‘He’s our newest addition,’ said Lilian. ‘We need more of them. Half of the properties in this village are empty. He’s from Norway.’
Ah, she was right then with her Scandinavia guess. ‘Did you find him on a cheesecake site too?’ asked Marnie, her own eyes twinkling now.
‘Actually, yes,’ replied Lilian.
‘No way.’
‘Of course I didn’t, you silly girl. He was a teacher. On an exchange visit at the school where Ruby Sweetman works. A very unhappy teacher, to boot. Herv’s heart wasn’t in it at all. Channelled into a career that was a bad fit for him, anyone could see that. He’s an outdoor boy, a fixer, a doer. Ruby brought him to the Wych Arms, I met him, we talked, I needed a groundsman. You can guess the rest.’
Marnie could imagine that meeting. Within five minutes of conversation starting up, Lilian would have winkled his life story out of him.
‘He’s a good man, Marnie. You could do much worse.’
Marnie turned her head around to Lilian to see if she was she joking and when she found her expression serious, she let loose a bark of laughter.
‘Lilian. As if I want to go down that road again.’
‘Oh, of course you will, you must,’ said Lilian with unveiled impatience. ‘Love is the reason God gave us hearts.’
‘And to pump blood around our bodies to keep us alive.’
‘A secondary function,’ Lilian pooh-poohed Marnie’s sensible notion. ‘Herv is one of those rare souls whose contents are as wonderful as the package they come in. As are you.’
Marnie gave another hard chuckle which infuriated Lilian. ‘Don’t you dare scoff at me, young lady. In some things I’m not as batty as I’m painted. I know a proper match when I see one. You’d be good for each other. He’s a gentle man and patient, kind, he’d court you, put you on a pedestal. And you’d have terrific sex.’
‘Lilian!’
‘Darling girl, of course you would. It’s the best thing ever when there is parity in a relationship. Not that you’d know with your past choices. You’re too content with crumbs from the table. As was Herv with that tramp of a wife of his. She left him for his best friend, can you believe? Smashed his heart. Then came crawling back. Luckily, by then, he didn’t want her and that broke hers.’
‘Yes, well, Cupid is a bit of an arse, Lilian. He fires his golden arrows into some and his lead ones into others for the hell of it. Given a choice I think we’d all fall for the good ones, the nice guys, but life isn’t like that.’
‘I know, and unrequited love is the cruellest of things,’ Lilian paused then to pop a raspberry into her mouth before continuing. ‘Ruby Sweetman would marry Herv tomorrow, yet he has no feelings for her. But he took an instant shine to you. Asked me all sorts of questions about you after the crowning of the May Queen.’
Marnie didn’t tell Lilian that her first impression of Herv was that he was the village numpty, but she held her hand up to stop Lilian saying more.
‘I don’t want to know. I’m taking a break from men for a very long time.’
She would have to be careful though if what Lilian said was true because she didn’t want to lead anyone on. She knew how being on the begging, ever-hopeful end of a relationship felt only too well. She had a PhD in the subject. She would avoid Lilian’s gardener like the plague until any misguided affections withered and died on his vine. ‘I’m sure your Herv is wonderful, Lilian, but I’m not interested.’
Lilian thought about that for a second and then conceded. ‘You’re right of course. You need time to recalibrate your gauges. They’re very off track. Now, eat your meringue,’ she commanded. ‘No more talk of unhappiness or of love one cannot have. This, as they say, is the first day of the rest of your life.’
‘Precisely.’ Dear, well-meaning Lilian, thought Marnie. How could she really know the nature of love, having spent her whole sixty-six years in this quaint Wychwell prison? How could she really know anything of life?
Chapter 15
It didn’t take Marnie long to unpack the car and move into Little Raspberries. By teatime her new kitchen cupboards were full of her baking equipment, her clothes were hanging in the wardrobe and her sheets were on the bed. The bedroom was at the back of the cottage and two deep bay windows afforded a view of the newly clipped lawn and the stream. It would be nice to be able to pull back the curtains in the mornings and not worry about seeing Suranna Fox standing on the street with a chainsaw.
