Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café

by Milly Johnson

  Ivanka turned the name over in her brain until she understood what he meant.

  ‘And what’s this?’ Jimmy slapped his diary. ‘Tomorrow meet with Asda – Mr Hunt. First name Mike by any chance?’

  ‘No,’ said Ivanka, affronted. ‘Eric.’

  Jimmy laughed, a dry, disbelieving rasp of a noise. ‘Eric Hunt. Oh well, that’s okay then. Jesus Christ, just look at this – Miss Ann Jobb and Mrs Norma Zars on Friday. How can this happen? Who the frigging hell is ringing up and making these bookings?’

  ‘Personal Assistants.’

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘Both,’ Ivanka lied. She didn’t want Jimmy to think that she had been stupidly duped by one person making all the same calls.

  ‘So you haven’t rung any of these people up to make appointments, they’ve all contacted us?’

  Ivanka sighed an affirmative. Now Jimmy would know that she hadn’t worked half as hard as she had tried to convince him she had.

  ‘Roy bloody Frog and his family again,’ snarled Jimmy, kicking his briefcase so that it flew across the room; then he swung his arm around in a smooth arc and pointed at Ivanka. ‘Don’t dare ask me to fix up another meeting with him.’ He raised his fists to the ceiling and cried out, ‘Come back, Della, for pete’s sake,’ not caring that it would piss off Ivanka. He was looking forward to her sulking all afternoon and staying out of his way.

  *

  ‘Cheryl, are you all right?’ asked Astrid, as they cleaned the empty offices of Dartley Carpets. ‘You are so quiet today.’

  Astrid’s soft concerned voice was all it took for Cheryl to burst into tears. Astrid bounced over to her friend and pulled her into her silicone bosom. ‘What on earth is wrong, little friend? Is something else putting his hands where he shouldn’t?’

  ‘No, no nothing like that,’ said Cheryl, digging deep in her pocket for a tissue. ‘It’s good news for once. But my body hasn’t a clue how to cope with it.’

  ‘You sit down there,’ Astrid commanded, pushing Cheryl onto a chair. ‘I am making some tea and we will have five minutes rest and you can tell me vat is up.’

  Cheryl did as she was told as Astrid busied behind her, humming to herself.

  ‘There, now you tell Auntie Astrid vat is going on,’ she said, depositing a mug into Cheryl’s hands.

  ‘I think I’m rich,’ said Cheryl, tears from her leaf-green eyes running down her cheeks. ‘Remember Edith who left me those paintings?’ And Cheryl told her the whole story, about Brambles, Lance, Mr Fairbanks, the gentlemen from Christie’s and Astrid listened patiently to every word. And when she had finished, Astrid leaned over and gave her a rib-crushing hug.

  ‘There is no one in zis world that I would wish for luck more than you, Cheryl. What a wonderful story. Edith would be so happy for you.’ Then Astrid had a moment of sudden realisation. ‘What are you doing cleaning an empty office when you could be a millionaire?’

  ‘I don’t know anything else, Astrid.’ said Cheryl. ‘I have nowhere else to go.’

  Chapter 78

  ‘Are you still okay for next Tuesday?’ asked Brandon as Connie put on her coat to go. ‘The cheese and chocolate evening?’ His eyes twinkled impishly.

  ‘I am. What time would you like me here?’ Connie grinned back.

  ‘Seven. P.M. that is, not the morning. My family are coming and a few old friends, business contacts, the press. Helena and Dominic, of course. Possibly Helena’s sister who tends to trail along to events with her – Tana.’

  Oh God, not another pair of belligerent eyes burning into the back of her neck, thought Connie.

  ‘I was hoping Helena had forgotten but she rang on Sunday asking for a reminder of the time. She’d withheld her number and I was expecting a call so I risked picking up. She knows I’m avoiding her and she’s put two and two together and presumes I’m doing that because there’s a woman on the scene. It’s all getting a bit out of control, to be honest. Sorry, I’m burdening you with detail.’ Brandon held up his hands. ‘You’re too easy to talk to, Marilyn.’

  ‘Well, that’s a nice compliment,’ Connie said shyly, trying not to look up into his big brown eyes.

  Brandon picked up the tray from behind him. ‘Please try a Marilyn, Marilyn. They’re for you. Think of something nice when you eat it. Think of a humble chocolatier who has spent days trying to make it perfect.’

