Blackberry Way (Tales From Appleyard Book 4)

by Emma Davies

  ‘No,’ replied Stephen quickly. ‘I’m Stephen – just a friend. I live in the same village and we… it’s a long story.’

  Elizabeth gave him rather too long a look for his comfort. ‘Well, whatever, Mum will be glad to see you. Perhaps now she can see that Laura has someone to call on if she needs to, it will help assuage her worries. She seemed quite concerned about her living by herself, and being so vulnerable.’

  They had come to rest by a stand of chairs, and Stephen automatically plucked two from the top of the pile. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘Laura lives quite independently.’

  Yes, exactly,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘Mum wasn’t worried that Laura couldn’t cope or anything like that, more that it had something to do with this chap. I don’t think she particularly liked him, although he seemed perfectly pleasant, but she mentioned something about an old family feud. Was he some dodgy boyfriend or something?’

  Stephen looked at her concerned face. ‘Laura doesn’t have a boyfriend, she’s a widow.’

  Elizabeth touched her mouth automatically. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t know. Well it can’t have been that then.’

  ‘No, I guess not,’ replied Stephen. ‘But, as you say, a good chinwag will do them both good.’ He adjusted the grip on the chairs and motioned with his head. ‘After you,’ he said, his mouth set in a thin hard line as he followed Elizabeth back down the ward.

  He did his best, but there was no way he could keep changing the subject; he was running out of things to say. So he sat, anxiously waiting for the moment when either Blanche brought up the subject of her earlier visitor, or Laura asked about the accident. Discussion of either one was guaranteed to reveal the identity of the ‘mystery’ young man who had come to see Blanche, at which point it would propel Laura through the ceiling. All Stephen could do was hang on until it did, and do his best to deal with the fallout. That, and pray for a miracle.

  ‘He must think I’m soft in the head, or something,’ Blanche deduced after a few minutes of animated discussion. ‘As if that lad would even think about somebody else, let alone come and visit an old biddy in hospital, and one he hardly knows at that.’ She looked across at Elizabeth. ‘And I’m not surprised one little bit. His father’s just as bad, as you very well know, Laura.’

  Elizabeth looked confused. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I’m not following you. Are you saying that this lad who came in earlier is the one who knocked you down? Because that’s a very serious accusation. I thought you didn’t see the car?’

  Blanche tutted. ‘I didn’t, but why else would he come to see me? He wanted to see if I remembered him of course; no doubt worried he’s going to get into a whole heap of trouble. I think I did pretty well not letting on.’ She smiled gleefully.

  All of three of them exchanged looks; Laura now sitting up ramrod straight and Elizabeth opening and closing her mouth.

  ‘But Mum, you have no proof. You can’t make wild accusations like that, he could have come for any number of reasons…’

  It was inevitable really, Stephen knew that. And the fact that he’d seen it coming a mile off didn’t help. The conversation had been brewing like a volcano waiting to explode, and there was nothing Stephen could do to stop it. He looked at Laura, stricken, knowing exactly what was going to come out of her mouth any minute now.

  ‘Did he actually say anything out of the ordinary to you, Blanche?’

  The old lady shook her head. ‘No… but then he wouldn’t would he, not with Elizabeth here. Of course, he didn’t stay long, there was no point really. He couldn’t get what he came for.’

  To his astonishment, Laura chuckled. ‘Would you listen to yourself, Blanche! I think you’ve been reading too many Agatha Christies.’ She glanced at Elizabeth. ‘I’m sure the police are doing everything they can to find out who did this, but for now the most important thing is for you to forget all about the accident and concentrate on getting better. Have some lovely time with your daughter, and get fit and well again. After all, I shall still need a good home for my sloe gin, and who else is going to drink it?’

  Elizabeth reached over and squeezed her mum’s hand. ‘She’s right, Mum. I’m going to enjoy spoiling you rotten, so you’re not to worry about a thing.’

