Permelia Cottage

by Carole Lehr Johnson

  Ryan noticed April’s attention stray from him to the table. In the silence that lay between them, the surrounding conversations buzzed, servers bustled back and forth, and dishes clanked.

  Finally, April peered up just as Tristan arrived with their food. “Here you go, milady.” He beamed and placed the plate in front of her. He said nothing while serving Ryan and glanced at April. “Need anything else?”

  “No. This looks wonderful.” April closed her eyes and inhaled, savoring the aromas of the scrumptious food.

  Ryan noticed Tristan shift his weight from one foot to another as if he wanted to say something. A thought popped into Ryan’s mind, an offer of distraction for April. “Do you remember if a Mrs. Wilkinson ever came here? She was about fifty and slender with shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. She had a cottage over on Bramley Lane.”

  Tristan’s eyes held surprise at Ryan’s cordial manner. “What was her first name?”

  “Susannah.”

  His eyes widened. “Yes, she insisted I call her that, which is why your surname was familiar.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “She’s my mother,” Ryan said in a low voice.

  “I’ve not seen her for some time. Miss her coming in. A kind lady. Where is she?”

  Ryan didn’t respond, so April answered, “She passed away, Tristan.”

  He lowered his head and focused on his utensils, straightening the napkin on his lap, not allowing his eyes to betray him. He should’ve never mentioned his mother. How would they ever understand what happened to her?

  Chapter 7

  Neville, North Yorkshire, England

  2019

  April couldn’t read the expression on Ryan’s face as he surveyed the table. She eased her gaze to meet Tristan’s. “Ryan is here to sell her cottage, and I’m trying to buy it.”

  “Yes, that’s why we’re meeting—to discuss the details.” Ryan brought his eyes to meet theirs.

  “I see.” Tristan’s shoulders relaxed. “Congratulations, April.”

  “Don’t congratulate me yet. There’s still a lot to do. I may not be able to afford it.”

  “I’m sure this gentleman will cut you a deal.” Tristan gave Ryan a probing stare, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes, I will. I don’t have a lot of time to be away from work, so I need to make the sale as quick as possible.”

  The look in Tristan’s dark eyes was triumphant. His shoulders slid back, more confidence exuding from his strong build. “Let me refresh your drink, Ryan.” He grabbed the glass and was gone in a split second, his rubber-soled shoes squeaking.

  “Well, guess it’s on again since Tristan thinks I’m no threat to his claim.” Ryan chuckled.

  “This is painful,” April snapped. “I am going to have that talk with him.”

  “Sorry … couldn’t help myself. His improved posture spoke volumes. You saw it too?”

  April brought a finger to her lips. “Hush, here he comes.”

  Ryan put forth his best fake smile. “Thanks, Tristan. This tea is good. I didn’t think you Brits knew how to make good iced tea, only hot.”

  “Oh, we Brits adapt. Now, we specialize in hot and cold tea. Enjoy your meal.” He strutted away back toward the kitchen.

  Ryan shrugged. “Guess I’ve won him over since I’m no longer competition.”

  “Yes, so you’ve said.” April put her fork down and looked at him.

  “Please don’t be upset. Nothing I could do would stop him from pursuing you. I’ll be gone in a week. Even if I pretended we were on a date, after I leave, he’ll be right back at it. You’ve got to have that talk with him sooner than later.” He picked up his fork and tucked into the roast.

  “You’re right. I don’t need to let this bother me. Soon I’ll have a talk with him—like you said.”

  Ryan nodded and continued to eat. They ate for several minutes until Ryan broke into April’s thoughts. “You haven’t mentioned whether you looked at the house or not.”

  She swallowed. “I did go by but am unable to have a contractor stop by until later in the week. He’s to call and set an exact time.”

