He may only have been the proprietor of a provincial newspaper but, like Suzie, Jack knew a good story when he saw one. Suzie was confident he would approve but she didn’t know whether or not something with potentially greater impact would come up that might take precedence. Jack had told her it was a quiet week but there was still time for something to supersede her article.
“Great work, Suzie. Unless anything else materialises the front page is yours.”
A Pleasing Proposition
Honey looked up at the sound of the bell expecting at mid-afternoon to see one of her regulars. If she’d had to rely on them totally she’d have been out of business in no time but they were certainly the mainstay, the backbone that kept her afloat. However, it was still a bit early for the tourist season, something she liked to refer to mentally as the icing on the cake. The pun had always made her smile. She managed to hide her astonishment when Guy walked up to the counter. After his comment about visiting the Planning Officer and her somewhat cool response she hadn’t really expected him to turn up this afternoon.
“I went without lunch especially, Honey, and I’m starving.” He tried to look wraith-like but for a man of his stature it was an impossible feat. “When I saw what you had here yesterday I knew I’d never be able to choose just one. Do you have any particular recommendations? What shall I begin with?” He was like a kid in a sweet shop.
“Do you want to start off small or go for it straight away,” Honey asked with a smile. She couldn’t help responding to Guy’s charm and tried to tell herself it was purely business and she a purveyor of delicious irresistible treats. She wasn’t fooled for a moment. In spite of her antipathy towards his proposed project the man had a charisma she knew she would always respond to.
“Impossible to decide.”
“Well, hold on for a minute. I’m just taking Mrs Worthington’s scone and tea over. I’ll be back to see if I can help.”
“Oh please, let me. I met her in the street yesterday and we had a very quick chat. She’s as independent as ever, isn’t she? Wouldn’t even let me carry her bags. She told me I wasn’t going in her direction.”
He smiled as Honey handed the tray over and she wasn’t a bit surprised to see him sit down at the old lady’s table, the two of them engaging in a conversation she couldn’t hear in spite of the fact she tried very hard. I’m not really being nosey. I just want to make sure my customers are comfortable. Who did she think she was kidding? In fact it was quite innocuous. The two were reminiscing about the old days and Mrs Worthington was reminding Guy of some of the scrapes he’d got into as a child.
“Do you remember the time when you and Basil Bunting nearly got caught in old Charlie Parker’s side garden scrumping his apples?”
“Do I just! If it hadn’t been for you opening your bag below hedge level so we could drop them in we’d have been for it all right.”
“I’ve never seen him move so quickly. He was out of that gate in a flash, absolutely sure he’d caught you red handed. He did look suspiciously at my bag but he could hardly ask me if I had his apples in there.”
“How is the old boy now?”
“He’s not with us anymore.”
Guy looked surprised. “What happened to him? He wasn’t that old, was he?”
“Good heavens, no. He’s gone to live with his widowed sister up north somewhere. No loss to Rills Ford I must say. He was a grumpy bugger.”
Guy scraped his chair back. “I’m sorry, Mrs Worthington. I shall have to leave you now. That scone looks delicious and I can’t wait any longer. I’m coming back though to escort you home. No, no arguments. You never know, we may even be able to scrump some apples on the way.”
“Not at this time of the year, we won’t, but I’m not averse to having a young man keep me company for a while. I’m in no hurry. Take your time.”
Honey wasn’t the only one who’d been watching their table with interest. Some of her customers remembered Guy as a boy, others, new to the town, wondered who he was. He would always draw attention to himself though, like enticing a moth to a flame. The vicar’s wife, Mrs Andrews, had always had a soft spot for him and looked on fondly. He and Bas had often been in trouble but in a healthy way. Scrumping was about the worst thing they did, and which of us doesn’t do that given the opportunity, she wondered. One or two others were none too pleased to see him back, people who had been offended by his mother, and there were plenty of those, and who unfairly tarred Guy with the same brush. Alexandra Ffoulkes had shunned town life and remained in her ivory tower; except when she wanted something, in which case she either made demands or simply opened her purse. In a small community that was not the way to win friends. Those who didn’t know Guy at all just wondered who the stranger was, looking immaculate even in casual clothes. Of course broad shoulders and superb body musculature maintained by regular exercise didn’t do him any harm either. An erratic eyebrow and thick brown hair with a wayward quiff at the front added to the whole and his easy smile had more than once fooled business associates into believing he was a pushover. If he was aware of the attention he was receiving today he certainly didn’t show it. Returning to the counter he found Honey had placed several small samples of deliciousness on a plate in readiness for him.
“I decided as you were having so much difficulty choosing that an assiette would be the answer. Find a table and I’ll bring you some tea.”
Honey had expected him to join Mrs Worthington again but he found a place near the window and was gazing out intently when she brought the tray.
“I don’t suppose you could join me for a few minutes, could you?”
She looked around. It wasn’t very professional but as none of her customers seemed to need her at the moment she pulled out a chair. “Just for a moment then.”
