Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café

by Milly Johnson

  Jimmy took the phone away from his ear and put it away in his pocket in slow motion. His eyes travelled back to young Cheryl, wringing her hands, then they drifted across to Della, standing with her arms resting defiantly on her slim hips, then to his wife. Triumph was radiating from Connie as she stared at him with unblinking wolf-grey eyes. She looked as if she should have been standing on a chariot rather than on an office carpet.

  ‘Say something, Jimmy.’ Ivanka nudged him hard with a surprisingly bony elbow.

  ‘What is there to say?’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ve been done up like a kipper.’ He laughed at the absurdity of it all. ‘Who’d have believed it. Not me. Not in a million years.’ Then he turned and walked, with his shredded ego and his spotty girlfriend, down the stairs and out of the building, silently and crushed.

  Silence was also reigning in the office space but it was a very different sort of quiet, one crackling with the electricity of joyous bewilderment. Cheryl blushed, hating that everyone was staring at her.

  ‘Come on then, Cheryl. Don’t just stand there, lass,’ said Hilda eventually. ‘Did you really buy out Roy Frog?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cheryl, her throat blocked with trepidation because she wasn’t quite sure her actions were approved of. ‘I had a word with my Friday afternoon lady, Miss Potter, who was once a business manager in the bank, to see if it was a good idea. I wanted to make sure that the money Mr Herbert left me was put to good use, you see. So I went to see Mr Frog and he accepted the five thousand as a down-payment. I didn’t think he would but he nearly bit my hand off. He said it would have killed him to sell to Jimmy, and he’d heard about my paintings, so he knew I’d be good for the rest.’ She shrugged, mortally embarrassed to be the centre of such intense attention. ‘I wanted to make sure that all your jobs were safe, ’cos I knew they wouldn’t be if Jimmy bought out Cleancheap. I was hoping to get a meeting with Lady Muck after I met her today. Maybe . . . maybe, join up together.’

  She looked hopefully towards Connie, then Della, but they were both numb with astonishment. ‘I hope that’s okay with everyone. I did do the right thing, didn’t I? You’re my friends. It felt right to spend Mr Herbert’s money like that. He didn’t have any friends to care for, or to care for him. I’m lucky that I have.’ She looked around for approval, but couldn’t read any expressions on their faces except blank shock.

  ‘Right then, can we have a show of hands from all those who think Cheryl did good?’ asked Hilda.

  Slowly hands started to raise like plant stalks breaking through the earth, then the spell of quiet smashed, joy burst like a fireball into the room and Cheryl, Della and Connie were suddenly engulfed in embraces and kisses and laughter and the affection of friendship.

  Chapter 98

  Jimmy was waiting for Connie when she came out of Lady Muck HQ half an hour later with Della. He called to her from where his car was parked across the street.

  ‘Connie, please, can I have a word?’

  ‘Go on, you go, I’ll talk to him,’ Connie said to Della. ‘I’ll be okay.’

  ‘I’ll have the kettle on at home,’ said Della and got into her car as Jimmy crossed the road. Connie could see that Ivanka was in the passenger seat of Jimmy’s car, not looking too happy.

  ‘Can we go and sit on that bench for two minutes,’ said Jimmy, pointing further down the street to the seat near the bus stop.

  Neither of them said a word as they walked; Jimmy was first to speak when they sat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘For everything.’ His head was bowed and he was staring at his hands clenching and unclenching between his knees. ‘I’m getting out of the game and leaving the way open for you. You deserve it.’

  ‘When did you decide all this?’ asked Connie, not believing him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have past form for deception.

  ‘Just now, in the car, sitting, waiting. Well, I set off home but then I turned round. I guess you’re not going back to the house again, are you? I saw the boxes in your car.’ His voice was quiet, loaded with emotion.

  ‘No, Jimmy. I’ve taken what I need.’

  He nodded resignedly and gave a little laugh. ‘I thought so. Ten out of ten for planning.’

  Connie made to stand but he held out a prohibiting hand. ‘Connie, just a couple more minutes. I want to say to you that I hope you make a success of the business.’ He coughed away the croak in his throat and Connie could see that his eyes were glassy.