  Her gaze fell on the flowers that adorned their table. She brought her gaze to his. “I can’t lie. I once read that when you want to purchase something you should be nonchalant about it in order to keep the price down. Possibly even point out flaws or act as if having second thoughts.” She paused and took another sip of water. “I can’t do that.” She felt excitement rising. “I’m in love with that cottage.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Ryan’s eyes glinted with amusement.

  “Unless your price is too high for my budget, or the contractor finds some expensive patch-ups that need to be done, I’m hooked. Everything about the place speaks to me.”

  April chattered on for several minutes while Ryan nodded often.

  “All we have to do now is get that repair estimate. Do you have the name of this fellow? Maybe I could contact him tomorrow, and we could meet.”

  Tristan appeared. “Do you need anything before my shift ends?”

  April shook her head, and Ryan asked for the bill. Tristan returned with speed, accepted payment, and bid them goodnight.

  “Okay. Now that he’s out of the way, you can relax.” Ryan’s eyes twinkled over the top of his tea.

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She took her last bite. “That was delicious as always.”

  She placed her napkin on the table. “So, Ryan, give the news, good or bad … your price?”

  His cheek twitched. “That depends on what the contractor says. I can’t very well sell a house at a higher price if there are extensive renovations to be made. Why don’t you tell me what your budget is?”

  April gazed into the distance. She chewed on her lower lip as she pulled out a pen and piece of paper from her purse. Studying the paper for a moment, she looked into Ryan’s eyes.

  She rapidly jotted a figure and pushed the paper across the table. “This is the absolute highest I could go. I was hoping for a little less so I could do some minor adjustments—not to mention possible restorations.”

  Ryan glanced at the numbers and settled his attention out the window at the garden. Without looking at her, he said, “That’s feasible.”

  April’s gasp sounded more like a squeak, and Ryan turned to her. “Are you okay?”

  She stammered. “I—I’m fine. It’s … it’s a dream come true.”

  “Good.” He rose, and April followed. He gently cupped her elbow and escorted her out. She was taken aback by the gesture but said nothing. Once outside, he released her, and they walked in silence toward the Horden Inn.

  “Do you live far? I can walk you home.”

  “No—about a ten-minute walk. You don’t have to do that. I walk this all the time by myself.”

  “Nonsense. Go on.” He took her arm again and started walking. “Hope this is the right direction.”

  “Actually, it’s not.” She cocked her head to one side.

  “I guess we’d better turn around.” They made an about-face.

  They chatted about Tristan and the wonderful meal they’d shared until they arrived at her door. She thanked Ryan and bid him good evening after making plans to meet him the next day for lunch. He would call the contractor, Roland Jenks, and make an appointment to meet him at the cottage as soon as possible.

  ∞∞∞

  April jerked the door open, almost falling as she tried to stop the door from crashing against the wall.

  “Mum, Mum!” she shouted and heard only running water. She rushed to the loo and knocked with vigor. “Mum, are you in the shower?”

  “Yes, dear, is everything all right?”

  “Couldn’t be better. I have wonderful news.” She shouted to the door.

  She rocked back and forth, foot to foot, like an excited child and remembered the time she’d found an ornate Victorian perfume bottle in a charity shop. Not having quite enough money, she’d looked at her mum with doe eyes that always
got what she wanted, pleading for the remainder she needed for the purchase.

  She’d carried the bottle with care throughout the store as she would a fragile bird and admired the way the colors changed in the light’s reflection on the iridescent glass—translucent hues of purples, pinks, and blues. The gold oval stopper was carved with swirling designs, and, upon closer inspection, she identified them as tiny angels in flight. She was smitten.

  From that day forward, she was determined to collect antique perfume bottles like that one from charity shops, markets, or trunk sales—never new.

  April’s voice rose. “Mum, are you listening?”

  “Yes, ducky.” Her mother’s silvery voice replied from the other side of the door. “Can this wait until I leave the loo? Your father will be home in a moment. You can share your news with both of us.”

  “Oh, all right. I suppose.” But April felt she would explode at any moment.

