by Susan Lewis
Since that terrible time, from which she now knew she would never completely recover – you didn’t get over these things, you just learned to live with them – her mother, Rose, had shut up the house and gone to live quietly with her sister, Sheila, in France. Having always been emotionally fragile, for Rose to lose her husband and grandson in such a senseless and shocking way had proved too much for her to cope with. Though she spoke to Sarah on the phone every day, she almost never came back to England now. Her children, Simon, Becky and Sarah, had to travel to Provence to see her, which Simon and Sarah did quite regularly, while Becky made it as often as she could from New York.
With a sigh Sarah tried returning to her emails, but her concentration was poor again today, and feeling as edgy as she did she decided she might as well give up. Simon was the only one who’d worry if he didn’t get a reply to his message right away, but she’d already let him know that she was still alive and kicking this morning, so she wasn’t likely to receive a phone call in the next few minutes demanding to know what was wrong with her fingers that she couldn’t type. Of all the people left in her world it was to Simon that Sarah felt the closest, possibly because they’d both been living in Paris for most of the past few years, so had seen a lot of each other. In any case, they’d always had a good relationship growing up, in spite of the five years between them, and him and Becky being twins. These days Simon, though a qualified lawyer, was running the European arm of an American multimedia company, which meant he was forever jetting back and forth across the Atlantic, allowing him far less time with his live-in partner, Giselle, than he’d have liked, and even less to visit Cromstone Edge. He’d promised to come soon, though, and Sarah knew that once he’d set the dates he wouldn’t let her down, because Simon almost never did.
It was to Simon that she’d turned when Kelvin had told her about Margot and the baby, and typically of her brother he’d dropped everything to come and pick her up. By the following morning Becky was on a flight from New York and her mother was on her way up from Provence. Sarah still had no idea how she’d have made it through those first few weeks without her family to support her; she still wasn’t entirely sure how she was managing without them now, yet somehow she seemed to be.
Closing her laptop she sat back in her chair and continued to gaze down at the village, where a few locals and half a dozen or so tourists were going about their day. A few minutes ago she’d spotted the couple who’d rented the Old Lodge on Greengables Lane going into the baker’s. According to Milly Jameson, who owned the Quirky Shoppe, their name was Mckenzie and they’d taken the place for the full six months that Tom and Felicity Mercer were intending to spend in Canada with their eldest son and new grandchild. Though Sarah hadn’t actually met the newcomers yet, she’d heard from Milly that they came from Scotland and spoke with a very charming burr. Apparently they’d retired about a year ago and had decided to test the southerly slopes of the Cotswolds to find out if it was an area that might suit them in their twilight years. Unusually for Milly she hadn’t yet found out why Mrs Mckenzie wore a patch over her left eye, but Sarah didn’t imagine it would be long before the redoubtable ex-postmistress managed to plug all the gaps.
What a very different sort of existence she was leading now to the one she’d been used to in Paris, with all its exotic soirées and dinners, fashion shows, movie premieres and the impossible deadlines of a job that had made her feel so alive. Who could say, she might even have made editor of the magazine had she stayed, but the blow of finding out that Kelvin had made another woman pregnant only three years after they’d lost Jack, then being told that the baby was a boy, had been so devastating that she’d had to get as far away from the betrayal as she possibly could. The awful irony of it was that she and Kelvin had moved to Paris in order to try and put their lives back together after the bereavement. They’d even been talking about trying for another baby when Kelvin had broken the news that he was going to have one with somebody else.
Spotting Mrs Fisher coming out of Bob’s Bakery, Sarah jumped to her feet and ran outside. Since Mrs Fisher was heading her way she took the footpath across the green to wait for her to come up the hill, allowing the pleasure of sleepy birdsong and the glorious warmth of the day to wash over her. Why did even the beautiful things hurt, she thought sadly.
Feeling herself starting to knot up with angst about her mission, she wondered if this sudden impulse to consult Mrs Fisher should be put back on hold until she’d given it more consideration. That was laughable, since she and her mother had talked about little else during the last couple of weeks, and whether Sarah liked what she was about to do or not, she knew very well that she had to go through with it.