  Connie gulped down the immediate no which rose within her. It would be ridiculous of her to refuse.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Close your eyes and open your mouth.’

  She shuttered down her eyelids and parted her lips. Moments later she felt a block bump gently against her teeth. Here goes. Oh, she hoped she didn’t vomit all over Brandon’s freshly mopped tiles. She fought back visions of Jimmy with huge beribboned boxes as her tongue brushed against the chocolate and alerted her brain to its presence in her mouth. She bit down, through the outer chocolate coat, and the inner shell which broke beautifully against her teeth and she thought of Brandon telling her how cocoa butter gave the chocolate gloss and snap. She thought of her Auntie Marilyn with her huge red-slicked smile and her homemade summer puddings and as her taste-buds met the sweet centre, she thought of a chocolatier called Brandon Locke with shades of grey and black hair. As the flavours of berries and cream and rich chocolate melded and melted in her mouth, she didn’t think of Jimmy Diamond at all.

  ‘Well?’ Brandon was waiting for her verdict.

  This lovely old house. Marilyn showing her how to do a bum-wiggle walk with a book balanced on her head. Brandon Locke’s kind, dark eyes.

  ‘It is perfect,’ she said, not wanting to swallow the last of it. ‘My aunt’s summer pudding. Such wonderful memories.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Brandon and he gave Connie a grin that made her heart bump fast in her chest and she was both glad and gutted that it was time to leave him and go home.

  She had fourteen missed calls when she checked her secret mobile phone. She dialled voicemail to hear Hilda Curry asking Lady Muck if she had any vacancies. The other messages were the remaining Diamond Shine girls, requesting the same.

  Chapter 79

  Connie pulled in to a layby around the corner from Brandon’s house to ring Della because there was no way she could wait until she got home.

  ‘Guess what,’ she giggled. ‘I’ve had the call from Hilda.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ said Della.

  ‘I’m not. And I’ve had a call from Meg. And Sandra and Wenda and—’

  Della screamed with joy on the other end of the phone.

  ‘And there’s more,’ grinned Connie. ‘Hilda said that she found it untenable to stay at her last place because they were setting on undesirables. She said she couldn’t mention any names, but asked if I had anyone called Clamp on the books because she wouldn’t work with them.’

  ‘That’s about as discreet as Hilda gets,’ laughed Della. ‘So Ivanka’s recruited some Clamps? That means she’s recruiting from the file I planted. My God, I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it. I was beginning to think that Hilda would never shift. If only I’d known she was dead set against the Clamps, I would have given them all jobs before.’ Della’s face was starting to hurt from grinning. ‘Is she working her notice period?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Marvellous. Fantastic. If she isn’t, then the others won’t be either.’

  ‘Oh, and she asked me if we used Des’s Discount Warehouse for our supplies. I told her that no, we only use branded goods, or she was welcome to use her own and claim the cost.’

  ‘I feel very bad for all the furnishings I’ve ruined,’ said Della, with giggly regret.

  ‘There are always casualties in war,’ laughed Connie.

  *

  Cheryl was still in a daze as she wandered around Morrison’s that evening. She wasn’t thinking speedboats or fancy holidays, she could barely get her head around the fact that she would be able to put all her bills on a direct debit rather tha
n pay them on a red notification. She put a tube of Colgate into her trolley and then took it out again because she only ever bought the supermarket’s own brands and her brain couldn’t sanction such a rebellious act.

  She walked to the top of the aisle, her brain crowded with questions. Should she sell the paintings after Edith had left them to her? It didn’t feel right. Then again, she couldn’t keep them in her tatty little house because she’d never afford the insurance. What would Lance say? He might try and have her arrested for stealing them.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Parker.’

  Cheryl turned around to see the tall, imposing, unsmiling figure of DC Oakwell in his serious black coat and for the second time in one day, she broke down into tears.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, there,’ said DC Oakwell, resisting a natural off-duty urge to comfort the distressed woman by placing an arm around her shoulder. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just spotted you and thought I’d say hello.’

  ‘You’re not arresting me, then?’ sniffed Cheryl, frantically drying her cheeks on the backs of her hands, hoping that no shoppers could see her. She could have quite happily let the ground open and swallow her whole. As it had Brambles.