  By the time her mother was out and dressed, her father walked through the door. “Where are my lovelies?” his soft-spoken voice sang out.

  April emerged from her bedroom like a springing kitten. “Da!”

  “Halloo, love.” He gave her a bear hug.

  “I have wonderful news for you and Mum.”

  Her mother entered the room. “Good evening, Mr. Conyers. Pleasant to see you.” She kissed his cheek.

  “You also, milady.” He made a sweeping bow with one forearm tucked against his waist, the other held high behind him.

  “You two are daft. If a passerby observed, they’d agree,” April said with a giggle. They shot her a look and led her to her father’s favorite armchair.

  “Okay, what gives?” Mrs. Conyers crossed her arms. “You’re up to something all right.”

  April wished to build suspense with a gradual retelling of how things came about, but it was too much for her, and the words tumbled out, “I’m buying the old cottage on Bramley Lane.” Her voice squeaked with delight.

  “What!” Her parents said in unison.

  April’s words spilled out in a torrent, explaining the events of the last few days. She’d kept it to herself. She was afraid if she talked about it too much, it wouldn’t come true.

  “And there you have it. I’m going to have my own home.” Brimming with satisfaction, she gave them a questioning gaze.

  Her mother appeared stunned. “What will we do without you?”

  “It’ll be hard to let her go, Agnes. But she is over twenty and plenty old enough to be on her own.”

  “Yes, yes. I suppose so.” Her mother’s gaze lowered.

  “Mum, be happy for me, please. I can’t wait to show you the place. It’s wonderful.”

  “I am, dear.” Her mother’s face brightened. “Now, tell us about this nice young American chap.”

  April felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Oh, Mum. He’s a nice fellow who lost his mum and is selling her property. It’s painful for him. I get the impression he’s selling for less than the place is worth to be done with it.”

  “Lucky for you.” Her father held his arms tight across his chest.

  April raised her eyebrows. “Da, that sounds dreadful.”

  “You know what I mean. It sounds as though this fellow has plenty of money and doesn’t need the property. It’s too far away for him to deal with, so he’s ridding himself of it.”

  “Well, I suppose.” April tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

  Mrs. Conyers had slipped from the room without their noticing. She emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with a bottle of sparkling juice, stemware, and a plate of biscuits. “Let’s have a toast to April’s new home.”

  “Oh, Mum, how nice.” April patted her on the shoulder. “You’re so thoughtful and Johnny-on-the-spot.”

  “To April and her cottage.” Mr. Conyers held his glass out to meet theirs.

  “What’re you going to call her?” Her mother nibbled on a biscuit.

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Did it ever have a name?”

  “We could check at the Land Registry office.” Her father grabbed a pen and paper. “What’s that address?”

  “Number One Bramley Lane.” April tilted her head back and sighed with drama. “Doesn’t that sound romantic?”

  ∞∞∞

  Mr. Conyers walked into the register’s office moments after the woman unlocked the door.

  “Good morning.” His fine mood from the previous evening held.

  The woman gave him a friendly nod. “Good morning to you too, sir. How may I help you?”

  “I require some background information on this address in Neville.” He handed over the paper with the address.

  She squinted to make out his writing. “All right, let’s see.” Her stout frame moved toward a lengthy row of gray metal file cabinets against the far wall. Muttering to herself while pointing to the label of each drawer, she paused at the bottom and lowered to her haunches to pull open the heavy drawer.

  “Here we are.” Her thumb dragged across the spine of the grey bound books and pulled one from the series and returned to the counter where Mr. Conyers waited with patience and expectation. She placed the book in front of him and turned the pages until she found what she was looking for.

  Taking a ruler, she laid it on the page and moved it line-by-line until she found the address in question. “The cottage was built circa 1700.”

  He glanced over the document, eyes widening with excitement. “Is it possible to have a copy of that page?”

