Summer at The Little Duck Pond Cafe: A gorgeous, heart-warming story of love and new beginnings

by Rosie Green

  He smiles sadly. ‘At least I managed it this time,’ he murmurs, almost to himself. Then he starts walking slowly back to the house.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘I’m longing for an ice-cold lemonade but I can’t be bothered to move.’ Ellie sighs and lies back on her part of the rug, staring up at the night sky. It’s after nine but still fairly light.

  It’s Sunday evening and I’m celebrating completing my first weekend as the new tour guide at Brambleberry Manor. Ellie, Fen and I are sprawled on a blanket on the grass by the duck pond, desperate for some cooler air after a day of muggy heat.

  ‘I can’t believe that poor man collapsed on your tour,’ says Fen. ‘Is he all right?’

  I nod. ‘He is. Thanks to Harry.’

  ‘Harry?’ Ellie half sits up.

  ‘Harry Bentham,’

  ‘Oh, the juicy photographer?’ says Fen.

  I grin at her. ‘Is he juicy?’

  ‘Well, duh!’ comments Ellie.

  I make no comment. There was no sign of Harry at the manor today, which I found I was quite disappointed about. And I did keep looking, just to make sure.

  ‘How’s Jessica the Duck?’ asks Fen.

  Ellie raises herself onto one elbow and gazes mournfully across the pond. ‘I’m not sure. I went to visit yesterday but they said she’d been exposed to some horrible disease called duck plague so she’ll have to be in quarantine until they know if she caught it or not.’

  ‘Oh, poor Jessica.’

  ‘I know. So, any more sightings of the am dram group at Brambleberry Manor?’

  ‘Why are you asking me?’ says Fen crossly, turning instantly the colour of pickled beetroot.

  ‘Because you live there.’ Ellie shrugs, with a mischievous smile. ‘And because it’s high time we found you a boyfriend. You’ve been single for far too long.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with being single,’ I say at once, with feeling.

  Ellie gives me a look but says nothing.

  ‘I’ll get the drinks, shall I?’ Rising swiftly to my feet, I nip over to the café, away from Ellie’s obvious curiosity, and return with three chilled bottles of her home-made lemonade.

  Fen and Ellie are discussing the merits of being single.

  ‘You can do your own thing without having to check with the other person first,’ says Ellie. ‘Plus no wet towels on the bathroom floor.’ She groans. ‘If I’ve asked Zak once I’ve asked him a thousand times but they always end up on the floor in the bathroom.’

  ‘Or the “floordrobe” in the bedroom,’ says Fen.

  Ellie laughs. ‘What’s a floordrobe?’

  ‘It’s when he takes his clothes off and leaves them lying on the floor instead of hanging them up in the wardrobe. Floordrobe.’

  I fall silent, listening to their chatter. But there’s a weight of guilt on my shoulders.

  I feel I’ve grown in confidence over the past few months – mostly because of my friendships with Ellie and Fen. I’m even starting to think I could belong here. But I feel so bad that I can’t be open and honest with them about my past.

  Will I ever be free just to be myself?

  *****

  The tourist guide job has given me a real boost, both financially and psychologically.

  By eleven o’clock the following morning, I’ve already stocked the fridge and freezer and put the remainder of the cash I earned over the weekend into my account to make up the shortfall on the rent. The relief and sense of satisfaction are huge.

  I could almost be happy – if it weren’t for the fact that I worry about Titch all the time.

  I phone Jules for an update. As I wait for her to answer, I think about how at first, I used to feel it was far too much, expecting Jules to be my spy. Because that’s what she is – apart from being the best friend I’ve ever had. Then one day several months ago, I blurted my fears out to her and she actually seemed annoyed at me.

  ‘Jaz, you’re my best friend,’ she said. ‘You’re in a truly appalling situation and I’d be really hurt and cross if you didn’t let me help you in whatever way I can!’

  A lump rose in my throat and I couldn’t speak.

  ‘And besides, you know how much Chloe and I love Titch. She’s becoming almost one of the family these days. We love having her here for sleepovers. So never, ever think you’re putting some sort of burden on me because it’s just not true.’

