"Do you think we can redecorate soon?" he said instead. "The takings have been really good and I reckon if you were to risk a few hundred, it might pay off with the summer season coming. We'd need to start soon though, so as to lose as little trade as possible while we're closed."
"Good idea, Andy. But a rise for you is top of my list. We'll talk about it tomorrow," she called back over her shoulder as he gaped at her, the till drawer in his hands.
A lick of paint, some tubs, new chairs and tables for outside. No, not DIY. Jac stopped, turned round and looked at the Tap, then at Dumaine's Wine Bar. No, a proper professional job. It wasn't a big space; it would do no harm to see how much a proper designer would charge.
She strode across the Square to have another look at the interior of the wine bar. Rose Redmayne, Henry had said. Jac stopped to admire the door handle, an ornate brass affair with a bar between two bunches of grapes. It was clearly old and just right. She glanced up and saw the licensee notice over the door.
Henry James d'Astarde Dumaine. Licensed to sell all intoxicating liquor for consumption on and off the premises.
D'Astarde. The realisation had her standing stock-still in the middle of the entrance and she had to step aside with an apology when a young couple with a buggy tried to come out.
That was what the initials under his several greats grandfather's portrait stood for. It must be a family name from their French heritage. And that was what Bertram had meant—not dastard, but d'Astarde. Hermione had been Bertram's lover and her husband had so alarmed Bertram that he had not wanted to come back to Little Piddling after his miraculous rescue.
Poor things, Jac thought, walking towards the shops. It must have seemed hopeless and Mr Dumaine had been a wealthy and powerful man from what she had read in the local history books. Bertram wouldn't have stood a chance if his rival had turned on him; he would probably have put him out of business, drummed him out of town.
It was an effort to think about what to cook for dinner with that on her mind. And what to tell Henry? Would it concern him that his ancestress had had an affair? Probably not, although you never knew how people would react to the skeletons in their family closet.
Hermione had written to Bertram of her anxieties over her husband, then Jac had loomed up in the attic like the hitman of his nightmares. No wonder the discovery that his wonderful new recipe had been stolen had made him so distracted that he'd almost lost his life.
And that was another thing, she realised as she stared blankly at the display outside the Gaol Street Greengrocer's, Bertram had clearly decided that Dastardy Dumaine was responsible for the theft, so that was a double hit for Henry.
But it was a long time ago, Jac told herself as she exited the shop with a bag full of salad and new potatoes and made for the Old Town Hall Dairy and Deli. Cheese soufflé followed by a choice of either tarte citron or tarte chocolat from Prunella's Patisserie: that would work, she decided. It would be fine if Tamsin was a vegetarian and, surely, she'd have mentioned it if she was vegan? It was also an easy meal to prepare whilst worrying—despite their rep, soufflés always behaved for Jac.
It was not until she was toiling up the stairs with her loaded bags that Jac wondered just why she was so concerned. It was pointless to feel guilty about Bertram—she had done nothing deliberate to cause him to appear. No, it was Henry she was worried about. Henry's feelings, Henry's reaction.
Because I'm falling in love with the man, she admitted to herself as she dumped the bags on the kitchen island. And I feel guilty about being suspicious of him in the first place and now I don't know how he feels about me.
Henry hadn't said anything about tricky emotional things like feelings. He'd made it clear he didn't play the field and that while this—whatever it was—lasted, they were an item, but that was it.
The sex was excellent and it would be no lie to describe them as friends, but however much she prodded and poked at her inner workings, Jac could not convince herself that this was liking or desire or friends-with-benefits. She was in love with the man.
Which was absolutely wonderful of course, provided Henry came to feel the same. If not, it was going to be damn painful living and working literally on his doorstep when this came to an end and he moved on to someone else or just decided the affair had run its course.
She could tell him.
Jac stood with a box of eggs in one hand and contemplated the idea. Just how did you do it? Shriek it in a moment of passion? Have a serious discussion about Where This Is Going? Get him drunk and tell him? Wander hand-in-hand along the beach at sunset and confess it?