‘Do you have a minute?’ Sarah called out as Mrs Fisher turned towards the farmhouse. ‘There’s something I’d like to ask you.’
Though the diminutive owner of Cromstone Auctions with her loose linen clothes and blunt-cut hair was by nature quite shy, she was absolutely never rude, so it startled Sarah no end to be told in a brisker tone than she’d ever heard Mrs Fisher use before, ‘I can’t stop now.’
Thrown, Sarah watched her march on with her head down and one arm pounding the pace while the other flitted about like a broken wing. What on earth could have happened to upset her, Sarah wondered. Though she couldn’t claim to know Mrs Fisher well, since she and her husband hadn’t moved to the village until just after the manor had been shut up, she liked the woman and so felt tempted to go after her to find out if there was anything she could do. Moreover, having her impulse quashed so unexpectedly was suddenly making her doubly eager to go through with her plans.
To her surprise Mrs Fisher suddenly turned back. ‘I’m very sorry if I was abrupt, dear,’ she said, looking so agitated that Sarah could only wonder why she’d stopped. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
Sarah wasn’t sure what to say, since now clearly wasn’t a good time. ‘Uh, it’s OK,’ she managed. ‘We can talk another … Are you all right? You look a little …’
‘I’m fine, dear, thank you.’ She attempted a smile.
When she made no move to walk on Sarah peered a little more closely into her face. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or something?’ she offered. ‘I was about to make one, or we could go down to the deli.’
Mrs Fisher shook her head. ‘No, no. No. No thank you,’ she said.
Sarah smiled. ‘I guess that was a no.’
Mrs Fisher looked at her blankly. Then evidently realising she should respond with some humour she made another attempt at a smile, and seemed undecided about whether or not to walk on.
Bewildered, but sensing it wouldn’t be right simply to back away, Sarah tried another tack, saying, ‘What news on Lucy? Is she still coming this week?’
Mrs Fisher’s head jerked up. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, she’s coming tomorrow, with Hanna.’
Sarah said, ‘That’s good. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her. I mean, I don’t know her very well, but … I expect she’s quite excited about taking over, isn’t she?’
Mrs Fisher seemed lost for words.
‘Maybe,’ Sarah said awkwardly, ‘I should give her a few days to settle in, then come and have a chat with her about some things I’d like to sell.’ She might even try talking to Lucy about a part-time job, anything to help get her out of the house, but she’d decide that at the time.
‘Yes, of course. My dear, I’m sorry, but I do need to get home.’
‘Of course. Is everything OK with Mr Fisher? I haven’t seen him for a few days and …’
‘Yes, he’s … We’ve been very busy. Lucy’s coming tomorrow with Hanna, so we’re …’ She frowned. ‘I think I already told you that, didn’t I?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Is Joe coming too?’
‘No, he’s staying in London. His work keeps him there, you know.’
‘Of course.’ Sarah’s tone was warm and understanding. She wouldn’t want Mrs Fisher to know what she really thought of Joe Winters – that
he drank too much, and wasn’t anywhere near good enough for someone as lovely as Lucy, especially after the fling he’d had with Annie the mobile hairdresser when he and Lucy had come to provide holiday relief for her parents last year. This crime, in Sarah’s book, damned him straight to hell, and the fact that he’d taken it upon himself to make a gift of her Victorian ash wardrobe to a well-known benefit-fraud family in Dursley, instead of putting it into the auction, had done nothing at all to redeem him.
‘It’s good to see you, dear,’ Mrs Fisher said, grabbing Sarah’s hand and patting it. ‘Thank you. Very kind of you,’ and leaving Sarah wondering what on earth there was to thank her for, she carried on up the path towards the five-bar gate that opened into the farmhouse drive.