Guy glanced out of the window and back again. “I can’t believe how little it’s changed. I’d almost forgotten places like this existed.”
Honey was about to protest at what she perceived as criticism when he continued. “It’s amazing. I’m so glad I’ve come home.” She chose not to rise to the bait, if bait it was. Now wasn’t the time raise the matter and she didn’t want to have a disagreement with him every time they met. In any case, he was talking about the town not his project at The Grange. Instead she changed the subject.
“So what do you think? Any particular favourite?”
“It’s a close run thing and of course I haven’t sampled the scones yet.”
“It can be arranged.”
The laugh reached his eyes and he clutched his stomach theatrically.
“Another time, Honey, another time. It is imperative they are accompanied by jam and cream, lots of cream. I fear that for today at least I have had my fill.”
“I’m always here if you want to come back again.” Honey hoped she hadn’t spoken too eagerly.
“Don’t worry, I shall. I’ve been thinking. I might have a small business proposition for you.”
Oh no. Not something else for me to get upset about. Honey had no time to respond as the doorbell rang and she returned to the counter to serve her next customer. By the time she’d finished Guy and Mrs Worthington were on their feet and preparing to leave. Guy came over to pay the bills; he’d insisted on paying for Mrs Worthington as well, and Honey wasn’t sure whether or not she approved. She decided she was being silly. He wasn’t throwing his money around, he was merely being polite and if the old lady didn’t object why should she?
“About that proposition, Honey; any chance we could have a chat up at The Grange after you’ve seen your mother.”
“If it won’t take too long yes, of course we can. I have to get back to do some baking though; replenish my depleted stock now that you’ve been here,” trying a wry smile that she didn’t quite manage to pull off.
“Be sure to make some scones. I’ll be back tomorrow for some of those.”
“Some?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“One would be teasing but if I�
�m to make this a regular occurrence I’d better find a gym.”
She wasn’t sure if he was teasing or serious.
Honey had some colour photos which she’d cut into several pieces to show Daisy. One was of herself as a child, one a picture of the facade of Honey Bunny Tea Rooms and the third a magnificent chocolate gateau.
“What do you think of these, Mum?”
She placed the one of the shop in front of her mother on the small table and helped her piece it together. Daisy, using her good hand to support the one with the fractured wrist, smiled as she put in the last cut-out and a huge smile lit up her face when she saw the completed picture.
“Chocolate fudge cake! My favourite.”
Honey picked up the bits of paper and replaced them with the others, suggesting that Daisy try to do the puzzle alone this time. Again she used one hand to help the other and again she completed the picture. Honey was delighted. It was the first time she’d tried this and she hadn’t been confident of its success but her determined mother wasn’t going to let the inconvenience of a useless wrist stand in her way. She felt encouraged to experiment further another time and resolved to speak to Betty Grant to see if she had any suggestions. It was time for Daisy’s favourite soap and Honey switched on the television. Her mother seemed to be able to forget about the pain – of which she never complained – when losing herself in its familiar characters and situations. Honey left her to it and went to find Guy. She didn’t have far to go. He was hovering outside waiting for her.
“You should have come in. I’m sure she’d have liked to see you.”
“I spent a while with her earlier. I didn’t want to intrude on your time together.”
“How was she? Earlier I mean.”
“A little mixed up maybe but only for a moment and nothing much to speak of.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed them too, those moments, but I’m sure they’re less frequent than before. The doctors said they hoped it would pass in time and it looks like they were right.”
“So, are you up for that discussion?”
“Discussion, is it? That sounds important. Can we go into the garden? It’s a lovely evening and there’s a large patio area where we sometimes sit with our relatives when the weather’s nice, but of course you know that.”
“The garden it is. Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine. In any case I didn’t bring any cake with me.”
“Just as well after the amount I had this afternoon. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about actually,” he said as they sat in the cool of the evening sun.
“How much cake you had! Don’t you go blaming me if you’ve got tummy ache.”
“No, of course not. This is a business proposition. I noticed most of your cakes were gateaux. There weren’t many individual pastries.”
“It’s the character of the place,” she interrupted, feeling attacked.
“For goodness sake stop being so prickly and let me finish, Honey.”
Am I prickly? I suppose I am. Only since you came back though.
“Would you be prepared to provide mini patisserie to The Grange, say twice a week? The food here is excellent but I think it would be nice if the residents could have something special occasionally. Not every day because then it wouldn’t mean the same thing. Maybe on Sundays and perhaps Wednesdays as a special treat.”
He was quite excited. She could see it.
“We could arrange them on trays so people could pick their own, though I rather fancy your mother’s would always be chocolate fudge.” They both smiled at the thought. “And we’d have to be careful they didn’t dip their fingers first into one and then another. I just thought it would make it a bit special if they could choose for themselves.”