  After that phone call, I lay down on the sofa and soaked a cushion with tears, overwhelmed with relief to have Jules so firmly on our side.

  I’ve no idea how this whole sorry mess will turn out, but with Jules’ help, I know I’ll get through . . .

  *****

  Next day, there’s more financial good news.

  Ellie asks me if I’d like to work some shifts at the café while Fen has some time off to help her mum with the manor’s launch day.

  ‘Fen’s really worried about Lady R,’ says Ellie on Thursday morning, as we’re opening up. ‘Apparently she had a panic attack on Monday. And she’s never had one before. She’s working from early morning until midnight, getting increasingly frantic about getting the place ready by the opening date.’

  ‘Poor Lady R. Do you think she’s missing Fen’s dad?’

  ‘She says she’s not but Fen thinks she’s just putting on a brave face.’

  ‘It sounds like she really needs Fen’s help – to calm her down, apart from anything else.’

  Ellie nods. ‘Apparently she’s not sleeping much, either. Fen went down for breakfast the other day and found her slumped over the kitchen table, crashed out, dribbling on a list of things to do a mile long, and still in her clothes from the day before.’

  ‘Perhaps we could help?’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking. Give Fen some moral support, that kind of thing.’

  *****

  Later, Ellie and I drive over to see Fen.

  It’s a glorious summer evening, just four weeks before the manor’s grand opening, and as Ellie pulls up at the front, a drama rehearsal is taking place on a grassy area by the main entrance. Fen, bearing a tray with a jug of something cool and a stack of paper cups, is standing to the side watching the group of four actors.

  Ellie and I get out of the car and walk over to join the group, trying not to scrunch too much on the gravel. One of the men, Ethan Fox, points at Fen and smiles, prompting one of the girls to fan her face as if to say she’s expiring with the heat and a cool drink would be lovely.

  Fen walks over the grass with her tray a little too quickly and almost trips over her own feet.

  ‘That was close,’ murmurs Ellie, wincing as Fen just manages to save the jug from sliding off the tray. Ethan says something to Fen that makes her laugh and shake back her hair. Then he gallantly takes the tray and holds it while Fen starts pouring out drinks.

  At our approach, Ethan says, ‘Hi, girls. You’ve arrived just at the right time.’

  Fen, who’s been completely oblivious to our arrival, despite Ellie crunching the car loudly on the gravel when she braked, turns in surprise to see us. Her cheeks are burning and something tells me her animated glow has less to do with being in the sun and rather more to do with Ethan Fox.

  We sit on the grass with the cast members, ice cubes clinking in our glasses of deliciously refreshing lemonade, talking about the logistics of performing a play al fresco.

  ‘We might have to take the play inside if it rains, which would be a real shame,’ says the girl who’s apparently playing Lizzie Bennett.

  ‘We carried on last time and the audience just got their brollies out,’ smiles the other girl, who’s taking the part of Lizzie’s sister, Jane. ‘It was warm drizzle so we didn’t really mind getting a bit wet.’

  Ethan takes a long swallow of lemonade then looks admiringly at the glass. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘It’s homemade, from Ellie’s café,’ says Fen.

  Ethan smiles. ‘Well, thank you. It tastes amazing.’

  ‘It’s Fen you should thank,
’ Elle says. ‘She makes it herself.’

  ‘Wow. Is it your own recipe?’

  Fen gives a shy nod. ‘Would you like some more?’

  ‘I’d love some.’ Ethan beams at her and holds out his glass. Fen carefully picks up the jug and I wonder if I’m the only one to notice the slight tremble of her hand as she pours.

  After they’ve gone, the three of us go inside to help with moving furniture in the entrance hall to accommodate a ticket desk.

  Lady R appears at a half-walk, half-run from the back of the hall. Her eyes are bright with busy-ness. ‘Good evening, girls. Are you here to keep Fen company?’

  ‘I asked them to help with the furniture, but I see it’s already done,’ says Fen, looking around her in mild dismay.

  ‘Oh, that didn’t take long,’ says Lady R, glancing at a list she’s holding.

  ‘Mum! You didn’t move all that yourself, did you? I told you we’d help.’

