He knew he seemed distant as he watched her from his peripheral vision. April tilted her head. But he had accepted her invitation for tea. Perhaps he was tired from travel. He mimicked April and prepared his scone as he’d seen her do, except he put too much cream and a blob shot out the side onto the teapot and tablecloth.
Their laughter ended the awkwardness. Simultaneously, they blotted the stain with their napkins, their fingers brushing, as the server arrived to clean the mishap.
April shifted in her seat and looked away. “Is this your first visit to the U.K.?”
Ryan leaned back, a smile on his lips. “This is very good.” His cup clicked as he returned it to the saucer. “To answer your question, no, it’s my second time. Two years ago, I was the one you saw leaving the cottage. My mother was the woman who owned it.” He swallowed the lump in his throat.
Her eyes wide, she shifted her position. “That was you?”
“Guilty.” Lips pressed tight, he shrugged and curled his long fingers around the teacup.
Checking his watch, he released a groan. “Guess I’ve missed my train.” He added, “But I’ve enjoyed the company.”
April’s chin dropped to her chest. “I’m sorry. Where was your train to?”
“To London, to …” He paused. “I’ve business to attend to there, then I fly home day after tomorrow.”
The server returned to see if they needed anything. “I’d like to pay please.” Ryan gave her his credit card.
April reached out and touched his arm. “Please allow me. I’m the one who invited you.”
“No, no. It’s the least I can do. You’ve been more than kind. Besides, perhaps this can be repayment for not having tea with my mom. She would’ve enjoyed meeting you.”
“If I may ask, will your mum return soon?”
“No …” Ryan cleared his throat and looked out the window again. “No, she won’t be back. I’m here to put it up for sale. That’s why I’ll be in London.”
She put a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ryan. I’ve just realized. How awful.”
He didn’t respond but dipped his chin into a half nod.
“And you’re here to sell her cottage?”
“That’s the plan. It’s not needed any longer.” He cradled the cup as he stared into it. “Do you know anyone who may be interested?”
“Yes.” She wet her lips. “I mean—I’d love to buy it, but I suppose I should ask the price first.” Her swallow was audible. “Also, I suppose I need to see what condition it’s in on the inside, what with the cost of fixes and all.” She muttered as her shoulders hunched.
“I can tell you what the realtor said was a fair price. As is.”
“What do you mean by ‘as is’?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “It means with no repairs made. You buy it; you fix it. I would take care of it myself and get a better price, but I can’t stay here long enough to oversee the renovations, so I’ll let it go as is.”
“I love fixing things up and have helped my mum do cosmetic bits to my parents’ flat.” April beamed. “I could hire out the internal stuff, like plumbing and electrical work.” She played with the ring she wore on her right hand, a small silver band in the shape of a Celtic knot. Ryan had seen a ring like that somewhere before.
“You could get an estimate before you go any further and decide if the cost of the house, coupled with surface repairs, would work for you.”
“Yes, that’s brilliant. Won’t you have to stay longer though? It may take a few days to get an estimate, and a loan could take a while.”
He formed a steeple with his fingers and tilted his head back. “Why don’t I take the next train to London and settle things with the realtor. I’ll come back tomorrow and get a hotel room. There is a hotel here, right?”
“A very charming inn.” April glanced at her watch. “The next train to London is in about two hours. We could walk over to the Horden Inn and see if they have a vacancy.”
“Perfect.”
The server returned with his card. “Thank you, sir.”
Ryan nodded and placed his napkin on the table. They stood and moved to leave. Ryan made a motion for her to precede him. “After you.”
She watched him with appreciation as he held the door open for her.
∞∞∞
The walk was short, so April ambled to prolong it. Not much was said until Ryan asked about the market cross, and she explained her town’s history. The inn loomed ahead, three-storied with multiple chimneys rising from the age-worn roof. A carved wooden crimson sign hung over the door—Horden Inn.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Ryan inquired, “Are there any other inns?”
“Yes, and there are also a couple of B&Bs.” Uncertain why he asked, she offered, “It’s rather nice. You could peek at a room if you’d like. Mr. Talbot wouldn’t mind.”
“This is fine. Simply curious.” He shoved a hand into his pocket and rocked on his heels before he reached for the heavy oak door. Ryan held it open for April. Their shoes echoed lightly on the faded, red slate floor. Dark wood-paneled walls hung with painted plates and charcoal artwork, enclosing the narrow room. Ryan followed her to the front desk. She tapped a silver bell on the counter. An immense brick fireplace arranged with flickering candles of staggered height emitted a soft glow into the dim room.
Ryan took in the aged room. “Feels like we’ve stepped into the past.”
The sound of shuffling feet behind the desk brought their focus back.
“This is Mr. Henry Talbot, the inn’s proprietor. Mr. Talbot, this is Ryan …? Sorry, but I don’t know your surname.”
The portly, ruddy man behind the counter emerged carrying a half-eaten apple. He nodded rather than speak around the piece of apple in his mouth.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Talbot. I’m Ryan Wilkinson. I’m interested in a room if you have one.”