  ‘What for?’ asked DC Oakwell.

  ‘I thought that . . . Lance . . . Nettleton had put in another complaint.’

  ‘No, not that I know of. I’m here for some apples and Weetabix. I’ve just finished work. Look.’ He raised the basket containing a bag of Granny Smiths. ‘You okay? I am so sorry if I upset you.’

  Cheryl wished the blasted tears would stop leaking out of her eyeballs. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, not convincing him at all.

  ‘Please, let me take you for a coffee in the café. You can save your trolley in one of those bay things. You don’t look as if you’ve got anything that will defrost in it.’

  He didn’t wait for Cheryl to agree, but removed the trolley from her hands and started wheeling it towards the café. He lodged it in one of the holding bays along with his basket and she followed him, swiping her fingers under her eyes and hoping she hadn’t bled any mascara.

  ‘Sit down, I’ll grab us a couple of coffees,’ he said, pointing to a table for two by the window. He was back with her in a few minutes with two mugs of coffee, plastic pots of milk, packets of sugar, spoons and two Danish pastries.

  If the café hadn’t been so open and Cheryl thought she could have got away with it, she would have sneaked off, left her trolley and run to the bus station. She felt so embarrassed. It was bad enough DC Oakwell thought she was a troublemaker and a liar, now he could add to the list ‘mentally unhinged’. Breaking down by the cooked chickens in a supermarket wasn’t exactly normal behaviour.

  ‘I thought you might like a pastry to dip into your coffee, or is it just me who does things like that?’ said DC Oakwell. His off-duty face was kind and smilier, thought Cheryl.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, though she doubted she would eat anything. She hadn’t felt properly hungry since she and Gary split up.

  ‘I feel really awful that I frightened you,’ DC Oakwell said. ‘Miss Parker. Or can I call you Cheryl?’

  It was bad news that he remembered her name, Cheryl thought. She toyed with the idea that he was lying about being off duty and was trying to trap her. Were the police allowed to do that though?

  ‘Cheryl’s fine, DC Oakwell.’

  ‘John’s permissible in a Morrison’s café,’ he returned. ‘And less of a mouthful.’

  ‘You’re really not here to ask me about Lance Nettleton then?’

  John Oakwell shook his head. ‘Not unless it was you who sank the house into the ground. It wasn’t, was it?’ His eyebrows made a serious dip downwards but she knew he was joking and it coaxed a smile from her.

  ‘You heard about that, did you?’

  ‘Oh yes, I heard. He was a very lucky man to survive that. I bet you’re glad that you didn’t end up living in the house now.’

  Cheryl bristled. ‘I wasn’t lying, you know. Edith was going to leave the cottage to—’

  ‘I never thought you were lying,’ John interrupted her.

  Cheryl tilted her head at him. ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘Nope. Unfortunately we have to work on evidence, not instinct. And trust me, you get very strong hunches about things. For instance, I’m willing to bet that Lance Nettleton didn’t admit to you that he killed his aunt but you told me that so I’d go up and question him, am I right?’

  ‘Oh heck.’

  Cheryl’s eyes darted towards his and found them waiting for her. They were autumn-hazel and narrowed in amusement and his lips were wearing a smile which totally softened his fierce DC Oakwell persona.

  ‘Between you and me,’ John leaned towards her in a conspiratorial manner, ‘I found Mr Nettleton a very odious man. But if that ever gets out, I know where you live.’ Then he saw Cheryl’s eyes grow round with alarm. ‘I’m kidding,’ he said. ‘I mean I do know where you live, but . . .’ He picked up a pastry and bit off a chunk, then spoke with his mouth full. ‘Okay, I’ve put a plug in it to shut me up.’

  It forced Cheryl to laugh. John offered her the other pastry but she refused it. She wasn’t hungry; and she couldn’t eat pastries without making the most godawful mess and she’d made enough of a chump of herself in front of DC John Oakwell without letting him see her covered in pastry flakes as well.

