by Jenny Kane
Mabel manhandled Shaun away, and Thea fought the urge to laugh as she heard his voice say innocently, ‘You clearly know this place well, Mabel. Do you mind me asking why there is such an awful smell of vinegar?’
Twenty
April 10th
Thea wasn’t sure what had pulled off the first small miracle. Whether it was Shaun’s arrival and the chance to work alongside someone famous, or whether it was her pleas at how little time there was left if they wanted Mill Grange to reopen on time that had done it, but by nine o’clock the house was bustling with volunteers. Even the students had arrived bright and early, sharing blue jokes with Derek and Bill in the gardens and digging up the weeds as if they were all born to a life of horticulture rather than business management and teaching.
Delighted though she was, Thea could not relax. John hadn’t arrived, but she was sure he would. Being marched off the premises might cause other men to listen to common sense, but this was John, who had a rule book all of his own.
Longing to go and hide in another part of the house, Thea cursed the lack of Wi-Fi throughout the manor. It had been a bonus until John had found her, a way to avoid him. Now its lack was a barrier to working on her emails, undetected, in a secret corner of Mill Grange.
Determined that when he did inevitably arrive, John would find her acting every inch the professional, Thea started formatting the information boards she intended to display in each room of the house. She’d got no further than selecting an attractive yet legible font, when Mabel arrived, brandishing a book in her hand.
‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me that I was damaging things with the strength of my vinegar washes? Honestly Thea, I’d have thought you cared more about the manor’s contents than that.’
Thea’s brain was still catching up on the fact Mabel was blaming her for a practice that had been in use since before her own arrival at the manor, when a book crashed onto the desk.
‘I was working in good faith. That’s all I’ve ever done, and to find I’ve been potentially harming things…’ Mabel looked as stricken as she did angry.
Feeling rather sorry for the pensioner with so many good intentions but no tact whatsoever, Thea picked up the conservation guide, remembering what Tina had said about Mabel’s family buying it for her.
‘Mabel, I’d be the first to congratulate you on your hard work. In fact, I think I have on a number of occasions.’ She gestured for her companion to sit down. ‘I have, if you think back, tried to speak to you about the vinegar situation. But on each occasion you’ve brushed away any suggestion which you saw as criticism or a personal attack on you or your commitment to this project. I have done neither, nor would I. Mill Grange is in trouble, but it would be in a lot more trouble if you hadn’t led the original group of volunteers so well for so long.’
Mabel opened her mouth to speak, but Thea held up her hand and kept going. ‘I am not sure why you think it’s my fault that you either worked out the proportions of the vinegar solution wrong or that the amounts suggested in here were incorrect in the first place.’ Thea snapped her lips closed as she registered how close she’d come to shouting. Meanwhile, Mabel just sat as if she’d been stunned.
Adopting a softer tone, Thea sighed, ‘I’m sorry, Mabel. I didn’t mean to sound so cross, but I can’t see why any of what you’ve done is my fault. As it happens, apart from the stench of acetic acid that hangs around the house, no real damage has been done. Vinegar can indeed be a worthwhile ingredient in cleaning – when used in moderation.’
Avoiding Thea’s eye, Mabel asked, ‘You’re sure I haven’t damaged anything?’
‘Certain.’ Thea smiled. ‘Did Shaun tell you about the vinegar problem?’
‘Yes. He really knows his stuff.’
The emphasis on the word he did not go unnoticed. Thea struggled to stop her hackles rising again. ‘He does, but so do I. Can I ask why you believed him, but not me?’
This time Mabel blanched. ‘Well, because he’s, well he’s…’
‘On television and therefore must know more than anyone who isn’t?’
‘Well, it must count for something mustn’t it? Otherwise you’d have his job and…’
Thea shook her head. ‘Mabel, you’re an intelligent woman, you can’t possibly believe that being on television means anything other than being a good presenter as well as, in this case, being a good archaeologist.’