  ‘What will you do, Jimmy?’

  ‘I’m going to bugger off to Portugal for a bit. I’ll dissolve the company, sell the office, get rid of the house if you don’t want it and give you your share in the divorce. I’ll split everything down the middle, Con. I won’t cheat you any more.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  A tear dropped from Jimmy’s eye onto the ground, making a small dark circle on the pavement. For once it was he who was crumbling and Connie who was strong.

  ‘Good luck, love. I hope you’re happy. I hope you find someone who deserves you more than I did. I will miss you, you know.’

  He looked up at her and just for a moment, she was back in RumBabas, sneaking peeks at each other with quickening hearts. Two kids with their lives ahead of them who took things too fast and got out of sync and never got back into it again. And never would.

  ‘Goodbye, Connie Diamond. You’re a lovely woman. Really lovely. I never gave you credit for how strong you’ve been. I wish I could wind the clock back twenty-five years.’

  ‘You’d have still done the same, Jim.’

  He let that sink in and nodded. Yep, knowing himself, he probably would.

  ‘Goodbye, Jimmy. Take care of yourself.’

  She walked away from him and to her car, spine ramrod straight, stride measured and confident, the outside at odds from the inside which felt sore and ravaged, but she knew the pain of that separation was temporary and necessary – and understandable. She was shedding a twenty-four-year old tight skin, so that the new Connie had room to breathe and grow. Connie lifted her face to the spring sun and left the shadow of her old life behind her.

  Epilogue

  Ten months later – The Yorkshire Annual Industry Awards

  Connie had smiled when she saw Brandon’s name on the official nomination notification because Chox chocolates were pitted against Lady Muck, and others, for the prestigious Yorkshire Annual Industry Awards. And now they were here in the grand banqueting hall of the King’s Hotel in York and he must be somewhere in this huge crowded room because proceedings were going to start in five minutes.

  Connie looked over at Della, sitting stiffly at the table and looking totally out of her comfort zone by being in a gorgeous black sequinned gown which looked beautiful on her tall, slim frame. Connie and Cheryl had had to press-gang, plead, beg and blackmail her to come here and, in the end, she had given up resisting. Connie chuckled to herself as Della picked up her glass of champagne and sipped on it, then licked her lips approvingly and went straight back for another mouthful.

  Della was the kingpin of Lady Muck, organising everyone, dealing with non-paying clients and cleaners’ gripes; not that they had that many of either these days. The office was an especially happy place, thanks to the presence of a Pug pup called Edgar who accompanied Della everywhere. She had met a fellow Pug owner in the park where she walked Edgar every evening, a rather dashing plumber called Steven, and though Della fobbed off any suggestion of a fledgling romance, Connie teased her that it was strange she flushed every time his name was mentioned. And that she’d started wearing rimless glasses and having her roots done.

  Cheryl was loving the pomp and ceremony of the evening, though. She was in a long green dress, which matched both her shining eyes and the emerald in her week-old engagement ring. She was a rich woman now, but could have been an extremely rich woman had she not decided to hang on to her trio of Artists in a Cornfield sketches. They were hanging in a gallery in London, but remained her property until such time as she felt that she wanted
to sell them; and that time wasn’t yet.

  Mr Fairbanks completed his book which had a fascinating insight to the work of Percy Lake, his friendship with his famous Dutch flatmate and the very probable influence of a field of South Yorkshire sunflowers upon the modern art world.

  Percy’s paintings were sold; and with the staggering proceeds Cheryl had bought a modest cottage, but one with a beautiful garden, just like the one at Brambles – after a detailed structural survey, of course. Lance Nettleton had, inevitably, tried to pressure her to return the paintings but he had blotted his copybook there after telling too many people that he had given them up to Cheryl, as per his aunt’s wishes. He hadn’t stood a chance and the solicitors’ fees had crippled him even more than the bitterness of his own stupidity and greed had done.

  They’d been through so much in the past year, all of them. Their lives had been turned upside down and inside out and all for the better. Connie kept in touch with Isabel who was now ten stone lighter and back in the bosom of her family. Her feelings towards Mr Savant had softened too. The court had considered Isabel’s plea of mitigation and he was doing well under psychiatric care, though he wasn’t ever going to feature on Connie’s Christmas card list.

