Chapter Eleven
“Jake?”
It took Jake a moment to realize someone was speaking to him. He dragged his attention away from the Merryfeathers window display and found Peter standing beside him, smiling.
“I actually called your name three times. What was engrossing you?”
Jake pointed to the Christmas tree in the corner. “Some of the ornaments remind me of when I was a little kid.” He sighed. “Those would be the same ornaments I broke when I crashed into the tree and sent it toppling over, when I was seven.”
“Which ones?”
Jake moved closer and pointed to the brightly colored baubles. “That one that looks like it’s an upside down Mr. Whippy ice cream, and the ones that have an indentation. Mum used to always make sure she hung them near one of the tree lights, so it lit up the inside of the ornament.” He shook his head. “Man, those lights. We used to have a set that looked like icicles, and another that were little plastic carriages, like….”
“Cinderella carriages?”
Jake gaped. “How did you know that?”
Peter grinned. “Can you spare a minute to come into the shop? I’ve got something to show you. And as added incentive, I just made hot chocolate.”
Just then the wind picked up, and Jake shivered, in spite of his thick jacket. “Okay, the incentive worked.” He followed Peter into the shop and was instantly aware of a familiar scent in the air. “Why can I smell pine?”
Peter laughed. “All part of my cunning plan.” He reached behind a bookcase and pulled out a spray can. “The illusion of Christmas. Pine in a can.” He put it down. “Now, step this way.” He led Jake over to a cabinet with glass inlaid in its lid. “See anything familiar?”
Jake peered at the contents beneath the glass and gasped. “Oh my God. Those are the lights!” The Cinderella carriages were in their original box. They were made of gold plastic, but the tiny windows were done in blue, red, green, pink and yellow. On the same strand were tiny, old fashioned lanterns in the same colors. Above them was another strand of lights, only these were spiky, like frosted snowflakes, in several colors. “Where did you find these?”
“You’ll laugh.”
Jake straightened. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”
“Would you believe, our attic? I was up there clearing out boxes a month or so ago, and I came across these.”
“And you want to sell them? Why? They’re a family heirloom. Well, kind of.” Jake returned his gaze to the brightly colored lamps. “Do they still work?” The germ of an idea had begun to form.
“Yes, I checked them all. I still have the original bulbs too. I suspect replacing them might prove problematic however.”
Jake nodded absently. “How much?” When Peter didn’t reply, Jake turned his head to look at him. “Taylor was saying it’s good to help Dad remember stuff, and this is something from his past. Something that is part of his and Mum’s history. So…” He reached into his jacket pocket. “The Cinderella lights set, plus the two baubles from the tree. I figure that will be a great Christmas present for him.”
“And this is why I’m selling them,” Peter said quietly. When Jake gave him a quizzical glance, he smiled. “There’s just me, and the way things are going, I think it’s going to stay that way. But you three will all have families of your own. These will get handed down, once your dad is no longer around. Memories.”
Jake’s throat tightened at the thought of losing his dad. “Hopefully that’s a while off.”
Peter nodded, his eyes kind. “Seeing as our dads are the same age, I’m with you on that one.” He cleared his throat. “So, shall I wrap these up for you?”
Jake smiled. “Yes, please.” He couldn’t wait to see his dad’s face. He knew what he was hoping for—to see a glimmer of recognition, a smile that spoke of remembrance of happier times. He handed over his credit card, knowing exactly what the others would say: Dad’s presents were already bought and wrapped, hidden in Taylor’s bedroom.
These are special.
At least, he hoped they’d be.
“And now that’s settled, I suppose I’d better make good with my offer of hot chocolate,” Peter said with a wink. “That is, if you have time.”
Jake let out a sigh. “That sounds great.” He followed Peter through into the cozy back room, and Peter left the door open.
“I’ll hear if we get a customer, though I think it highly unlikely. It’s freezing out there, and I can’t envisage many people beating my door down to buy a last-minute antique Christmas present.” His eyes sparkled. “But you were out there, so I suppose it’s not too unlikely a prospect after all.” Peter went over to a flask, opened it, and poured out two mugs of steaming liquid. “Here.” He handed one to Jake, before gesturing to the lumpy couch. “Sit down.”
Jake sank into the cushions, his hands wrapped around his mug. “How is your dad? I haven’t seen him around lately.”
Peter’s face fell. “He’s actually in a nursing home outside Bath, only it’s more of a convalescent home. He developed pneumonia and I couldn’t take care of him here. He should be home for Christmas.” He studied his mug.
Jake shook his head. “Parents. I suppose it’s only fair. They worry about us while we’re growing up, and then it’s our turn when they get old. Although sixty-five is no age, is it?”
“No, it isn’t. I’m hoping I’ve got many more years left with him.” Peter raised his chin and glanced at Jake. “And speaking of dads….”
Jake’s stomach clenched. “Lately it feels like he’s put his foot on the mental accelerator, and there seem to be more and more things that he can’t do. Simon and I have been working out when we’re staying with him, to give Taylor some respite.”
“Well, as your dad’s carer, he’ll need that. Can you afford the time off work?”