  ‘And I shall be making sure that Laura’s well looked after whilst you’re not around to keep an eye on her,’ said Stephen. ‘So, no fretting about that either.’

  Laura checked her watch. ‘We should get going really. You’ve had a busy day already, and we don’t want you to be too tired to enjoy getting out of this place.’ She got up and planted a kiss on Blanche’s cheek. ‘You behave yourself now, and do what Elizabeth tells you. I'll see you very soon.’

  A few moments later, after general goodbyes and promises to keep in touch, Stephen found himself hurtling down the corridor after Laura, trying to keep up with her. Much as he hated doing so, the only way he could get her to slow down was to catch her hand. She swung to face him.

  For a moment, he thought she might be about to belt him one, such was the look of fury on her face, but then to his amazement her face broke into a wide smile.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, almost breathless. ‘You’re right, I should stop, calm down… otherwise…’

  ‘You’ll nail the bastard to a tree?’ suggested Stephen.

  Her shoulders dropped. ‘Something like that,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘You’re also sure that it was Giles who came to visit today?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ replied Stephen. ‘I think it was pretty obvious.’ He looked at her flushed face for a moment. ‘You know that was a stellar piece of acting back there – letting Blanche think she was imagining things. It was a kind thing to do.’

  ‘Well I could hardly agree with her, could I? Imagine how she would feel.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘You know something, Stephen Henderson...’ She paused for a second as if thinking of what to say. ‘Nah, don’t worry it doesn’t matter.’ And with that she took hold of his hand again, and started to walk. ‘Come on. We’ve got things to do, and first on the list is to call the police. I think they might be very interested to learn of Giles’ antics this afternoon.’

  Chapter 13

  Freya wiped a dribble of melted butter off the end of her chin. ‘Just think,’ she sighed happily, ‘in four days’ time I will be making your bacon sandwiches as Mrs Henderson. What do you think of that?’

  Sam took another huge bite of his breakfast, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. ‘Will you be changing the recipe at all?’ he asked eventually. ‘Only if you do, I fear it may be grounds for divorce.’

  ‘And why would I mess with perfection?’

  ‘Why indeed…’

  They sat in silence save for the occasional slurp of tea, and the ticking of the huge grandfather clock which stood in one corner of the kitchen. Freya, who already had one eye on it, sighed again. How was it already seven o’clock in the morning? She’d been up since four and the To Do List, which sat ominously in the middle of the table, still had just as many items to get through as it had when she first woke up. ‘I could go back to bed; I don’t know about you.’

  Sam put the last of his sandwich down on his plate. ‘Jeez Freya, again? I’m not sure I can keep up with your demands.’ He winked cheekily and Freya stuck out her tongue.

  ‘Oh, ha, ha,’ she replied, ignoring his expression. ‘Not a chance, mate. We’ve still got far too much to do… In fact, I’m thinking of imposing a ban on sex until after the wedding – seeing as it was you who suggested it would be a good idea to get married in the middle of the harvest…’

  ‘Freya Sherbourne, you bloody liar! It was all your doing, as well you know, romantic fool that you are.’

  ‘Me?’ she queried, with mock innocence. ‘It can’t have been me. I would never have suggested anything so daft.’ She met his look with eyes that danced with good humour. ‘Come on, eat up, we haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Mutter mutter, grumble grumble; bloody slave drive
r,’ said Sam with a smile, getting up from the table. He offered a solicitous hand to his soon-to-be wife. ‘Listen, about the whole sex thing, maybe we could renegotiate…’

  Freya was pulling on her wellies when a thought occurred to her. ‘Have you heard anything from Stephen yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Probably a bit early,’ replied Sam, shrugging on his jacket. ‘I’ll give him a call in a while if we still haven’t heard. He did say he might pop over with Laura today anyway, now that the marquee’s here. She needs to measure up apparently. Besides there are no guarantees that the police’s stance will change, even with Laura’s further statement. Granted they’re viewing Giles’s visit to the hospital as suspicious but they still need something more concrete to go on before they can act. We just have to hope that they do decide to investigate further; taking a look at Giles’s car will be the crucial thing.’

