The Amber Keeper

by Freda Lightfoot

  Abbie looked about her with a sigh of pleasure, enchanted as always by the wildness of Scafell and Hardknot where once whole troops of Roman soldiers would march from nearby Ambleside to the port of Ravenglass on their route to Ireland. Now these fells were the haunt of enthusiasts who walked for pleasure and who, with Easter now over, were already filling the streets of Carreckwater with the clatter of their boots and bulging rucksacks.

  Parking the old Ford by St Margaret’s church, Abbie delivered Aimée to school with lots of encouraging hugs and assurances that she’d be there to pick her up at three o’clock.

  ‘Why didn’t Jonathon come with us?’ the little girl asked, as she lingered uncertainly at the school gate, holding rather tightly to Abbie’s hand.

  ‘Aunty Fay wanted to bring him herself, since, like you, this is his first day. In future she and I will probably take turns. Will that be all right with you?’

  Aimée nodded. ‘I like Cousin Jonathon. I wish he was here now. I don’t know anyone, and they don’t speak French.’

  ‘You’ll soon make new friends, darling, and it’s not a bad thing to be able to speak two languages.’

  The child looked up at her mother, wide-eyed. ‘Will Daddy be coming soon? I miss him.’

  Abbie hunkered down to her height, feeling that familiar tightening sensation in her throat. ‘Me too, and I’m sure he’ll come to see you as soon as he can,’ she said, secretly hoping he would do no such thing. Not yet anyway, not until she felt more settled and in control of her emotions. After that, they would surely be able to come to some satisfactory arrangement whereby Aimée could visit him for holidays. ‘We must both be very brave as we start our new life. I’ll be here at the gate for you, sweetheart, on the dot of three.’ As she gave her daughter another hug her new teacher, Mrs Sanderson, suddenly appeared.

  ‘Hello Aimée, everyone is so looking forward to meeting you. Few of our pupils have met anyone who can speak French before, and are really excited. I suspect they’ll make quite a fuss of you. Shall we go and meet them?’

  With a quick glance at Abbie, who smiled her encouragement, Aimée took the teacher’s hand and went off quite happily.

  Giving a sigh of relief, Abbie didn’t move until Aimée had turned and waved before entering her new classroom. It was going to be all right, she told herself firmly. We’ll survive.

  But instead of hurrying along Carndale Road straight to the shop, she found herself taking a detour through Fairfield Park on to the Parade. As she strolled along past the band stand and up the incline by the tall Victorian villas, Abbie recalled how the teacher had said Kate would often visit old ladies who lived here. How astonishing that she was such a stalwart of the community. Abbie’s own memory of her mother was entirely different, of a woman with a closed past who believed she alone knew what was right for her daughter.

  Following the row in which Kate had told her of the secretarial course she’d booked without her permission, and Abbie had even more bluntly announced her pregnancy, there had been the expected recriminations later. It was the kind of argument no family should ever have, one she preferred not to think about now, realising how her parents had probably been right all along. She had been impetuous and naïve, far too trusting.

  Not that she had thought so at the time. Abbie had run to Eduard the very next afternoon meeting him at their special place in the woods as they did every day, and she’d poured out to him all the terrible things that had been said. ‘They aren’t in the least interested in my happiness, or yours,’ she’d sobbed, falling into his arms in despair. ‘Not even when I told them about the child.’

  Eduard had gone very still. ‘Child! What are you saying Abbie?’

  She’d beamed cheerfully up at him, loving the startled expression of surprise in his dear sweet face. ‘I’m pregnant, didn’t I tell you?’ she teased, knowing she’d deliberately put off telling him, nervous of his reaction.

  ‘How far gone are you?’ he’d quietly asked.

  ‘About three months, I think, though I really should see a doctor to be sure. Mum and Dad are definitely not happy people. Sooo old-fashioned. Oh, but I am, darling Eduard. I couldn’t be more thrilled,’ she’d cried, flinging her arms about his neck and hugging him tight.