“It’s a lovely idea, Guy.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. That’s why I’m suggesting little pastries instead of big cakes. Is it something you could do? Time wise, I mean. Can you fit it into your schedule? I know less than nothing about baking but even I realise it’s a lot more work making lots of little things than one big one.”
“The mixture will be the same. It just means dividing them into pastry cases instead of a cake tin. Of course the decorating will take longer but I love doing it.”
“And if you do the tiny ones maybe they could have two.”
“And you’re going to grow up when exactly?”
“Never, I hope.”
“Would you like me to give you an estimate?”
“Certainly not. It will be my little contribution.”
Honey had absolutely no idea about Guy’s other ‘little’ contributions and he wasn’t about to tell her. He couldn’t resist taking credit for this one though. They parted amicably this time and Honey went home to plan, grateful for the prospect of added income even though it would take up much more of her precious time.
Confrontation
Next day what began as a hum became the talk of the town by lunchtime. Suzie’s article appeared, on the front page as Jack had promised, and its impact was huge. Through no fault of his own Guy had unfortunately inherited his mother’s reputation. It was unfair and unreasonable but there were mutterings like ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’, ‘She always thought she owned this place and now he’s trying to do the same’. Several copies of the Rills Ford Post were delivered every week to The Grange for those residents who wanted to enjoy the local news so it wasn’t long before Guy became aware of what felt like a hate campaign against him. To say he was stunned would be to underestimate the wounded feelings which seemed to permeate every part of his body. There was a constriction in his throat that made him feel he was choking until anger raised its head above all other emotions.
Why are they attacking me like this? They don’t even know me.
Guy had been more than enthusiastic when he’d spoken to Suzie about his plans. He’d realised pretty quickly from Honey’s reactions that it wasn’t going to go down well universally but Suzie had given him no idea she felt so strongly against the project. The fact that she hadn’t raised any objections at the time and had now turned on him with such vitriol only accentuated his feeling of betrayal.
She’s a journalist out for a good story. I don’t blame her for that. It’s her job.
Understanding the reasons didn’t in any way excuse them in Guy’s mind. He didn’t remember much about Suzie from their younger days so he had no idea if her apparent ruthlessness was a character trait or learned behaviour. Either way he wasn’t taking it lying down and he decided to confront her on her own territory. So anxious was he to have it out with her, he took his rather swish car into the town, the first time in the few days he’d been home that he’d used it. He rather liked that everything was within walking distance and his outings so far were reacquainting him with his past, especially his childhood. He’d completely forgotten about the scrumping incident until Mrs Worthington had reminded him and he realised there were a lot of things he’d consigned to a closed box somewhere in the recesses of his mind. The lid had come off now and long hidden memories were flooding in. As he drove down the main street he saw Honey putting a couple of bistro tables and chairs outside the tearooms. Spring was in the air, in spite of a definite chill, and sitting watching the world go by was a rather appealing prospect he didn’t have time for right now.
She works so hard. I wonder what would have happened to her if circumstances had been different.
Among Guy’s other memories was the one when he’d received a threat from Basil. They were sixteen at the time and filled with testosterone. Guy was unconscious of his looks and his natural charm – his mother had eradicated any self-confidence he might have had – and his pursuit of the young female population was more in hope than expectation. In spite of his success in that area he’d never been able to believe it was due to anything other than the fact that he lived in ‘the big house’. As he became successful in business this was reinforced when every girlfriend had made h
im feel like a trophy. His reputation as a womaniser had been inflicted on him as he rejected one after another, and he’d hidden behind its protection. In all his life only one girl had stood apart from the rest, accepted him for who he was, and that one girl had always treated him as a friend, never giving any indication she’d like to be more. And not much has changed since then, he thought, remembering Basil’s warning. ‘If you lay a finger on my sister it will be the last thing you ever do.’ Since he was convinced any approach from him would have been unwelcome Basil’s words were unnecessary. When he’d kissed the top of her head on his departure to university she’d shrugged him aside. What more proof was needed? And now, when he would love to have included her in his plans, he found she was completely against the whole concept, condemning it without ever knowing the details. Which brings me nicely to Suzie Foster, he thought, as he parked outside the offices of the Rills Ford Post.
“Come in, Guy, it’s good to see you,” Jack said, extending his hand in greeting. “It’s been a long time. Nice to see you’ve done well for yourself.”
Guy had no option but to take the proffered hand as he was drawn into the building.
“It’s great to be back, Jack, but…” he left the sentence hanging in the air.
“I expect you’d like to talk to Suzie. She’s through here.” Jack led Guy to a small windowless office at the back where Suzie sat, not looking a bit like someone bent on another’s destruction. “I’ll leave you together.”
“Why, Suzie? What have I ever done to you,” he asked as he took the seat she gestured to.
“Nothing, Guy. You know that. But surely you can see how this affects everyone. I know you’ve been away for a long time but you can’t have forgotten what it’s like here; how much pride everyone takes in their surroundings.”
Honey Bun Page 3