  Lady R waves away Fen’s concern. ‘Honestly, dear, I might be a single woman now but I’m not exactly helpless.’

  ‘I know you’re not, but -.’

  ‘I had to get the ticket desk sorted so I could tick it off my list. And that nice man, Ethan, helped me shift the walnut table. If I don’t keep to my plan, we’ll never be ready in time for official opening day.’ All the time she’s talking, her eyes are sweeping feverishly around, presumably checking everything is in its right place.

  Fen glances at us in despair.

  ‘Mum, I really think you should slow down a bit and let other people help.’

  But her plea falls on apparently deaf ears. Lady R is already sweeping off in search of the next item that needs ticking off her extensive list.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next few weeks pass in a whirl of shifts at the café, zumba and yoga classes, and my guided tours.

  Each weekend, I’m growing in confidence doing my tours at the manor and my life feels fairly calm for once. It’s been quiet on the home front, too, according to Jules. She can read Titch almost as well as me now and I think she’d be able to tell if something was bothering her.

  Saturday rolls around again and we’re just two weeks away from the official grand opening at the end of August.

  I arrive at the manor for my first shift of the day at ten-thirty, and the first thing I see is a familiar car parked at the back of the house. My heart sinks. Unless I’m very much mistaken, that vehicle belongs to Harry.

  What the hell is he doing here? The publicity photos were taken ages ago, so he can’t be here for that. He’s nowhere around when I go into the house – but Lady R is there, of course. She’s probably been up since five polishing the coat of arms for the five hundred and fifty-sixth time.

  ‘Ah, Jaz,’ she says, walking across the hall towards me. ‘Excellent. You just have time to have a look at the new display of letters in the drawing room before your first group arrives.’

  ‘Letters?’ I follow her through to the drawing room and immediately see a new glass-topped case along the wall near the fireplace.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been having a clear-out of the attics and I found a box of letters from the eighteen hundreds, addressed to the then mistress of the manor. Fascinating stuff. They reveal so much about what daily life was like then – for the aristocracy, at least. I was up half the night reading them when I found them.’

  I peer down at the letters through the glass casing. The writing is spindly and fading but Lady R has provided a typed version for visitors to read.

  She hands me a sheaf of papers. ‘I dictated them and Fen typed it all up. That’s your copy so you can familiarise yourself with the contents.’

  ‘Oh, wow, how fascinating,’ I say, truthfully. ‘I can’t wait to read them.’

  I also can’t believe she’s done all this since last weekend when I was here. I wouldn’t believe it, if it weren’t for the dark shadows under Lady R’s eyes. She never stops. No wonder Fen is worried.

  ‘In here, Lady Redpath?’ We both turn at a familiar voice. Harry is standing in the doorway with his camera slung around his neck.

  ‘Ah, Harry. So good of you to call in this morning at such short notice. Yes, the letters are over here.’ She glances at me. ‘I want everything photographed and catalogued for the records.’

  ‘Great,’ I say with gritted teeth, holding up the papers. ‘I’ll just go and sit in the library and look through these before the visitors arrive.’

  I bolt for the door, giving Harry a fake smile on the way out. He just grins back, as if he expected nothing less.

  I’m sitting in the library going through the letters, when he appears again.

  ‘Coffee?’ He holds out a cup and saucer. ‘Compliments of Lady R.’

  ‘Oh.’ I take the cup in surprise. ‘Thank you.’ Lady R never offers to make me coffee. Clearly, Harry’s been working his charms on her as well, then!

  Annoyingly, he sits down to drink it.

  ‘I bet those letters are fascinating.’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘Would you mind if I read them when you’ve finished? Lady Redpath said it was fine.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Are you interested in history, then?’ I can’t help my tone of disbelief. Happy Harry and serious history seem a definite mismatch.

  ‘You could say that. I’ve got a PhD in Modern History.’

  I stare at him in astonishment. Then I realise he’s joking. As usual.

  ‘Oh, ha ha! Very droll.’

  He laughs. ‘No, seriously, I have.’ His twinkles those eyes at me and I find myself mesmerised by their incredible sea-green colour. ‘I studied at Manchester. I can show you my thesis if you like.’ He gives me that lazy, lopsided grin of his that always provokes a reaction in me. He’s got a lovely smile, I’ll give him that. Good teeth. And very attractive lips that I can see other women might be tempted to kiss . . .