Rather than pausing to force Mabel to make an uncomfortable reply, Thea moved on. ‘However, none of that matters. What matters is what happens next.’ She leant forward, her tone earnest and confiding. ‘Mabel, I’m very worried about the future of Mill Grange. For whatever reasons, we have little time to get everything ready and fewer funds than we were led to believe to achieve our goal.
‘The threat of sale is not going to go away unless we make serious progress and raise at least some money to help cover what needs doing but without fuss. Sticking a large thermometer outside the manor with a donations jar next to it won’t even touch the sides. That’s why you’ve found me this morning designing the information boards rather than paying a professional designer to do them.’ Thea waved a hand towards the computer screen. ‘Even with the extra hands, for which I’m grateful, we’re up against it.’
Mabel was silent for a second, and then asked, ‘You weren’t exaggerating the situation because you resent my help? There really is a chance the manor won’t open?’
Thea was shocked. ‘You thought I’d made it up because I was cross you’d called Malcolm about Shaun? Seriously?’
Saying nothing, a contrite Mabel shifted in her seat.
‘Let’s forget it, shall we? You want this place to open, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then let’s do our best to make sure it does. Let’s show the trustees that we can handle whatever they throw at us.’
Sounding uncharacteristically uncertain, Mabel muttered, ‘Do you think we can?’
‘We owe it to the village to give it our best shot. The pub, café and village shop could certainly do with the extra trade from visitors.’
Mabel’s sharp expression returned as quickly as it had disappeared. Thea’s heart sank as the more familiar combative glint came back to Mabel’s eye. ‘You think we owe this to the villagers?’
‘Umm… yes.’
‘Answer me this, Miss Thomas. How much shopping have you done in the village shop?’
Guilt stabbed at Thea. ‘I haven’t had a lot of time to go shopping, Mabel.’
‘And how many cups of coffee and slices of cake have you had in Sybil’s tea shop?’
‘Well…’
‘Not one. Am I right?’ Mabel looked every inch the disappointed headmistress. ‘How is that supporting the village? How will they ever know who the person trying to save the manor in their name is, if that person never lifts their head above the parapet? Are you afraid they’ll criticise you?’
Thea swallowed. Mabel was spot on. Here she was, busting a gut to try and save a historic part of the community, but she’d forgotten the community itself. Was she afraid they’d find fault with how little she’d achieved so far?
‘When was the last time you had coffee in a café?’
‘Not since I left Bath.’ Relieved that Mabel had dropped her combative tone, Thea tried to explain, ‘It isn’t that I don’t want to go into the village. And as for coffee shops, I love them. But there’s—’
‘So much to do?’
Thea nodded.
‘I know there is, and I’m sorry I’ve made life more difficult, but you’re making it difficult for yourself as well. The villagers are on your side, but you aren’t including them.’
‘But you’re a villager – and so are all the volunteers.’ Thea realised she wasn’t sure where all the helpers were from. ‘Aren’t they?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Not really.’ Thea felt ashamed. ‘I suppose I assumed everyone was local.’
Mabel was silent. Her shre
wd eyes fixed on Thea, as if trying to decide if she should attack further, or reel in her frustration and help the girl. Before she had the chance to speak again, Thea slouched back in her chair with a thump.
‘Look, Mabel, I’m sorry I’ve gone about this all wrong in your eyes. I made an assumption where the village was concerned. I thought they’d come to me, rather than me making the effort to go to them. I have no excuses. Do you think I’d be welcome if I went now, or have I burnt my boats?’
A rare smile curled up the corners of Mabel’s lips. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much. Moira at the pub was impressed by you.’
‘The landlady of the Stag and Hound?’
‘Yes. Apparently one of her residents, she wouldn’t say who – client confidentiality and all that rubbish – has been talking highly of your work here.’
Privately thanking Shaun for being so kind and Moira for being so discreet, Thea felt two spots of pink highlight her cheeks. ‘That’s very kind.’
‘She’s a kind lady. Upwich is full of kind people.’
‘People who I need to talk to, so I can discover their hopes for the restoration of the manor.’ Thea was suddenly beset by nerves, wishing for the hundredth time that she didn’t get stage fright every time she spoke to people she didn’t know.