And then sink slowly through the floor with embarrassment while keeping a brave smile on your face when he says, kindly, that he doesn't feel the same way.
The serious discussion option might be the most dignified…
Love was not supposed to make you confused and anxious. Love was supposed to be wonderful. Another illusion shattered.
Chapter Five
Henry arrived at half past six with a selection of wine, by which time Jac had got the soufflé in the oven, the salad prepared and the potatoes were almost ready. The apartment was also tidy and she had showered, slapped on some make-up and was laying the table.
She had also, by an effort of will, talked herself into accepting that it was best to let things take their course with Henry, see how their relationship felt after another week or so.
"Don't you dare," she warned as he put down the wine and advanced purposefully around the table. "I've just beaten my hair into submission, put on some slap and Tamsin will be here any moment. And I don't want to open the door to her looking as though I've just been ravished."
"I can do smooth," Henry said, catching her, sweeping her into a dip that would have caused Rudolph Valentino to gasp in envy and kissing her. "There. Not a hair out of place and lipstick not smudged." He set her back on her feet.
"No, but you are wearing most of it," Jac pointed out and laughed when he cursed and made for the bathroom. She'd show him Hermione's love letters when Tamsin had gone, she decided. It was only fair.
"That went well." Henry came in from putting Tamsin into the taxi he'd insisted on calling for her.
Jac straightened up from the dishwasher and pressed the "On" button. "Yes, she's nice, isn't she? Pity she didn't find anything helpful with all that internet searching, but it was a long shot. And she was thrilled when you offered her whatever of Bertram's clothes she wanted. Having the top hat and the frock coat on display in their pub will be great. I'm really tempted to take her up on her offer to visit St Mary's."
"Yeah, me too. Shall we see if the town museum would like the rest of the things? I could give them a ring in the morning."
"Good idea." Jac fetched mugs while Henry filled the kettle. "What?"
The smile still lifted the corner of his mouth. "Our first dinner party was a success and we make coffee together like a couple."
"Yes." Jac managed a smile despite all the breath leaving her lungs. "Don't we?"
"It's good." Henry measured coffee into the cafetière with close attention, then looked up suddenly so he caught her staring, held her gaze. "I like this." He reached for the kettle. "There was something I wanted to ask you. A proposition." He poured the boiling water while Jac's insides seethed in unison. "Let's sit down, talk about it."
They sorted the coffee and sat and Henry said, "We've got a lot in common."
"Yes." The mouthful of coffee went down like lava.
"I wondered whether there might be some benefit in working together with the two businesses."
"Oh." Jac added an entirely unnecessary spoonful of sugar to her mug.
"Start off with some joint PR, mutual promo. Do something with a theme in both venues."
Jac pulled herself together. "Attract people into the Square. Good idea. I haven't got much of a budget for that sort of thing, though. I don't want to hang off your coat tails."
"I could have a look at your books, if you like,"
Henry offered. "I guess I've had a bit more experience and I spent a lot of time with my accountants when I was starting up to really get the hang of things. I might be able to make some suggestions about where you could cut some corners, shift things about." He shrugged. "It's not as though we're in competition, right? More complementary."
"Yes, why not? Great. Thanks for offering." The smile was pretty good, she reckoned, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the uncurtained window. It felt as though it had been stapled on. "We'll talk about it tomorrow, shall we? When we've got clear heads. I think that was one glass of wine too many."
"Sure. Sleep on it. Oh, yes, I didn't tell you what I found at the newspaper offices—the birth announcement for my two times great grandfather."
"Hermione's son?"
"Yes. And it was the Christmas after she got back from Switzerland, so she must have gone for her health."
"Yes. Right. Perhaps she was suffering from morning sickness or something and they thought the mountain air would do her good."