He chewed and swallowed. “My pleasure, Mr. Wilkinson. I have a room available. How long will you be with us?” He took another bite from the apple, smaller this time.
“I’m not sure. I suppose I could book for a week and see how it goes.”
“Splendid.” The bump in his cheek bobbed around as he spoke.
“Okay, put me down for the week.” He presented his credit card.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilkinson. Here’s your confirmation and key.”
Ryan studied the large brass key that appeared as old as the inn. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’ll be here tomorrow.”
April noticed a flash of frustration in Ryan’s eyes as he looked at the key and tightened his grip, his knuckles white. He relaxed, stared at Mr. Talbot and slid the key across the counter.
“So sorry, sir. My apologies.” He rearranged the reservation and offered Ryan a confirmation. No mention was made that Ryan had not said when he’d be checking in. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” He reached for the apple core.
Ryan and April stepped outside. “I guess I need to get to the station. Would you point me in the right direction?”
“I’ll do better. It’s on my way home. I’ll walk with you if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes. “About the cottage—would meeting at Horden Inn at six o’clock tomorrow be okay?”
“That should be fine. It’s Polly’s turn to work Saturday.”
“Where do you work?”
April led him though an alley shortcut. “At a bookshop called Books-on-the-Green.”
“Very nice. And let me guess. It’s near the town green.”
“Precisely.”
“How long have you worked there?”
“We opened it about two years ago.” April watched her feet, and then pulled her gaze to the shops they passed before she glanced at Ryan. His face had taken on a surprised expression.
“You’re the owner?”
“Co-owner.” April loosely clasped her hands behind her back, her purse bumped into her hip
as she walked. “It was a dream of mine. I’ve always felt a great kinship for books. One can’t feel alone or bored while surrounded by good books.”
“I can understand that. Though, I must admit I’m not an avid reader. My mom always had our house crammed with books. She’d read to me before bedtime.” He let out a sigh and grew pensive.
April didn’t press him yet wondered what had happened to his mother. He spoke of her wistfully—not as if they had a recent relationship. She strode beside him in silence, leaving him to his thoughts.
She stopped outside the rail station and turned to him. “Well, Ryan Wilkinson, it has been a pleasure. I look forward to tomorrow.”
“Until tomorrow.” Ryan stepped toward the ticket office. He turned toward her and reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “I almost forgot. Here’s the key to the cottage. I thought you might want to tour it.”
“Are you certain?” The gesture touched April. He nodded as she accepted the key. “I’d like that very much.” He pressed the key into her palm.
Ryan walked toward the ticket counter. April grasped the key, anticipation welling inside her. She would at last see inside the cottage. And to think it might belong to her. She peeped over her shoulder and stole a glimpse of Ryan heading for the train. She turned toward home.
∞∞∞
Ryan boarded the train as his thoughts slipped to April and his mother. He needed to get back to New York. The office couldn’t function without him—or so he believed. If he stayed another week in England, they’d think he lost his mind. Was there something special about April, or was it her vague connection with his mom? The two seemed to have a lot in common. Is that why he was staying? Was he trying to make amends vicariously?
Ryan shook his head. He must get a grip. The snack cart rolled by, and he stopped it to purchase a bottle of water. The bills crumpled as he stuffed them into his wallet, and he froze. His fingers fumbled until he found the newspaper article, but the printout of the blog post wasn’t there. Nothing. It was gone.
Chapter 3
Neville, North Yorkshire, England
2016
The day was bright, bringing a golden glow to the morning. Susannah leaned back on her heels to appraise the work she’d done to remove weeds from the stone path to the old cottage. Her gaze wandered to the freshly potted plants that stood at attention in ochre-hued clay urns by the door. The windows shone from a thorough scrub she’d given them the day before.
The sound of the gate squeaking brought her attention to a middle-aged woman entering her garden carrying a large blue basket.
Susannah scurried to stand and help her with the burden. The breezy fall day whipped their hair as they greeted one another.
The woman leaned forward and extended a hand, “Good day.” She held out the basket to allow Susannah to assist her. “Welcome to Neville. I’m Letice Short.”
“Good morning. How sweet of you to stop by. I would shake, but they’re dusty from gardening. I’m Susannah Wilkinson. Do come in.” She led her through the door and shoved empty boxes aside with her foot. “Please excuse the mess.”
“No worries. I quite understand.” Letice stepped over the threshold into the lounge. “I won’t keep you from your chores.” Her gazed surveyed the room with interest. “This is a quite proper cottage. I’ve never been inside, though I’ve admired it for years.”
“Thank you. Would you like a cup of tea? I’m about to put a pot on. I’m overdue for a break.”
Letice gave an energetic nod and followed as Susannah led the way to the kitchen. “Please have a seat.” She pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and turned to wash her hands. Over her shoulder she watched her guest. “Have you lived in Neville long?”
“My family moved here when my dad retired from the armed services. He was still quite young at the time. His family, and my mum’s, came from Neville and once he got his pension, they returned to the place where they grew up. Since I’m the youngest, I’m the only one of my siblings that was born here. A lovely village it is.” She sniffed the air. “Do I smell something baking?”