  ‘Jaz?’

  I snap back to the present, having wandered off somewhere very unexpected. Crikey, maybe Lady R put something in the coffee!

  ‘I said, I think you’re needed out there,’ says Harry.

  ‘Right. Great!’ I’m strangely light-headed and breathless, and when I get up to walk to the door, I feel weirdly self-conscious, knowing Harry’s probably watching me.

  Preferring not to examine my feelings, instead I peer out to get the measure of my group. Most are middle-aged couples, although there’s also a small group of women and one family: a mum, dad and a sullen-looking teenage boy who looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world apart from on my tour.

  One of the women turns to her friend and says something, and her friend gives a shrill little laugh.

  An icy hand grips my heart.

  Oh, please no!

  I actually recognise one of the women. She’s called Pauline Grenville and she lives in our street in Palmerston! We didn’t know each other very well but she’s sure to recognise me.

  ‘Jaz?’ Harry is staring at me, probably wondering why I look so horrified.

  ‘Don’t call me Jaz!’ I hiss at him.

  ‘Right. Any preference?’ he asks sarcastically, his deep voice echoing around the hall. A few of the women turn. Including Pauline.

  ‘Just call me – ’ I glance around the hall for inspiration and my eye lights upon the portrait of the stern-looking Hermione Bentley-Bowrigg. ‘Hermione! Just call me Hermione.’

  ‘Right. Er, Hermione.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I snap, my stress levels going through the roof as Pauline meets my eye.

  ‘No problem. Are you going to be turning me into a frog any time soon?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Hermione Granger? Harry Potter?’

  Oh, shit, Pauline’s coming over!

  ‘Don’t go!’ I hiss desperately at Harry, grabbing onto his arm. ‘Ask me a question!’

  ‘What?’

  I roll my eyes briefly upwards, lean closer and murmur, ‘Ask me a question!’

  He looks at me like I’m nuts
but shrugs. ‘Okay. Why are you invading my personal space all of a sudden?’

  ‘Not that kind of question! A question about the house!’

  ‘Okaaaay.’ He glances around for inspiration then nods at the wall behind me. ‘Edith Bentley-Bowrigg looks as if she’s constipated in that portrait. Was that due to all the meat they ate in those days?’

  His eyes sparkle with amusement and to my surprise, I almost laugh myself. Although it’s probably just hysteria.

  I clear my throat. ‘Erm, as a matter of fact, you’re probably right. The Bentley-Bowriggs would have eaten a great deal of meat,’ I murmur in my best informative-tour-guide style. ‘For example, Edith Bentley-Bowrigg herself records in her diary the food consumed during one particularly lavish dinner, which included fresh salmon, roast mutton, fricasseed rabbit, roast ducks with peas, and a dessert of strawberries, cherries and currants.’

  He nods, looking impressed.

  Glancing quickly behind me, I see that Pauline Grenville appears to be heading for the main entrance. She wasn’t moving in my direction at all.

  ‘Right, enjoy the tour!’ she calls to her friends. ‘I wish I could stay but work calls . . .’ With a little wave, she’s gone.

  I go out into the hall and sag with relief against a nearby linen press. That was close. Much too close.

  I hear my name being called and glance up. Pauline Grenville is walking purposefully towards me and she doesn’t look happy. If I thought I’d escaped her, I was apparently sadly mistaken.

  ‘It is you,’ she hisses when she gets near. She folds her arms in a confrontational way. ‘So, you’re not in Scotland after all. That makes you a liar as well as a heartbreaker and a thief! I honestly don’t know how you can live with yourself, abandoning an innocent child and her lovely dad like that. Some people just have no idea when they’re well off! There, I’ve had my say. I wouldn’t have been easy if I hadn’t told you exactly what I think of you.’

  She turns on her heel and walks out.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A few days later, when I drive over to the stables as usual, my heart is in my mouth. I’m fully expecting to find out from Jules that Grant knows all about where I am, having heard the news from Pauline Grenville.