Jac did some frantic calculations in her head. Could the child have been Bertram's? D'Astarde suspects the affair, sends Hermione off to Switzerland, puts the frighteners on Bertram…
Poor Bertram must have lived with that anxiety and harassment for weeks until he was in such a state that he was careless swimming and decided not to return when he was rescued. Then Hermione came home and somehow convinced D'Astarde that the child was his. It could have been: he wasn't likely to have been very sensitive to her reluctance to sleep with him and, in those days, what the husband wanted, the husband got.
Poor Hermione, believing her lover dead, not certain who the father of her chid was, on tenterhooks as he grew up, looking for a resemblance one way or another…
Jac would make up her mind tomorrow about showing Henry the letters. She was feeling too unsettled now, what with the wine and the shock of what Henry's proposition had turned out to be.
"I think I'll go to bed in a minute," she said as the clock struck eleven.
"OK." Henry stood up, dumped his mug in the sink and leant over to kiss her. "Get some sleep. You look tired."
"Thanks, just what a girl wants to hear."
"Tired but gorgeous," he amended. "I'll check the downstairs door. Shall we discuss the PR thing tomorrow afternoon? I've got to spend the morning at the vineyard."
"Sure. Night." Love you.
Jac slept surprisingly well considering that she had switched off the light expecting to lie awake agonising over Henry, or listening to Bertram marching up and down in the attic overhead. She had fallen asleep almost at once and woke up before the alarm without a hangover and feeling remarkably calm.
He wanted to co-operate, that was sensible. It would bring them closer together. And she could surely swallow her pride and learn from his experience now she trusted him not to be acting as a business rival. And, after they'd had their discussion that afternoon, she'd tell him about the letters because she couldn't hide them from him.
But if they were going to be doing joint promo, then she wanted to do something about the look of the Tap. She'd go over to Piddling Magna after breakfast, have a look at Rose Redmayne's shop and, if it looked as though she might be able to afford a consultation, she'd go in and make an appointment. If she rang first, then turned up and found it was going to be wildly expensive, that would be embarrassing.
It was only fifteen minutes on the bus from the Prom to the market square in Little Piddling's inland neighbour and Rose Redmayne's shop was easy to find.
Jac browsed around the retail section for a while, checked out the prices, which seemed reasonable and the quality, which was just what she'd expected from the work at the wine bar.
"Can I help?" A young woman came out from the back.
"I wanted to discuss some design work. I haven't an appointment. But my name's Jacintha Francis and it's about the Brewery Tap in Little—"
"Oh, Henry's made up his mind, has he? That's great. Do come on through."
What? Jac went through into a small studio with a big MAC on one desk, a drawing table and a whole series of mood boards propped up.
"Henry?"
"Yes. I mean I was delighted with the concept when he first approached me, months ago, and I admit I did a fair bit of work on spec and then he told me he'd missed buying the brewery. So I was thrilled when he rang yesterday and said to go ahead and work it up."
Something cold was slithering down Jac's spine, but she found a smile. "It's very exciting, isn't it? I thought I'd drop in and see where you are so far. I manage the place, you see."
"Right. Of course, you are Jac. Henry mentioned you. OK, I'll just get it up. Take a seat."
Jac watched while Rose brought up not just the ground plan of the Tap, but the whole brewery.
"That's what you've got at the moment. Now, with you not needing all that space for the actual brewery—this bit at the front was originally stabling for the dray horses and the drays and so forth—we can put the dividing wall with its large clear panels all along here, then this part becomes the casual dining and audience space. There's a small stage for performers and I've got a couple of dressing rooms and a loo in the back there.
"Then the Tap gets a makeover like this, keeping the charm of the old interior as much as possible, and double doors through to the new dining area."
"Marvellous," Jac said. Her voice seemed to be coming from a very long way away. "Great concept."
"Well, I think so and I'm glad you agree. Henry wanted it to complement Dumaine's Wine Bar which would retain the rather more formal restaurant feel, while the Tap would be casual drinking and eating and performance space for musicians, stand-up, poetry and so forth."
