comfortable, taking their drinks orders. Soon more people come and she does the same. She fetches their drinks and helps Simon bring their food from the kitchen. She begins to relax and realises she’s in her element. Catching sight of herself in the mirror behind the bar as she passes, her eyes glowing, she sees someone cool and self-assured, perfectly in control. Oh how she has missed this!
At the end of the evening, when the last guest has gone home, Matt offers her a nightcap and they sit down at the table in the window.
‘You’re so good at this,’ he says, holding his glass of brandy up to hers.’ Where did you train?’
‘Oh, I didn’t train really, just picked it up as I went along. I’ve worked in restaurants in Bristol and in London.’
‘Well, you’re a natural. I asked you before and I’ll ask again. If you’d like a job there’s one here for you.’
‘I could come tomorrow if the chef’s still off, if that would help?’
‘That would be fantastic.’
After that first evening, she goes to the bistro again for the next two nights until the chef returns. Matt tries to persuade her to stay on, but she says, ‘I’d love to, but my dad needs me. He’s not well and I need to go over and see him each evening. He relies on me.’
‘How about lunchtimes? Could you help out for a couple of hours?’
‘If you need me, I’m sure I could make the time. I’ve got the builders in now. They’re making great progress, so it shouldn’t be a problem to get away for lunchtimes.’
She’s not quite sure why she’s agreeing to this. It’s the last thing she’d contemplated doing when she moved into Cedar Lodge, but she has to admit that she’s glad of the company, the chance to slip back into her professional role and besides, Matt is so genuinely grateful it is a pleasure to help him out and see his smile of gratitude.
So, Le Gastronome becomes part of her daily routine and before long she is on first-name terms with the dozen or so regular customers who live nearby. Matt begins to consult her on ways of improving the menu, of small changes to the décor to make the place feel more contemporary and welcoming.
One day, after a couple of weeks at Le Gastronome, Sarah is cashing up at the end of the lunchtime shift.
‘Why don’t you stay for a quick coffee?’ Matt asks.
Most afternoons she heads straight home as soon as her shift is over to see what progress Terry and Rodney have made.
‘I’d love to, but…’
‘You don’t always have to rush off straight away, surely?’
‘No. No, maybe not. The builders are starting to install the central heating today. I’m not sure I want to go home. It’s going to be chaos,’ she laughs.
‘I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then. Let’s sit in the window. I’ll go and get the coffees.’
She sits down in the window seat. It’s the first time she’s sat at one of the tables since they shared a nightcap a few weeks ago. Normally she grabs a coffee or a drink in the kitchen while she’s working. She glances across at the doctor’s surgery, remembering with a shudder the time she saw her father step out.
Matt brings the coffee and sits down opposite her. She smiles at him. ‘This is very nice.’
She notices that he looks nervous. He’s avoiding her gaze. She’s beginning to be able to read his moods.
He’s usually relaxed and friendly, cracking jokes in the kitchen, taking everything in his stride. The anxious, stressed look of the first time she came here is rare, but she sees it in his eyes sometimes, when Simon makes a mistake with an order, or a customer complains.
‘Is everything OK?’ she asks.
‘Yes, yes. Everything’s fine. Things are going really well, thanks to you.’
‘That’s nice of you to say, but I haven’t really done anything.’
‘That’s not true. Things were really tough for a long time before you walked through the door. I’m very grateful.’
She’s heard the odd comment from the chef, and from Simon how tough things have been since Matt’s wife died two years ago, but never from Matt himself. He clears his throat now.
‘This isn’t about work, actually. I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner sometime.’
This is a bolt from the blue. Sarah’s mind skates back over the time they’ve worked together, and now she thinks about it, she does recall a couple of occasions when she’s caught him looking at her, his eyes lingering on her face a little longer than necessary. She realises she’s gripping the handle of the coffee mug hard, her knuckles are white. She makes an effort to relax.
‘Of course. I quite understand if you don’t want to,’ he goes on. ‘It’s just that… it’s just that I enjoy your company, Sarah. At first I thought it was just that you were so great at the job. But now I realise it’s more than that. That I have feelings for you.’
‘Look, Matt…’ she begins, but falters. She isn’t sure what to say. This is so sudden, but all the same, not unwelcome.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, looking at her earnestly. ‘I’m hopeless at this. Completely out of practice.’ He laughs at himself.
She makes an effort to look into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Matt. I’m really flattered that you’ve asked me, but just at the moment I’m not great company.’
‘Ok. I’m sorry I asked.’
‘There’s no need to be. You must have gathered that I recently split up from my husband. It’s been difficult.’