  ‘Hello, Marilyn,’ said a wonderfully familiar voice behind her. Connie turned and there he was, mad grey striped hair, gorgeous grin, looking utterly snoggable in a black tuxedo. His pupils were dilated so much she couldn’t see any brown parts to them, only deep velvet black.

  ‘Hello, Brandon,’ she said, her throat catching on his name.

  ‘I was hoping we would bump into each other,’ he said. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Connie felt beautiful too. She’d had her hair cut short and wore it like her retro Auntie Marilyn used to style hers, and was in the sort of dress that she would have braved too – red and glittery, which suited her now small-waisted, curvy frame. She felt confident and competent, brave and bold. She walked with poise and purpose and a tiny bit of Marilyn’s swagger. Her mum and her aunt would have approved.

  ‘Thank you. And so do you. Well, handsome, I mean.’ Oh boy did he look handsome. Just being near him again was setting off all sorts of strange fizzes in her nerve endings.

  ‘Congratulations on your nomination,’ he said, immediately apologising. ‘God, that sounded so stuffy and corporate, didn’t it?’

  Connie chuckled. ‘You’ve been doing well too.’

  ‘Yeah, but yours is like a fairy story. I’ve been following your progress.’

  Connie wanted to leap on him and kiss him. But she’d had her chance to be his ten months ago and turned him down. Brandon Locke wouldn’t be single now. She tried to sneak a look at the third finger of his left hand to see if it was ringless. Any woman he chose would want to rush him towards that altar with their heels on fire. She couldn’t be that lucky to find he was free.

  ‘Well, we’ve all worked hard. The profit margins are smaller than they were at Diamond Shine, but we’re doing good. Everyone seems happy.’ Connie smiled at him and wondered how the hell she’d had the balls to walk out of his life. It had been the right thing to do then but she’d thought about him so many times and wondered where he was, what he was doing . . . who he was kissing.

  ‘Where’s Jimmy these days?’ Brandon took a step closer to her to let someone behind him past and she caught that dear familiar scent of him.

  ‘Portugal. He and Ivanka split up, but from what our daughter tells me, he’s enjoying the free spirit life. He’s really trying hard to build some bridges with Jane. He’s been over to Holland to stay with her and her husband and our granddaughter Maryse, who is absolutely gorgeous. That’s as much as I know. Our divorce featured a full and final, financial and emotional settlement. It’s great that he’s in Jane’s life, but he’s not in mine.’ Brandon was so close to her now. His hand brushed against hers and sent tingles zooming up to her shoulder.

  ‘Sometimes it’s best to cut the ties totally. I learned that one the hard way,’ Brandon said.

  ‘Yes.’ Her brain was mush. She couldn’t think what to say to him. She felt his thumb stroke her knuckle, then his fingers close around her hand.

  ‘I’ve missed you, Connie,’ he said. ‘I’ve never stopped thinking about you.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the fiftieth Yorkshire Annual Industry Award ceremony will commence in two minutes,’ came a booming announcement.

  Brandon looked into her gentle face and her cloud-soft eyes. ‘Do you think we could catch up over dinner. Soon? Now? . . . okay then, tomorrow?’

  ‘I would like that very much.’ She smiled serenely but her legs were like jelly. Her knees were vibrating under her posh frock. ‘You’ve never left my thoughts either,’ she managed to say.

  ‘I knew you’d come back into my life. I never doubted it. If not, I was going to give it a year and then force fate’s hand.’

  Connie wanted to cry with delight. Her stomach felt as if a thousand butterflies had just cracked out of their chrysalises and were excitedly trying out their new wings.

  ‘I have to ask,’ Brandon said. ‘How’s the aversion to chocolate?’

  ‘I don’t have it any more,’ said Connie. How could she have an aversion to chocolate when the man she loved had eyes like melted Bournville? ‘Although I never did quite recover my taste for rose creams.’