  ‘Laura must feel happier about things though, surely? At the very least the police seem to be taking her more seriously, and rightly so, it’s a big thing for her.’

  Sam regarded her squarely as he zipped up his jacket. ‘Hmm, although the potential repercussions worry me somewhat. She’s still very vulnerable.’

  Freya stopped in her tracks. ‘What do you mean repercussions?’ she asked, looking up.

  ‘Well, think about it for a minute. Laura’s husband died five years ago and yet, according to Laura, Francis Drummond still takes every opportunity he can to make fun of her or threaten her even. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I mean, why bother, after all this time?’

  ‘Because he likes to throw his weight around. He’s a bully, you know that.’

  ‘He is,’ continued Sam, ‘but bullies usually have something to gain by their behaviour. Often they’re cowards, or vulnerable themselves, using their actions to hide the truth from the world. It’s almost as if he needs to keep Laura under control, subdued, if you like. But what do you suppose would make him want to do that? What possible threat could Laura pose to him?’

  Freya’s eyes widened. ‘You’re scaring me now, Sam. Are you saying you think Laura’s in danger of some sort?’

  ‘No, I think that’s a tad melodramatic, but it does make me curious. And now that she’s made an accusation against Francis’ son, which looks as if it might stick, I don’t suppose he’ll be feeling particularly charitable towards her.’

  ‘Then we should say something to Laura, warn her.’

  Sam took her arm gently. ‘I think Stephen has it pretty much covered,’ he said with meaning, giving Freya a long look.

  She stared back at him. ‘You’ve discussed this with him, haven’t you?’ she accused. ‘That’s what you were talking about for ages on the phone yesterday; nothing to do with the wedding at all.’

  ‘It was mentioned, yes, but don’t go getting on your high horse about all this….’ He gave her a small smile. ‘Stephen really is the best person to deal with this as far as Laura’s concerned. I’d say he’s got to know her pretty well over the last few days…’

  Freya opened her mouth to speak again, but Sam dropped her arm, and turned for the door.

  ‘And not the way you’re thinking either, so you can take that look off your face. I’ve honestly never seen Stephen behave this way before, about anybody. He obviously cares about Laura a great deal, and I think he deserves some respect, or at the very least, our trust.’

  With that he walked out into the yard, leaving Freya staring after him in astonishment, a small smile gathering at the corners of her mouth. Well, well, well. Now that was something she’d never expected to hear. Stephen might be acting out of character, but he wasn’t the only one. In all the years she’d known Sam, she’d never heard him stick up for his brother like that before. Times certainly were a changing. She hurried through the door, pulling it firmly shut behind her.

  Laura could hardly contain her excitement. At least she thought it was excitement. The bubbling, fizzing feeling in her stomach might well be sheer terror, she acknowledged. She gazed around her at the huge open space, at the multitude of tables and chairs that filled the marquee, and took a very deep breath. Then she closed her eyes.

  She stayed that way for several minutes, letting images fill her mind, mentally roaming the hedgerows, seeking out the colours and the textures that would bring the pictures in her head to life. The tables, the great arch of the marquee entrance, the tented ceiling, all of it was a blank canvas waiting to be filled. When she opened her eyes, she gave a nod of satisfaction. She had several days of hard graft ahead of her, but it was going to look beautiful, more beautiful than anything she had ever created in her life before. And the thought brought a sudden rush of tears to her eyes.

  She glanced at her watch to confirm that she didn’t have the luxury of any more time here and, whilst it would have been nice to make some sketches, or measure one or two things, Laura knew that it wasn’t really necessary, not for her. Her designs weren’t that structured; they were organic, they grew out of themselves, and however hard she tried to think things through in advance she knew that in practice she rarely looked at any plans she had made. Instead, she sat down with her raw materials heaped around her and let the strange alchemy begin. It made her fingers twitch just thinking about it.