  It was true that she’d felt a certain guilt at the hurt and disappointment she’d seen in her parents’ reaction. Even worse when they’d learned that Eduard was actually married, and entirely without sympathy for his plight of being saddled with a woman he no longer loved.

  ‘It won’t take long for your divorce to come through, will it?’ she’d asked. Back then she’d believed implicitly in her lover. ‘It’s nearly my birthday, they’ll surely give permission once I turn eighteen, but what if they don’t?’

  ‘I can wait, no matter how long it takes,’ Eduard had blithely assured her, putting a comforting arm about her shoulders, although his expression still revealed his shock at the news.

  ‘You may grow tired of waiting if it takes till I’m twenty-one,’ Abbie had pouted. ‘Or find someone else.’

  ‘Never!’ As if to prove his devotion he’d given her a long lingering kiss, if not quite as passionate as usual it had still made her tremble with longing. ‘I’m sure your parents will come round, given time.’

  ‘But we don’t have time.’ Abbie had found it impossible to imagine a life without Eduard. She’d seen him as her soul-mate, and as his kisses had deepened and grown more demanding, filling her with a need she’d never experienced quite so strongly before, she knew in her heart that he must love her.

  The day they’d left for Paris her father had done his utmost to make Abbie change her mind, insisting that Eduard never would marry her.

  How tragic that he’d been proved right.

  Now she gazed up at the bay windows, arched doorways and wrought iron balconies of this fine row of houses, built by the rich cotton magnates of the last century. She heard a door bang as an elderly man came out of one, nodding politely as he passed her. Presumably they were now divided into flats but the old folk who occupied them must become quite lonely stuck up here at the edge of town. Perhaps she should make enquiries about taking over her mother’s charitable task?

  But then Abbie remembered she’d have more than enough to occupy her getting the business back on its feet. Spinning on her heel she hurried back down the Parade and along Carndale Road, realising she was going to be late, which wouldn’t do at all on her first morning.

  Abbie sat in the newly cleaned workshop wondering where to begin. All the plans she’d secretly made over the last few weeks seemed to have vanished, leaving her mind blank and panic creeping over her again.

  It was all very well to boast about her experience in the Parisian fashion industry to her father, and insist she could turn the jewellery business around, but quite another matter to actually do it. Marisa had been most conciliatory and supportive when she’d rung to say she wouldn’t be returning to Paris. Abbie had also made a point for thanking her ex-employer for the excellent training she’d received while working in the boutique. Since then she’d spent hours studying the accounts, which showed that profits were well down, and either expenses were up or her mother was over-indulging herself as far more money was drawn out than came in. Kate obviously did lose interest as she’d never seemed to replace the stock she sold, merely spent the money.

  The overdraft as a consequence was worryingly large, which meant that one of Abbie’s first tasks was to talk to the bank manager. She’d made an appointment for later in the week, not a prospect she looked forward to. As Abbie had no money of her own to invest in the business she’d need to request a further loan. She was beginning to wonder if she was right to even attempt to save the shop. It could already be too late.

  Linda placed a mug of black coffee beside her, together with a sheath of papers. ‘I’ve completed a stock check, which I thought might be useful. Didn�
��t take long, I’m afraid, as we don’t have anywhere near the quantity or variety of jewellery we once had.’

  Abbie took the list from her. ‘Thanks, that’s great. I shall have a good nose around, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Feel free, it’s your shop.’

  Actually, it wasn’t, but Abbie decided against mentioning the family dispute which showed no signs of ending. Robert had followed her out that morning, arguing furiously as she’d helped Aimée into the car and started the engine, coldly reminding her that the business had to be sold.

  ‘Not if I can help it.’

  ‘Saving this house is more important than a stupid jewellery shop.’

  ‘Says who?’ And she’d driven off leaving him shouting to himself.