  He told her over that Morrison’s coffee that he loved being a detective and Cheryl told him she loved being a cleaner. John told her that his mum was a retired dinnerlady and his dad had been a policeman too. She told him that she’d never seen her dad and didn’t have much to do with her family. She didn’t tell him that she owned an original Van Gogh because Mr Fairbanks had warned her that as soon as that fact was common knowledge, she’d discover a lot more ‘friends’ than she ever knew she had. For now, John Oakwell was having a coffee with Miss Cheryl Parker, a cleaner who lived in a tatty little terrace house but had once been heiress to a house that had recently sunk into the ground.

  They finished their drinks and then John asked her if she would like a lift home.

  ‘Thanks, but I’d rather not turn up in a police car,’ she said. ‘The neighbours’ curtains will be twitching again.’

  ‘It’s my own personal car,’ said John. ‘A Renault Megane. No blue lights, no siren, but I do have a roof rack.’

  ‘I have to finish off my shopping,’ Cheryl said.

  ‘I’ll wait for you. By the celery vee,’ and he winked.

  Cheryl found that she zipped around the aisles faster than Red Rum in the last furlong of the Grand National. True to his word, John was waiting for her, not in the veg department though, but by the exit.

  ‘I didn’t ask if you were single,’ said John, pulling his car up outside her house and turning to face her.

  ‘I am single, yes,’ said Cheryl. Her heart was making very pleasurable ‘ooh’ sounds.

  ‘I am as well,’ said John. ‘Do you like going to the pictures?’

  ‘I do,’ said Cheryl. The ooh sounds were making her whole chest vibrate.

  ‘Well, if you’re free Saturday, we could have a spot of dinner somewhere and then go and watch something . . . whatever you fancy. There’s a new Nicholas Cage film or a Bill Nighy romantic comedy thing or that horror everyone is talking about . . .’ Then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’ve just remembered, it’s called Underneath the House.’

  Chapter 80

  By Thursday Jimmy had to get out of the office before he exploded. Whilst Ivanka was dilly-dallying in the post office he was forced to take call after call from furious customers threatening legal action, thanks to modified Des’s Discount products. Then some daft bint rang asking for a company name so she could set up a direct debit for work undertaken by Hilda.

  ‘Diamond Shine, Mrs Cotton, of course. As usual,’ replied Jimmy, trying to keep his impatience in check as the second phone line flashed, indicating that he had more incoming crap to deal with, most probably.
r />   ‘No, I mean her new place of work.’

  ‘Her new place of work?’ What the bloody hell was the old bird going on about?

  Ivanka picked that moment to walk in. Jimmy mouthed, ‘Where the hell have you been?’ at her.

  ‘I’ll come back to you, Mrs Cotton,’ said Jimmy and smashed the phone down on the cradle.

  ‘What the fuckery has been going on?’ yelled Jimmy, spinning round to his sulky-faced lover. ‘I’m being sued left, right and centre for ruined carpets and cushions and please, please, please don’t tell me that Hilda has left.’

  ‘Many cleaners used the materials in the cupboard so there is much damage,’ said Ivanka, swinging her bag onto her desk. ‘It’s okay, I dealt with it. I told them to go to their own insurers. Some will not be bothered to do that. I thought I would try and save the company some monies.’

  ‘Are you frigging daft?’ Jimmy threw up his hands. ‘Once you get solicitors involved, that’s when things get expensive. The damages were no fault of mine, but now you’ve made them mine. Bloody hell, Ivanka, what were you thinking?’ He addressed the wall nearest to him. ‘I’ve never sworn as much in my life, did you know that? People with Tourette’s haven’t used half as many “f” words as I have this past week. No wonder that Shirley Valentine talked to you, it’s the only thing she could get any bleeding sense out of.’ He switched his attention back to Ivanka. ‘And why has Hilda left?’

  ‘She was disrespectful to me, Jimmy.’ Ivanka was as calm as he was animated. ‘She thought she had the power over me.’

  ‘Disrespectful? Disrespectful? Ha,’ he half-laughed, half-cried. ‘Hilda does have power over you. She has it over me as well. Where Hilda goes, the others will follow. You better get her on the phone now and apologise to her before we lose all our pissing workforce.’

  ‘I will do no such thing,’ said Ivanka. ‘I have set on new girls. Meet with Roy Frog and buy the company and Hilda and everyone else will be working for you again. But I warn you, Jimmy, they accept me as the boss, or I will sack them again. Hilda called me a monkey. I will not stand for that, as her superior and your wife and you must stand by me on this.’