  With one final glance about her, Laura strode from the marquee. Stephen had disappeared almost the minute they got here, saying that he would only be in the way and she should have some time on her own to think about things without his interference. More like gone in search of a bacon butty she reckoned, but she couldn’t begrudge him that. He had offered to help her today, and having done a recce on the church first thing this morning, now she needed to plunder what the fields and hedgerows had to offer, and that was going to take some time, and man power.

  She finally rooted him out in the kitchen, having a bit of a heart to heart with Sam by the look of things, but he jumped up the minute he saw her.

  He turned to her and smiled. ‘Are we sorted?’ he asked, stretching out his back and giving his neck a flex.

  ‘We are, although are you sure you’re up for this? We’re going to walk miles this afternoon.’

  Stephen merely shrugged. ‘Don’t be fooled by appearances. I’ll have you know this body is a finely tuned machine.’

  Laura caught Sam’s eye and winked. ‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘Come on then, no time for dallying. It’s a mile-and-a-half to the first place we need to go.’

  ‘Not that I’m wimping out or anything, but you do realise there’s a perfectly good car outside?’

  She grinned. ‘Perhaps I should rephrase that last statement. It’s a four-mile drive to the nearest place you can park, and then a mile-and-a-half walk across the fields.’

  Stephen looked back at Sam, and she didn’t catch what he said next, but judging by the expression on his face when he turned back to her, she could guess.

  It had been a shrewd investment buying Clarence Cottage all those years ago. Back then she’d been an accounts clerk, and neither she nor David could have foreseen the direction her ‘career’ would take. They had fallen in love with the cottage primarily because of its cosy charm but, whilst they appreciated that it also had a large garden and outbuildings, they hadn’t thought much beyond them at the time. Now, these sheds were filled with tables and, looking around her in the dimming light, Laura was grateful indeed. Their afternoon’s work was heaped before them. Every surface groaned with an array of greenery, fruits, grasses and grains, with hues of every colour ranging from vibrant oranges and reds, to dusky pinks and purples, lime greens, soft greens, and warming ochres.

  Her hair was tangled with straw and cobwebs, her skin flushed by the sun and wind, and her fingers stained with sap and juice, but Laura felt profoundly at peace. She was knackered, but filled with an immense satisfaction, something she had not felt in a long time. She sat on a wooden chair beside one of the tables and smiled to herself. Usually the fields and hedgerows were hers alone; she might see the odd rider or dog walker, but invari
ably her day was spent in solitude. This afternoon she had shared her knowledge with someone else. Where she’d walked, Stephen walked, out of necessity saying little, but at times stopping to ask her questions, and listening to her enthusiastic responses with a keen ear and a ready smile. He had followed her instructions for what to pick and how to pick it to the letter, and had worked solidly without complaint. His company had been easy, familiar even, and reluctant though Laura had been to admit it, she had enjoyed the afternoon far more because of it. When he dropped her home, his kiss to her cheek had been soft, nothing more, but the memory of it now, still brought a renewed flush to her cheeks. She shook her head in wonder at the changes she could feel within herself. Who would have thought that Stephen Henderson of all people would be the person to bring that about?

  She glanced outside at the rapidly falling night, and began to scoop up sheaves of tawny foliage from one of the tables. They would need to be steeped in a glycerine solution to preserve their colour and pliability, and the sooner she did it, the better the result would be.

  The back door to the cottage was still open, the light from the kitchen spilling a welcome square onto the path which led up the garden. She was only a few feet from the door when the first brilliant flash lit up the sky, followed quickly by another, then another. She flinched automatically, unable to see clearly for a few moments, but her feet carried her safely to the door. Once inside she threw the door closed, and hurriedly dumped her cargo on the table. Boris was right where she expected him to be, cowering up against the side of the Aga, his brown eyes ringed with white. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around his neck. Bonfire night was ages away yet, but every year the fireworks seemed to get earlier and earlier and, big dog he might be, but he was still terrified of the noise and bursts of light.