  Abbie spent the next hour going through drawers and cabinets. As Linda had warned there were not so many precious gems as she remembered, but still some lovely pieces. In addition to the jewellery, she came across a set of drawers containing lengths of silk and velvet, lining fabric, quilted cotton and even some gold leaf.

  ‘Now what could I do with these?’ she wondered. Fingering the fabric, and remembering the huge variety of beads and Swarovski crystals she’d seen tucked away in boxes, the answer came to her. She would make a selection of evening purses. Later, she might even try a design studded with cabochons, or patterned with gold leaf.

  Abbie’s excitement mounted as she set about finding the right tools for the task: round nose pliers, a pot of special glue and sewing materials. She might also need rings to attach a handle or strap, zips or press studs, but she could buy those later from the craft shop in Ambleside. The future was suddenly looking brighter as her optimism reasserted itself.

  Time flew by as she drew out patterns, chose a selection of flat smooth beads that wouldn’t catch on a person’s clothing and began to play about with a design. She nursed a memory of her mother working at this very table, setting stones, making earrings, perhaps even creating bags like this. What had happened to turn her into a depressive and cause her to lose interest in what had once been her own precious dream? Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as she smoothed out a piece of fabric together with a layer of silk lining beneath, then carefully cut it into the correct shape using the pattern she’d made.

  Abbie enjoyed arranging various swirls and loops with the beads, matching colours and shapes. Once she was satisfied with the design she began to stitch each bead on to the silk.

  While nibbling a sandwich and sipping her third cup of coffee of the day she began to pick out some of the Swarovski crystals. She chose topaz and clear crystal, creating a design with a butterfly in pale jonquil yellow as the centre piece. Attaching the flat crystals upon the tiny dabs of craft glue she made with the aid of a toothpick was not easy, but seemed to work. Abbie became so engrossed that she was startled when Linda popped her head round the door to remind her it was almost time to pick up Aimée.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, so it is. Must dash. I’ll finish these tomorrow.’

  ‘They’re looking good,’ Linda said, admiring the shine of sapphire and turquoise beads against the black silk, and I love the crystal butterfly. I think we have some pink mini shells too somewhere. You might be able to do something with those. I’ll see if I can find them. You’re really very clever.’

  Abbie was pulling on her coat and grabbing her bag, fearful of letting her daughter down on her first day. ‘Not really, and these still have to be made up into evening purses yet. There’s a lot to learn but it’s fun.’

  Her first day at Precious Dreams had proved to be both exciting and nerve-wracking. Aimée too was excited about her new school, and the pair of them sang Puff the Magic Dragon all the way home in the car. This was to be their future. Didn’t she owe it to her daughter to make a success of the business, if only for disrupting her life by walking out on her father whom Aimée adored? And the last thing she wanted was another lecture from her brother.

  Abbie successfully managed to persuade the bank manager to extend the overdraft, if not by quite as much as she’d hoped. Nothing further had been said by her father about selling the business, but Abbie had decided it was time to approach the subject. One evening, having read Aimée a few pages from The Cat in the Hat, delighting in hearing her daughter recite some of her favourite phrases, she tucked her into bed and gave her a kiss, then went in search of her father to try one more time to gain his support. She found him, as expected, in the library, where he often retired at this time of night to read the paper.

  Giving a quick tap on the door she pushed it open without waiting for a response. ‘Hi Dad, can I have a quick word?’

  Setting the paper aside with some reluctance, he nodded. Abbie pulled up a chair then placed the butterfly purse gently on his lap. ‘I made that the other day. Mum used to make stuff like this, remember? So I thought I’d have a go too. What do you think?’

  He stared at it, his expression pained as if he couldn’t bear to be reminded of happier times, then quietly he handed it back. ‘If you think making a few evening purses will get the business out of trouble you’re living in cloud-cuckoo land.’

  ‘I have other plans as well, if you’d like to hear them, such as stocking local jewellery and making some of my own.’

  ‘But do you have any money to invest in it?’

  ‘Not at present, no, but . . .’

  ‘Well then, why risk further debts? We have enough of those already, largely because of that dratted business.’