‘Exactly,’ Mabel agreed. ‘But I should come with you.’
‘Would you?’
‘If you’d like me to.’
‘Please.’ Thea seized her chance. ‘There’s something else. If you’d like to do it.’
Mabel was caught between looking pleased and wary.
‘I need someone to coordinate everyone: the volunteers and workmen that arrive, any outside visitors who may come by. I’d like that someone to be you. Your organisational skills are superb, so let’s make them work for us. If you could take the jobs list and make sure everyone is doing what they said they’d do, or, if they are doing something that doesn’t suit their skill base, you could gently steer them in a different direction.’
‘I’d be delighted, but are you sure?’ Unexpectedly sheepish, Mabel said, ‘I didn’t think you liked me being bossy.’
‘There’s helpful bossy and there’s unhelpful bossy.’
Mabel laughed. ‘You sound like my husband.’
Relief flooded Thea at the realisation that she and Mabel might finally be singing from the same hymn sheet.
‘Shall we say coffee in the village tomorrow at 10.30 a.m.?’
Thea could feel her insides swim as she considered how she might be received, but simply said, ‘Perfect. Thank you.’
‘I’ll crack on then.’ Pushing herself off her chair, Mabel hooked the jobs list off the wall. ‘Any sign of that nice young man yet?’
Thea’s moment of optimism was extinguished. She was sure Mabel was referring to John, but instead said, ‘I think Shaun’s in the laundry.’
‘Not him, that nice Mr Davies.’ She fixed her astute gaze on Thea. ‘He said he knew you.’
‘Our paths crossed briefly at the Roman Baths, that’s all. And no, he isn’t here.’
*
Sifting through some of the original dockets for the purchase of household supplies, wondering whether to display them as originals under glass, or reproduce them so there was no risk of future damage, Thea picked the three clearest examples, each dating from 1866. One detailed the purchase of a vast supply of onions for pickling, one for oranges for conserves, while the third was a record of the amount of boot polish the butler had agreed the boot boy would require for a year’s worth of buffing.
‘I doubt those yellowing bits of paper are as fascinating as your expression suggests they are.’
Thea clenched her toes in her boots, determined to keep all emotion from her voice, telling herself if she could call a truce with Mabel, then she could stay strong with John.
‘You prove the point I made yesterday, John. You are not suited to working here if you can’t see that everything connected to the manor has interest. Are you leaving today?’
‘You know I’m not. I’m here to take you out for breakfast.’
‘Breakfast?’ Thea glanced at the clock. ‘It’s quarter past ten in the morning. Everyone else was here ages ago. We are up against it here – or weren’t you paying attention last night?’
‘I was paying close attention,’ John’s eyes narrowed. ‘Mostly to that giant who everyone seems to think is important because he’s on television. It was embarrassing to witness him pawing at you.’
‘For God’s sake John, Shaun was doing nothing of the sort.’ Hoping her reddening face would be put down to indignation rather than the memory of Shaun informing her of his intention to ask her out, Thea added, ‘He is a professional who has offered to help here. Someone who is passionate about yellowing pieces of paper! Now, please go home, John. I am never going to change my mind about going out with you. You’re making a fool of yourself.’
The second the word ‘fool’ had crossed her lips, Thea knew she’d made a mistake.
John’s green eyes flashed and then dulled as he bent closer. ‘I’m no fool, you know that. I’m just determined to make you see what you threw away.’ He paused, considering.
‘How easy it would be to make a fool of you though, Thea. To expose the fact you have a celebrity hidden away here.’ John lowered his voice, shrugging as he smiled. ‘It’s such a shame to think that you could let the whole community down only weeks after the Trust started paying you to sort this place out. How much could they save I wonder, by not giving you a wage?’
He hadn’t mentioned going to the papers, but the implication was there, hanging between them. Realisation hit Thea like a blast of cold air. She was stuck with John until she agreed to go out for a meal… and even then, that wouldn’t be enough to get rid of him.