The timer dinged. “Teacakes. My grandmother’s recipe. Been in the family over 150 years.” She removed the baking sheet and placed it on a brass trivet. “Just a moment, and they’ll be cool enough to eat ...” She returned to the table and lifted the towel over the basket and peeked inside. “…along with these beautiful scones.”
Letice cleared her throat. “How did you come to move to Neville? Do you have any acquaintances here?”
“No, but I fell in love with Neville on a tour stop at the pub. I have ancestors from here. And I …” Susannah busied herself gathering the items for their tea. She turned to Letice. “I’ve always wanted to live in an old English cottage. For me it’s anything British—castles, cottages, manor homes, tea and scones.”
Letice’s smile broadened. “Oh, that brings to mind a slogan my dad would say from the war, ‘Tea Revives the World.’” She shook her head with a laugh and continued, “He also loved his scones. When I was but a girl, I vowed to create the best scones ever. That’s when I began making raspberry scones. Tried to please him with bits to have with his tea. So, I decided I should bring some to the new occupant of this pretty cottage.”
“How splendid. I’ve prayed about meeting new people here, and God sent you.” The teakettle sang out. After she prepared the teapot, she slipped into the chair across from Letice to chat while the tea steeped.
She tapped her toes nervously. “Would you like to come to church with me?”
Susannah’s lips curved. “You’ve no idea how great that sounds. I’d love to. It’ll be so nice to have someone to sit with.”
Letice squared her shoulders. “I was so afraid you may not be receptive. God prodded me to come here. We’re supposed to go where He sends us, even if we’re rejected. The rejection part is difficult to swallow though.”
They sipped tea, ate scones and teacakes, and got acquainted by sharing their memories. She told Susannah about the history of Neville, and they found they shared a fondness of baking.
Susannah took a bite of a raspberry scone. “Mm, this is unbelievable. You should market these.” Her blush warmed Susannah’s heart.
“Thank you.” Letice reached for her third teacake. “These are delicious. By the by, what ministries have you been involved in?”
Hesitant, Susannah smoothed the sleeve of her blouse, her mind strayed to the painful day at the abortion clinic when the police took away the aggressive protesters. “I counseled women, for the most part young girls, against abortion.” She took a teacake and continued between bites. “My main focus was to help my closest friend, Diann, with her job as director of a homeless shelter. I helped serve meals, sort clothes, and distribute items to the homeless.”
Letice offered a questioning gaze. “You may be interested in a project that the church is about to begin. We hope to convert an abandoned factory into housing for homeless families.”
“Sounds hopeful. How far along is the project?” Susannah twisted in her chair.
“Well, our first goal is to gain support from a wealthy businessman who grew up here. He has an extensive background with philanthropic work, so we believe it’ll be a concern for him. The trouble is, he’s a busy man and hard to get in touch with. We’ll not give up though.”
“He doesn’t live here any longer?”
“When he left for university, he came back to visit family from time to time. His parents passed a few years ago. He’s an only child, but he returns a couple times a year to stay at his parents’ house—a two-story stone house passed down for centuries. Did a complete restoration. It’s quite beautiful.”
“I bet. Though that’s sad. He has no more family, no wife or children?”
“He’s divorced. No children. But it’s no matter, it hasn’t changed Colin. He’s still the nicest chap around.”
“It can be tough to get a project of that size off the ground since most of the committee
members have full-time jobs and families to take care of. I’d like to help. That is, if the others will have me.” She lifted the teapot. “More tea?”
“No, thanks.” Letice brightened. “Your help would be brilliant. I’ll mention it to our group. They are great people to work with … well, except—oh, never mind.” She held her tongue and studied her tea.
Susannah didn’t prod her to elaborate. “Do you already have the factory?”
“We’ve made an offer on it and are awaiting a response.”
Susannah nodded. “And you think Colin will speed it along with his, I assume, connections?”
“Yes, indeed,” she said with the raise of an eyebrow. “Colin’s about fifty, and dishy I might add.” She patted her hair and gave a cheeky smirk. “Since you’re not married, I thought I’d toss that in.”
Susannah laughed, her tea rippling like tiny waves in her cup. She already knew she liked Letice and hoped to be friends.
“Anyway, Colin went to school with a couple of our members. They’re all younger than me.” Letice snorted. “Well, more than a little, but who’s counting?”
“I see what you mean. It seems the older I get, the younger people appear.”
“I understand how you feel. Age has a way of doing that to one, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” Susannah took the last bite of her scone. “Letice, these are the best scones I think I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you, love. My gran’s recipe. Three hundred years old.” Letice winked. “But, of course, I tweaked them for my dad.”
Letice pulled out her cell phone and checked the time. “I suppose I should shove off. I’ve had a splendid time. And the teacakes are scrumptious.”
Susannah held up the basket. “It was so kind of you to welcome me.”
“A delight. And you keep the lot.” Letice nodded toward the rest of the scones. “Bring the basket to church Sunday if you’d like. St. Gregory’s—a few blocks over.” She pointed in the general direction of the church. “And I’d love to have you over for Sunday roast.”
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