  “Certainly, for 50p.”

  “Fine, fine. That’s splendid.”

  The idea had come to mind the previous evening after he'd gone to bed and lay awake thinking about his little girl moving to her own place. He wanted to find the perfect celebration gift for her new home.

  He exchanged coin for the paper and scanned the information once more. He’d hoped to find the date it was built, but, according to the paper, he’d found something even better. The cottage had a name.

  Chapter 8

  Neville, North Yorkshire, England

  2016

  Susannah yanked on her pink work gloves and knelt before a small bed of daisies, and proceeded to pull the unwanted weeds, struggling with some as if their roots grew to China. A small jingle drew her attention, followed by a timid meow as a beautiful dainty, white cat landed on top of the daisies she was trying to save. The cat looked at her with a sociable stare and repeated the meow with a bit more feeling.

  “Hello there, little fellow. Aren’t you a pretty thing?” With care, she reached a gloved hand toward its fluffy ears and asked, “May I pet you?” The cat leaned into her palm, brushing against the glove.

  “Doesn’t meet a stranger.” A disembodied voice startled Susannah, almost sending her tumbling to the grass.

  She turned to see a tiny grey-haired lady several feet behind her, smiling. “Didn’t mean to scare you, dearie.”

  Susannah stood, removing her gloves, thinking how alike the cat was to her owner. “Good morning.” Their hands met with a friendly shake and she introduced herself.

  “I’m Adelaide Claxton, your neighbor.” She waved toward the cottage next door. My husband and I have been on holiday for a while and heard you’d moved in. How’re you liking Neville?”

  “Very well, thank you. This is a nice village. I’ve met many wonderful people.”

  The cat sailed into Mrs. Claxton’s arms, and she caught the cat nimbly.

  “What’s her name?” Susannah rubbed the cat’s ear, which brought a loud purr of contentment, the tiny bells jingling at each rub.

  “She’s Olivia, my baby. Never had any children, so cats have always been my babies. It breaks my heart when I lose one, but I go out and get another.” She shook her head, long grey wisps of hair floating from side to side, her blue eyes sparkling. “I name all of them Olivia.”

  “Sounds charming.” Susannah stopped petting the cat, noticing the bright pink collar around her neck.

  “Suppose I should be gettin’ back
home to take care of the dust bin and such. Have a good day, dearie.” She turned to leave.

  “You too, Mrs. Claxton. Nice meeting you and Olivia.”

  The older woman waved and disappeared through the greenery covering the arbor. Susannah heard her speak to someone on the sidewalk and peeking past the arbor she noticed it was a girl, head ducked to her chest with a shyness that Susannah recognized in her younger self. When the girl walked past, Susannah greeted her and received a reticent reply before she continued on her way. Susannah had seen her walk by before, and next time, she determined she’d ask her to stay for tea.

  ∞∞∞

  Letice and Susannah strolled High Street, popping into a shop now and again. Letice kept Susannah company while she searched out bits and bobs for the cottage. An architectural piece she purchased would hang over the fireplace in the living room. A black, wrought-iron coat rack would stand sentry by the front door.

  At the end of the village, Letice stopped and pointed across the street. “That’s Colin’s house.”

  A honey-colored stone house perched among old evergreens created a typical English country scene—an effective postcard. “How lovely,” Susannah told Letice, and, in fact, it was one of the loveliest homes she’d ever seen. Though not massive, the golden-hued manor with large windows lent a pleasant simplicity to its façade.

  A sleek black car pulled up at the corner and stopped, the window lowering. A dark green clad arm slid onto the edge of the open window, and Colin’s warm welcome greeted them. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  “Speak of the devil.” Letice grinned at him. “I was just pointing out your home to Susannah.”

  Susannah felt her face warm and couldn’t meet his eyes at first.

  “I’m in the midst of doing a bit of renovating and such.” He glanced toward the house and back at them. “Bring the old girl up to date.”