Suddenly exhausted, Thea lowered her eyes back to the nineteenth-century invoices. ‘Go and find Sam in the garden. You can help him uncover the old walkway that circuits the house.’
John didn’t speak again, but the triumph in his eyes left no doubt that he considered himself the victor of the exchange, breakfast or no breakfast.
Twenty-One
April 11th
For Thea, walking into Sybil’s Tea Room was love at first sight. She could have hugged Mabel for bringing her here. Instead, Thea lifted the menu and gave her companion a warm smile. It felt like coming home. Why hadn’t she thought to come here before? In Bath, a coffee shop trip had been a daily occurrence, something she did without even thinking.
‘Thank you for inviting me here. I love it.’
‘You haven’t tried anything yet.’ Mabel pointed with surprising discretion in the direction of a well-padded woman in a pristine navy apron, half-glasses and a shockingly unflattering short haircut. ‘That’s Sybil.’
‘Looks friendly.’
‘Very much so. It’s important you make a good impression.’
Immediately self-conscious, Thea brushed her hair with her fingers, remembering what Tina had said about getting it cut.
‘What do you recommend?’ The menu was the perfect balance of deliciousness, with random token gestures towards good health. ‘If I haven’t found time to come back here to have an afternoon cream tea within the next fortnight, you have my permission to make me.’
‘I’ll add it to my list.’ Mabel inclined her head a fraction as Sybil glided to their side on silent, thick trainer clad feet.
‘Mabel, how lovely. How’s that Bert of yours?’
‘Potty as ever.’ Mabel gestured across the table. ‘This is Thea. She’s in charge of the restoration at Mill Grange.’
Sybil’s eyebrows rose, but her innate customer service skills prevented her from saying what she was clearly thinking. Why haven’t you visited here before?
Wanting to smooth over any rough edges before they snagged, Thea put out her hand. ‘I’m delighted to meet you. I should also apologise.’
‘You should?’
‘Absolutely. I’m a huge tea shop and caf
é fan, yet I’ve neglected you. Not a mistake I’ll be making again.’ Thea held the menu open. ‘I’m having trouble deciding. I’d usually go straight for the lemon cake and espresso option, but I wonder… are the toasted crumpets with poached eggs and ham as amazing as they sound?’
‘Better!’
The reply came from the occupant of a small round table next to them, where an elderly man was steering a piece of toast around his plate, dabbing up any last traces of fried egg. ‘Sybil here cooks the best eggs in the world.’
‘Thanks, Alf.’ Sybil patted the old man’s shoulder. ‘Alf’s been here for his breakfast every year since time began. I don’t think there’s anything on the menu he hasn’t sampled.’
‘Apart from that new vegan nonsense.’
‘Got to move with the times, Alf.’
Thea couldn’t help but smile as he mumbled. ‘Don’t see why.’
Sybil rolled her eyes affectionately. ‘Are you going to give the crumpets a go then, Thea?’
‘Please. And a black Americano if that’s okay.’
‘No problem. Mabel?’
‘The same as Thea please, Sybil, but with a pot of tea.’
As soon as their host had bustled off, Mabel leant in and lowered her voice a fraction, presumably so Alf couldn’t listen in. ‘Well done.’
Thea smiled. ‘This place is truly lovely.’
Clearly once a cottage, the tea rooms consisted of a living room which had been knocked into a dining room, with a large glass conservatory added on at the back. The low beamed ceiling was painted in a traditional white and black style. Pine tables, each covered with serviceable, easy-wipe, Spode-patterned cloths holding matching china, waited patiently for an influx of custom.
The stable-style front door had hardly stopped swinging since they’d arrived. Every time a table emptied, a young waitress would appear like magic from the kitchen, clean the surface, and a new customer would sweep in. They had only been there ten minutes before Thea realised how many walkers visited the village. Far from being desperate for custom as Thea had assumed, Sybil’s Tea Room was a hub for hikers and cyclists planning their treks across Exmoor.