She made herself a coffee and settled down with her new book: Country Manors Part One – Buyers and Cellars, which was nothing like as innocent as it sounded. ‘Makes Fifty Shades of Grey look like one shade of beige’, was its tagline. The author, Penelope Black, wrote about the comings – literally – and goings of a small English village, complete with a devastatingly handsome lord of the manor and what he liked to get up to in his specially adapted cellar with the local women, whose stupid husbands were blissfully unaware of what was going on under their noses. It was riveting stuff and the series had taken the world by storm.
She felt truly relaxed until someone knocked on the front door and she almost shot out of her skin and she knew she wasn’t out of the stress and anxiety woods yet. She opened it up to find Lionel Temple there, dog collar in place at his throat, bottle of wine in his hand.
‘Hello, Lion . . . Mr Lion . . . I mean Mr Temple,’ she stuttered, not quite sure what best to call him.
He chuckled. ‘You can call me Lionel, Mr Lion if you prefer. I don’t want to disturb you, but—’
‘Come in, do, please,’ said Marnie.
Lionel stepped over the threshold and wiped his feet on the doormat.
‘My, it feels lived in already. And smells like it too.’ He took a long sniff upwards.
‘I’ve not long since put a pot of coffee through, would you like one?’ asked Marnie.
‘I would, thank you. That’s no ordinary coffee smell.’ He followed her into the kitchen where Marnie took a mug from the cupboard and filled it from her trusty old machine.
‘It’s caramel coffee. Is that okay?’
‘Sounds wonderful.’ He handed her the bottle. It had a rustic label on it, the writing calligraphic. ‘Last season’s bilberry,’ he explained. ‘It trounced David’s rhubarb and ginger in the Christmas taste session.’
Marnie laughed. ‘Thank you. I can open it if you’d rather.’
Lionel declined the offer. ‘No, that’s for you. A welcome to your new home present.’
‘That’s very kind,’ said Marnie, putting it on the kitchen table. ‘Please take a seat. How do you take it?’
‘With the merest touch of milk to cloud it and no sugar, thank you.’
When she turned from the fridge, it was to find Lionel flicking through her Country Manors book.
‘So this is what everyone’s talking about. I did want to peep inside and take a look but they don’t have it in the village library.’
‘I thought it was about country life,’ Marnie blurted. It was an obvious lie and Lionel grinned, not taken in at all.
‘I’ve sat many an hour at this table talking to Jessie,’ said Lionel wistfully. ‘Eating fruit pie. She was a wonderful gossip.’ He laughed and Marnie thought it sounded like the laugh equivalent of church bells. Deep and resonant and joyful. ‘She is sadly missed.’
‘Well, I’m a cheesecake specialist, if that’s any consolation,’ Marnie replied, having a sudden vision of taking tea and cake with the vicar every week. Not something she would ever have imagined doing before.
‘Yes, Lilian told me so. Though . . .’ he held up his hand to reinforce the disclaimer, ‘she wasn’t gossiping about you. Fascinating story of how you came into contact with each other.’
‘Yes, it’s very odd,’ replied Marnie. She wondered if the vicar was here to suss her out, work out what her intentions were. He was understandably protective of Lilian, and she had no qualms about allaying any fears he might have.
‘I did get the feeling that Lilian thinks
we might be related, but we’re not of course.’
‘Oh, you’ve seen the scarlet gypsy woman on the wall then,’ Lionel said. ‘In the very kindest way I shall tell you that Lilian sometimes sees what she wants to see.’
Time to put the cards on the table, thought Marnie.
‘If, by any chance, you’re afraid that I’m here to take advantage of Lilian, Mr Temple, can I just say that I’m not. This is a bolthole for me for a short time. I shall be paying rent and—’
‘Please, please, dear lady,’ Lionel interrupted and refused to let Marnie continue. ‘I am not here to vet you. I really am here to welcome you, with no hidden agenda. For however much Lilian’s memory is dissipating, her judgement of people remains sharp and steadfast.’
Then they definitely weren’t related, because Marnie’s judgement – at least of men she fancied – was more than crap.
‘Thank you, Lionel. I know you must all care for Lilian and her welfare very much.’