  Knowing her father’s anger was largely born of his loss didn’t make it any easier to deal with. ‘Yes, but why?’ she softly asked. ‘Where have all these alleged debts come from?’

  ‘Does it matter? Life. Eating. Living. Paying for the upkeep of this grand house. What’s important is that the shop failed to deliver so it must go, otherwise we’ll lose everything. You cannot deny reality.’

  Abbie felt a deep nostalgia for those long-ago days when she’d been able to turn to her father, certain of his loving support. Now she lived in hope that she could win him round through effort and ultimate success. ‘Look, it’s almost the start of the tourist season and Carreckwater, like Ambleside and Windermere, is becoming increasingly busy. Please allow me at least the summer to prove myself before you make the decision to sell.’

  He met her gaze unflinching. ‘Robert is the accountant in this family and he believes selling that property is the only sensible solution.’ Tom Myers rubbed a weary hand over his face. ‘We have no choice in the matter if we are to save Carreck Place. Even if we don’t actually own the house, we still need to maintain it for as long as we’re allowed to live here.’

  ‘I’m sure he exaggerates the problem, and there must be other options.’

  ‘I’m sorry if this is causing you anguish, but you’d be far better off finding yourself a proper job.’

  Abbie gasped. ‘The jewellery shop is a proper job, and with good prospects.’

  ‘In what respect? If your mother couldn’t make it pay, why do you imagine you can?’

  ‘Mum had grown weary of the business for some reason, but I’m young and enthusiastic, and I believe I have the energy and talent to succeed.’

  He almost smiled at that. ‘I admire your spirit, Abigail, but I’m not sure you’ve earned the right.’

  She gave a brittle little laugh. ‘For goodness sake, you can’t keep on punishing me forever. I’m still your daughter, and if you do still love me . . .’

  ‘Of course I do, haven’t I said as much?

  Taking his large square hand between her own she gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Then prove it. Please Pops, give me a chance. I love you too, and want so much to make you proud of me again, as well as do right by my own daughter.’

  Tears filled his eyes as his gaze softened, but it took a while before the answer came. ‘Very well, you have the summer to give these plans of yours a try.’

&n
bsp; SIXTEEN

  The next weeks flew by in a whirl of hard work and optimism. She spent hours every evening studying sales figures, worrying over what she dare risk buying as she juggled payments so as not to go over the agreed limit. Abbie and Linda completely reorganised the layout of the shop, setting the counters along each side instead of the previous somewhat haphazard approach which had just looked cluttered. Display cabinets and the two shop windows were completely transformed, given a far more exciting and modern appearance, each one themed by colour, style or content.

  One whole section of a wall was lined with rails upon which were displayed a range of fun and funky fashion jewellery: ceramic poodle and peacock pendants, bunny rabbit and owl brooches, and butterfly, daisy and pansy earrings in tangerine, shocking pink, lemon yellow and lime green. Not only would they be certain to appeal to the summer visitors, but brighten the entire shop.

  ‘And sales are up,’ Abbie announced to Linda on a whoop of joy. ‘Maybe we’re on the right track at last.’

  ‘You’ve performed wonders in just a few weeks.’

  ‘I’d love to buy in some Greek and Indian, Art Nouveau and stained glass jewellery which is becoming fashionable, but I have to be a bit cautious not to buy too much at once.’

  ‘Quite right. You don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. Let’s hope for a busy summer. Oh, and I sold another evening purse today. They’re proving to be quite popular and selling steadily.’

  ‘Excellent!’ They would need a good tourist season if they were to have any chance of saving the business, but they’d made a good start. Abbie was thrilled with progress so far. Everything was going smoothly at last. Aimée had settled into her new school, taken there each day with Cousin Jonathon either by herself or Aunty Fay. Abbie had recently installed a small black and white TV in the stockroom where the two children would happily watch Noggin the Nog or Blue Peter if she needed to work a little later, although she always made sure they were home by five.