"It would certainly unify the Square."
"Henry's a Dumaine and you know what they're like," Rose said. "My partner Daniel says the Dumaines have always been a cut-throat lot." She laughed. "Well, I exaggerate, but you know what I mean."
"Oh yes, I know." Jac echoed the laugh. It sounded hollow. "Do you have something I can take back? On paper," she added when Rose began to say something about shooting it over. "I want to pin it up, show the bar staff. It will be easier that way."
"Yes, of course." Rose touched keys and a large printer clicked into life, rolling out a big sheet with the whole ground floor plan on it. "Do you want the bar design sketches as well?"
"Not yet, thank you. This is… very informative."
There was a maddening half-hour wait for the bus, which then turned out to be the one that went all round Piddling Magna, then out to the hamlets of Station End and Starveling Acre, before finally crawling back to Little Piddling.
By the time Jac was off the bus and striding into Brewery Square on a tide of anger and hurt, she was in a mood to upend a wine bar owner into the nearest barrel of Prime Piddle and hammer the lid down tight. The sight of Henry just leaving by his own front door sent her storming across, the plans rolled tight in her fist like a light sabre.
"Henry Dumaine, I want a word with you."
He took a step back into the hallway.
No idiot, Henry, Jac thought. He knows trouble when he sees it. And I'll give him trouble.
"Jac? You look upset."
"Upset?" She followed him in, slammed the door and flourished the roll of plans. "So you want to have a look at my books, do you? Offer some advice? Find out all the weaknesses in my finances, all the ways you can undermine my business?"
"What? Jac—"
"A bit of joint promo, you said. A joint PR strategy, you said. Nothing about taking over my brewery or extending your damned wine bar into the Tap along with your performance space. We could rename the area, call it Dumaine Square. Although Bertram would probably call it Dastard's Square."
Henry grabbed the end of the plan that was being jabbed at his face and let it unroll. "Oh. Bugger."
"Yes. Bugger," Jac repeated, suddenly calm. "I trusted you, against my instincts. I thought we were friends. Lovers. And all the while I was fal
ling in love with you, you were after my business. It seems to run in the family." She marched straight through the hall into the kitchen, banged through the fire door and ran upstairs.
Behind her, she heard Henry curse, the sound of skidding feet, then she had the door shut and locked.
Jac slumped back against it, jolted as a fist thumped on the other side.
"Let me in!"
"You have to be joking."
"Jac, I had those plans drawn up when the brewery was on the market, before you bought it. Then I got distracted with problems at the vineyard and you bought it."
"And yesterday you ring up the designer and give her the go-ahead, after you've thought of a way to get into my financials. You must have found it as easy as getting into my knickers."
Henry swore again—this time it was decidedly Anglo-Saxon. There was silence, then the door shifted as though someone had slumped against it on the other side. Jac didn't move.
"Jac, did you say you'd fallen in love with me?"
"Go ahead, remind me what a complete gullible idiot I am."
"I… Jac, I wanted to surprise you."
"You certainly achieved that," she said bitterly, her cheek pressed against the door panel, her lips close to the edge. She could almost feel the heat of Henry's face pressed against the other side, the texture of his stubble. "You're a real Dumaine, aren't you, even if D'Astarde isn't your ancestor."
"What do you mean?"
"Wait."
Jac went and found the box of letters, took the one on the scrap of embossed paper and slid it under the door. "Do the maths."
There was the sound of someone sitting down with a thump on the top step. "Where did you get this?"
"There was a boxful in the attic. That's what Bertram was looking for. I was trying to work out how to tell you tactfully that he might be your ancestor and not Dumaine."
Silence. Then Jac heard footsteps going downstairs, the bang of the ground floor fire door. That was that, then. She turned to the table to replace the letters in the box; they probably belonged to Henry, after all.
Beach Hut Surprise: Escape to Little Piddling this summer — six feel-good beach reads to make you smile, or even laugh out loud Page 33