‘Well, some more than others,’ replied Lionel. ‘She hasn’t had the easiest of lives, despite being born into such privilege. But then it’s people that enrich us, not money, of course. Aurum Potestas Est; the Dearman family motto sums it up for them all – immediate and extended family – gold is power. Except for dear Lilian. If only the line could have continued under her.’
‘Lilian gave me a copy of the book you wrote,’ said Marnie with a wry smile. ‘It doesn’t pull any punches.’
‘As Lilian requested. I do pride myself on its accuracy, although I did have to check all the facts thoroughly. Lilian has a tendency to rewrite history when she dictates her memories.’ He gave her a wry smile of his own, before he drained his cup and then got to his feet. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time. I just wanted to say welcome. I don’t know if you are a believer or not, but Sunday service is at eleven a.m. There’s no pressure to attend, but I do like to play to an audience. An actor always gives a better performance when every seat is full.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Marnie. She wouldn’t be attending. Christianity hadn’t done her any favours in the past. ‘And thank you for the wine, Mr Lion. I shall put it to good use.’
At the door, Lionel Temple turned and then turned back, as if he had been about to say something but thought better of it. Then he decided to say it after all.
‘Marnie, be careful in Wychwell. It’s full of old families who are averse to change and anything new, unless you happen to be Herv Gunnarsen of course. He’s even got all the men fluttering their eyelashes.’
Marnie grinned. ‘I will.’
‘Not everything is as sweet as it might at first seem,’ he warned her then wished her goodnight. And as Marnie closed the door, she thought that she remembered Lilian saying something very similar only two days before.
Chapter 16
Marnie slept soundly in the back bedroom of Little Raspberries and strangely what nudged her awake was the silence. Her ear was attuned to the sounds of Redbrook Row: the traffic, the opening and closing of garage doors, gates squeaking open and then shutting again, Mrs Barlow’s dog yapping as they set off for their walk at eight precisely every morning. She opened her eyes to a strange room flooded with warm light as the morning sunshine pushed through the pink curtains and, keeping her head on the pillow, asked herself what the bloody hell she was doing here.
This time last week she was head of Beverage Marketing, a suit, loved up, with her eye on world domination. She’d had a game plan: she would get on the board and who knows, might even be sitting in Laurence’s chair when he moved on to turn another sinking-ship company around. Now she was in the middle of nowhere, having flown here on a whim, living in a house owned by an old lady she barely knew and was about to embark upon a ‘career’ making secret cheesecakes for a wage that might keep her in pints of Guinness, but her Lulu Guinness days were definitely gone. This was all beyond madness.
Her mobile, charging on the bedside cabinet, showed that she’d received a voicemail. A message had been left by Fiona Abercrombie. They were coming to inspect her kitchen that afternoon at one o’clock. Could she please confirm that was all right?
Cilla Oldroyd had scrubbed the kitchen clean for Marnie but she still gave it an extra once-over before the formal inspection. Mrs Abercrombie would need sunglasses because the gleam from the worksurfaces was so bright.
She arrived at precisely one, carrying a serious clipboard and wearing white gloves, which she proceeded to run along, under, on top of and inside the cupboards, surfaces and appliances in Jessie’s ex-pie factory. She scribbled things down, looked serious a lot, studied whilst chewing the top of her pen and then declared that Marnie’s kitchen was Abercrombie-friendly and had more than passed muster.
Over a relaxed coffee, she went over her requirements. Marnie was to supply twelve foot-square cheesecakes of three different flavours every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, unless otherwise directed. These would be collected by a refrigerated van at eight o’clock on those days. The office would dictate what flavours they required four days in advance. Payment would be made by BACS. The first van would arrive on Monday morning, unless Marnie could manage Friday. From the extensive flavour list that Marnie had supplied, first-off they would require, four apple crumbles, four cream teas and four rum truffles. Marnie said she could get a Friday order ready, no problem.
Did Marnie have a business name for her records alone, Mrs Abercrombie asked. Something nice and anonymous, i.e. not ‘the Secret Cheesecake Maker’.
‘McMaid’s?’ suggested Marnie; it just came to her. That would do, said Mrs Abercrombie.
Mrs Abercrombie offloaded a stack of flat-pack boxes bearing the mendacious words ‘Tea Lady Instore Bakery’ and then she zoomed off in her Audi TT.