Down at the Old Lodge, at the lower end of the village, John and Philippa Mckenzie were in the spacious pale green kitchen of their rented house unpacking the purchases they’d made in the local shops. A large bottle of Tuscan olive oil and tasty slab of Reggiano Parmesan from the Cheese and Olive deli; a freshly baked wholemeal loaf from Bob’s Bakery together with a couple of scrumptious-looking flapjacks to enjoy with a cup of Earl Grey tea; and a colourful selection of salad veg from Colin’s locally grown produce. Philippa had also picked up some scented candles and assorted aromatherapy oils from Milly’s Quirky Shoppe, while John had treated himself to one of Milly’s prized hand-carved walking sticks in preparation for the Cotswold rambles they had planned for while they were there. A stop at the second-hand bookshop had produced an Ordnance Survey map of the area, along with several leaflets promoting the summer fete at the end of August and various other local events not to be missed.
‘Did you realise that the woman we met at the baker’s runs the local auction room?’ Philippa remarked, as she inhaled the fresh scent of ocean spray from one of the candles.
John’s distracted murmur showed that he was far more interested in the brochure they’d picked up from the gun store than he was in their new neighbour. ‘You surely can’t just walk into that shop and buy a rifle,’ he commented darkly as he flicked over the pages. ‘You must need a licence.’
‘Of course you do,’ Philippa replied, adjusting the crinkled mauve patch covering the space that used to contain her left eye. ‘And if you’re harbouring thoughts of equipping yourself with any sort of firearm at all then you can put them out of your head right now. We don’t go in for blood sports in this family, as you well know.’
John’s answering smile was sardonic. A tall, good-looking man with an unruly mop of snow-white hair that contrasted starkly with his olive complexion and cobalt-blue eyes, he had a natural magnetism about him that made many people warm to him on sight. Apparently not the woman at the baker’s. ‘What did she say her name was?’ he asked.
‘Something Fisher. Daphne, I think. I wonder if we said something to make her rush off like that? She didn’t even buy any bread.’
‘If she takes flight at “pleased to meet you” then I’d say she’s got a problem,’ he replied, tossing the brochure on the table. ‘But her phone rang, didn’t it? That’ll be what made her abandon her mission. Anyway, everyone else seems friendly enough around here. Are you glad we came?’
As Philippa looked up from the candles, her good eye was showing a warning. Catching her gaze he gave her a playful wink and carried on with what he was doing.
With a small sigh of almost motherly despair Philippa went to take two mugs from a rack in the windowsill. From this point in the kitchen there was a pleasing view across the sloping back lawn to the hedgerows beyond, where the previous owners had installed a fence to provide added protection for their dog from the road outside. Ever since their retirement John had been all for getting a dog too, a Labrador or a Border collie seemed to be his favourites, whereas Philippa would have preferred a rescue dog. Knowing him as well as she did, she suspected she’d end up getting her way, and she didn’t have to worry about the fact that she might not be around for much longer to take care of it, because whichever dog they decided on, she knew without a shadow of doubt that John would love it.
However, they needed to settle into their temporary home first, and with so many boxes still to unpack and a full orientation of their surroundings to be undertaken, she didn’t imagine the pet hunt would rise to the top of the priority list for a good few weeks yet.
‘It was a pity Mrs Fisher had to run off,’ Philippa chatted on as she dug out some plates for the flapjacks. ‘We could have talked to her about the furniture the Mercers left in the garage for her to pick up. Never mind, we’ll pop up there later in the week. I’ll be interested to see what sort of things they have for sale.’
Chapter Four
‘MUM? MUM! WHAT are you doing? Why are the curtains pulled?’
As Hanna snapped on the light Lucy quickly wiped away her tears and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. ‘I’ve just got a bit of a headache,’ she replied.
‘Oh my God, you’ve been crying,’ Hanna accused. ‘And now you’re going to blame me …’
‘Sssh, I’m fine,’ Lucy murmured as Hanna sank angrily on to the bed.
‘I didn’t mean what I said, OK?’ Hanna told her hotly. ‘You don’t have to take everything so seriously all the time. I was just angry and you know how I get when you don’t listen to me.’
Lucy’s eyebrows arched. ‘My darling, you’re far too loud not to be listened to,’ she teased her.