  ‘Ah, that’s great, then, because I’ve got a new range of chocolates in development and I need some inspiration. And a chief taster. Songbirds. There isn’t a rose cream in sight.’ His large square hand was cupping her cheek now. She turned into it and savoured its warmth and she knew that she’d had all the time away from him that she ever wanted to have. It was her turn to stand with him in the sunshine.

  ‘Sounds good. I’d be happy to help.’

  His finger gently tilted up her chin. ‘There’s a Connie chocolate.’

  ‘How does she taste?’ asked Connie.

  Brandon’s lips made a delicious descent and came to rest on hers. ‘Magnificent,’ he said.

  Great things are done by a series of

  small things brought together

  VINCENT VAN GOGH

  Acknowledgements

  As always there are a stack of people I want to say thank you to for helping me with this book.

  My star of an agent Lizzy Kremer at David Higham whom the whole ‘Kremer Krew’ adore.

  The team in my fabulous publishing house Simon & Schuster: ‘God’, Suzanne Baboneau, Clare Hey, Sara-Jade Virtue, Dawn Burnett, Emma Harrow, Hayley McMullan, Rik Uhbi, Nico Poilblanc, Rumana Haider, Jo Dickinson. I love working with this lot.

  My copyeditor Sally Partington who is quite simply fabulous, and thanks too to my lovely eagle-eyed Joan Deitch.

  My wonderful friend Nigel Stoneman who is always a constant support.

  To Edith Spencer and her garden, for inspiring one of the sweetest characters I have ever written.

  Andrew, Steph and all the Barnsley Chronicle gang – the Daily Trumpet is NOT based on you.

  To P & O Ferries because when I took the first of many of their great mini cruises, I fell in love with Amsterdam and Mr Van Gogh and I had to write about him.

  To the gorgeous Fiona Sciolti www.scioltichocolates.com who gave me a crash course in chocolate scof— I mean, making. And then her lovely husband Giles made me lunch. What a top day that was. And yes, the Marilyns do exist and they are magnificent.

  To Cheryl Parker whose husband arranged for her to be a named character in this book. Hope you like your namesake – we love her. And to Rebecca Sykes who won my competition for coming up with the hero’s name. Please never again ask me to sign a Kindle.

  To my old mucker Superintendent Pat Casserly who makes sure all my police details are accurate. Any errors in this field are definitely mine.

  To David Gordon at www.dcgbusinessplus.co.uk which is a Business & HR Consultancy provided by a non-practising solicitor. And he’s a bloody brilliant bloke.

  And a big shout to the Eve App
eal which is the only charity fighting the five cancers only women get. The Eve Appeal funds research into prevention and early detection. Research that will save the most lives in the future. Make sure you, your friends and family – all the women you love – know the signs and symptoms. Go now to: www.eveappeal.org.uk or follow @TheEveAppeal

  And to all my lovely readers especially my TeamMillys. I love your letters, your support, your kindness and without you I’d be nothing.

  And to my friends and family who bring all the sunshine into my life. I love every single one of you so much.

  And last, but by no means least, to Rachel Dickinson and Heather Tasker and the cleaning ladies of House Fairies – www.house-fairies.co.uk – especially my own personal fairies, Vicky Harris and Liz Dean who make my life SO much easier and gave me a cracking idea for a book.

  My Perfect Afternoon Tea

  Having partaken of a few of these for research purposes (!) here are a few suggestions of what I think make a perfect afternoon tea.

  I favour a three-tiered display plate. Sandwiches on the bottom, pastries and cakes on the middle, scones on the top.

  Everything on an afternoon tea should be two or three bites big, maximum.

  Linen napkins, vintage china, please. It doesn’t all need to match, but try to pair up your cups and saucers.

  There has to be unlimited supply of tea and topping-up hot water.

  Bottom Plate Sandwiches

  Finger or triangle – ah, that is the question! The advantage to a triangle is that the fillings are more on view – but there is no hard and fast rule. Triangles work best with pre-sliced (thin) bread, cut fingers from thicker ‘spongier’ loaves. Remove the crusts. Use a mix of brown and white breads for colour and taste variation and make up as fresh as possible as those corners curl up quickly. Fillings should be on the subtle side.

  Filling Suggestions:

  Four flavours will be enough per afternoon tea but try to vary them.