Marnie had told her that a large separate fridge for Tea Lady usage only was on order. It wasn’t, but it would be by the end of the day. She also needed to buy a lot of ingredients and cake tins. The day was taken up with shopping for those. It kept her mind away from what happened exactly a week ago: Suranna Fox storming the building, her life falling down a well – and one that felt as deep as any Margaret Kytson was thrown into.
But thanks to Mrs McMaid and Lilian Dearman, she hadn’t quite reached the bottom. Yet. She had a ledge to rest on, to recoup and rebuild. She had no idea how permanent the ledge was, but it was holding for now.
The fridge was delivered the next morning. She’d had to pay forty pounds more for it to happen, but that was okay. It was either that or wait until Monday and she needed the kitchen to be fully operational as soon as possible.
She had hoped to relax in the garden and read a couple of chapters of Country Manors down by the stream, but the heavens opened that afternoon and so she read at the kitchen table instead whilst eating a baked potato. The lord of the manor – Manfred Masters – (who it was suspected had warlock’s blood in him) had just seduced the gamekeeper’s wife, Eunice, who had shown herself to be – in plain parlance – a right goer, despite making all that jam for the local WI. Manfred could have charmed the knickers off anyone, but the author had still managed to make him sound like a decent bloke. It was fairly obvious that Eunice was merely using him, though. Marnie couldn’t wait until Manfred, who was falling in love with her, found out.
Just as Marnie was reaching a very juicy part, there was a knock on the door. She was surprised to find the May Queen herself on the doorstep, clutching a bunch of flowers.
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’ asked Ruby.
‘No, not at all,’ fibbed Marnie.
‘I brought you these. Moving-in present.’
‘Thank you very much. That’s so sweet.’
It became obvious after an awkward silence that Ruby was angling to come in and Marnie was too polite to say, ‘cheers then’ and shut the door in her face. So she invited her inside.
‘Can I get you a coffee or a tea?’ She remembered Lionel’s gift. ‘Or a glass of wine, maybe?’
‘Thank you, a glass would b
e lovely. Mr Temple’s is it?’
‘That’s right.’
Marnie noticed how preened Ruby was, as if she was dressed for business rather than pleasure. She’d done a Body Language and Presentation course at Café Caramba and it had been rather insightful.
There was a prickle in the air as they waded through conversational niceties. Marnie played the game, until Ruby revealed her real reason for being there. She also made sure that she sipped the industrial-strength wine very slowly herself, but refilled Ruby’s glass in the hope that it would oil her tongue and they could get to the nitty-gritty.
Information was duly traded: Ruby’s family had always lived in Wychwell. Her father and mother were divorced and he’d moved back to Skipperstone. Ruby was a twenty-nine-year-old primary school teacher and was a member of Skipperstone’s am-dram society. She liked to sew, knit and read but not trashy stuff like the Country Manors thing that everyone was talking about. Her mother – Kay – worked part-time both in Plum Corner post office and in a mini supermarket in Mintbottom.
Marnie was more than careful with the information she gave out and forgave herself the odd untruth. Had she enjoyed the May Day festivities? – yes (true). How had she met Lilian? – on a baking site on the internet (true). What brought her to Wychwell? – she was in between jobs and taking some time out from the rat race (half-true). The line of Ruby’s questioning then become very telling: was Marnie single – yes (true). How long was she planning on staying – not that long (true). When was the last time she’d had a boyfriend – too long ago to remember (lie). Was there anyone she had her eye on? Marnie wanted to answer, ‘Herv Gunnarsen,’ and watch Ruby spontaneously combust, but she answered ‘absolutely not’ instead. If Ruby Sweetman wasn’t here to warn her off Lilian’s rugged Viking gardener, Marnie would have not only eaten someone’s hat, but the head inside it as well.
Ruby was knocking back the wine under the impression that Marnie was drawing level with her. If Marnie had had so much as a full glass of the stuff, there would have been a repeat of what had happened with Lilian on the confessional night she couldn’t remember. She wouldn’t have bet that her secrets would have been as safe with Miss Sweetman as they were with Lilian.
The Perfectly Imperfect Woman Page 13