Though Hanna was known to have had a good sense of humour, today it was nowhere in evidence as tears started in her eyes.
‘Come here,’ Lucy said, reaching for her.
‘You don’t want to go either, really, do you?’ Hanna sobbed into her shoulder.
Feeling for her despair, Lucy said softly, ‘Yes I do …’
‘Then why are you crying? I mean, I know I said some horrible things just now, but I always do and they’ve never made you cry before.’
‘Maybe not, but don’t think they’re not hurtful and you should …’
‘So it is my fault …’
‘No, no!’ Lucy insisted, catching her back in her arms. ‘This might come as a surprise to you, but not everything’s about you, Hanna Winters.’
Hanna’s voice was muffled by Lucy’s collar as she said, ‘That can’t be true.’
Laughing, Lucy pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled her in closer.
This was their last day in London, and though Lucy’s resolve hadn’t faltered, the strain of Hanna’s outbursts, combined with the anxiety about all she was taking on, not to mention the sheer physical effort of packing, shopping, cooking and generally keeping their lives on track as they prepared for the move, had got the better of her just now. Maybe it wouldn’t have reduced her to tears if Joe had kept his promise and shown up to lend a hand, but he hadn’t and with no one to help deal with Hanna, or the relentless ebb and flow of his family and friends, she’d come upstairs for a quiet moment’s respite to prevent herself doing the unthinkable – leaning on Ben. He was under enough pressure with his own imminent departure, and if she were a better mother she’d be in his room now helping him to pack his bags, instead of lying here dreading the prospect of him leaving almost as much as she was afraid of failing on all fronts – i.e., mother, daughter, businesswoman, and, she supposed she probably shouldn’t forget, wife.
In spite of her moments of weakness, she knew she’d never let her parents down now. Apart from the pleasure it was giving them to be able to pass on the business, everything was already too far down the road to start turning back. All their regular customers and suppliers, not to mention the staff, accountants, lawyer, tax office, bank, local authority, even the Cromstone Parish News, had been informed that Brian and Daphne Fisher’s daughter would be taking over the auctions from the beginning of August. The Fishers had already moved half their possessions down to their beloved old cottage on Exmoor where Lucy had spent so many wretchedly lonely holidays as a child. (She’d never told them that because it would hurt their feelings terribly,
but if she never had to go there again she wouldn’t mind one bit.)
Her parents had given her so much and worked so hard over the years that they deserved to start taking things easy now, particularly with her father well into his seventies. He was tired, Lucy could tell, and he didn’t always seem as alert as he used to be, which was even more worrying with them going to live so remotely. Still, she’d have to shelve the problem of their location for now, because it was definitely the right time for him, and her mother, to start letting go of the reins. And it wasn’t as if she’d never run the place before, so she at least had some idea of what she was doing, though she couldn’t deny she’d never be able to manage without the Crumptons. So please God her mother had spoken to them by now, and they were happy about the way things were going to proceed. With a horrible sinking feeling she realised that if she believed that then she’d believe Joe was really going to get the part he was now auditioning for in Scotland.
‘But we’re leaving tomorrow,’ she’d protested when he’d called last night, from the airport, euphoric that his new agent already had him booked on a flight to Glasgow.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ he groaned, ‘but I have to go for this. They’ve got a real buzzy scene going on up there, so it could easily lead on to something big.’
‘Joe, your son’s flying halfway round the world in the morning and Hanna and I … I thought you were going to help with the last-minute packing.’
‘I swear to God I want to be there, but I can’t let this agent down now, she’s only just agreed to take me on.’
‘How long are you going to be there?’
‘No more than a couple of nights. I have to hang around in case I get a call back. I’ll be there longer, obviously, if I get the part.’
‘So where are you going to stay?’
‘Not a problem. Oscar’s offered to put me up at his place.’
‘Who’s Oscar?’
‘A good mate. I worked with him a few years ago, last time I was in Glasgow as a matter of fact. Anyway, you know how much you hate goodbyes, so this way you can get in the car and motor off to Gloucestershire without having to think of me standing on the side of the road feeling abandoned.’