Jake snorted. “Work? What’s that? It appears to have dried up.” He paused. “I did have an idea earlier this year, that might have brought in more work, but it hasn’t panned out so far.”
“What kind of idea?”
“Well, when I set up a meeting with a prospective client, I take along photos of previous barns and buildings that I’ve built, so they can see my work. My idea was to build a barn to showcase all my skills, a place where clients could come along and see what I was capable of.”
Peter smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”
Jake nodded. “And I found the perfect spot too. You know the lake that falls on part of Jane Phelps’s land? With the woodland nearby?”
Peter laughed. “Anyone who grew up in this village knows that spot. Especially on hot summer days when we’d go swimming. Mind you, it paid to keep an eye open. Jane was a dab hand with a broom if you wandered onto her land. Not that she’d ever hit anyone, you understand, but she put the fear of God into us, that was for sure.”
Jake chuckled, recalling the feisty older woman with the heart of gold. “That was Jane, all right. Clare, not so much. Well, getting back to my idea… I approached Jane with the idea of buying an acre of land that backed onto the lake. It would have required an access road that went through her property, but she was okay with that. We were still at the discussion stages when she died.”
“Damn.”
Jake nodded gloomily. “I did try to talk to her niece about the idea, but I got short shrift.”
Peter frowned. “When?”
“Right after the funeral.”
“Jake. Talk about bad timing. I’m not surprised Emily wasn’t that keen to talk. She was a mess.”
Jake gave him a speculative glance. “Do you know her?”
Peter smiled. “I’ve known Emily since she was seven. She came to stay with the aunts every summer, not to mention Easter and the school holidays.”
Jake sagged against the cushions. “What’s she like?” It would be interesting to get someone else’s perspective, because thus far, his impression had been less than favorable.
Peter copied his position. “Th
e first word that comes to mind is stubborn. She was always someone who knew her own mind. If Emily, Fran and I were playing together, she was the one to take charge, and heaven help you if you didn’t do things her way. We saw less of each other once she went to university, unfortunately.” He sipped his hot chocolate, then regarded Jake steadily. “But she was always a fair-minded person.” Peter chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“When I saw her after the funeral, she told me she’d had a crush on me when she was younger.” Peter’s cheeks were a faint pink.
“Did you two ever date?”
“Heavens, no. I was in lust with Fran, and look where that got me. Vic Doherty came along and swept her off her feet. I didn’t even get a look in. And by the sound of it, Emily has been married to her company for the last God knows how many years.”
“I find that strange,” Jake commented. When Peter arched his eyebrows, his expression quizzical, Jake shrugged. “She’s very attractive. You’d think some guy would’ve snapped her up by now.”
“What did I say about her being stubborn? It would take a very strong man to come between Emily and her ambitions.”
The reminder didn’t fill Jake with hope.
“By the way, you’re right. She’s very attractive.” Peter arched his eyebrows again. “Your type?”
Very definitely Jake’s type, but he wasn’t about to share that information, not with someone who actually knew Emily. God knew what might get back to her. “Maybe.” It had been a while since a woman had managed to make an impression on him, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether in Emily’s case it was down to her good looks or her aggravating manner. Then he smiled to himself. He never had gone for quiet, mousy women, so no change there.
Peter cocked his head to one side. “About your land idea. I’d say try again, but that supposes she ends up with the house. I’ve heard tell her cousin is contesting the will.”
“I’ve heard the same thing. No one seems to know much about him, however.”
Peter sighed. “Personally? I’d be happier if Emily got the house. It’s what Jane wanted, after all. Though what Emily would do with it, I have no idea. She has her own business in London, I think, although I’m sure she mentioned she was selling it. I couldn’t see her moving here.”
“You mean, if she ends up with the house, she could sell it?” It was looking less and less likely that Jake’s plans were going to come to anything.
“Anything’s possible.” Peter’s gaze alighted on the parcel next to Jake on the couch. “Your dad will love those.”
“I hope so.” He glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “And I’d better get over there. Taylor was expecting me half an hour ago.” Jake quickly finished his hot chocolate. “Thanks for that, and for the decs. He’ll love them.”
Peter led him through the shop to the main door. “If I don’t see you before then, have a lovely Christmas with him. And Taylor and Simon, of course. I’m assuming Simon is spending Christmas in the village?”
Jake nodded. “It’ll be good to have us all together.” He wanted it to be something his dad would remember, even though he knew deep down that his father’s memories were proving increasingly difficult for him to keep hold of.
He left Peter’s shop and headed across the village green to where he’d left his truck. Out of the corner of his eye, Jake caught sight of a familiar figure, and he sped up. He knew it was mean of him, but he was in no mood to talk to Serena. Besides, they’d said all they had to say when they broke up, eighteen months previously.
Well, he had—apparently Serena kept finding new topics of conversation that required his attention.
“Jake! Hold up!”
Damn it. He slowed down to a crawl and waited for her to catch up. “What can I do for you, Serena? I’m just on my way to my dad’s.”
Serena clucked sympathetically. “How is he? We don’t see much of him in the village these days.” She came to a halt, which of course meant he had to do the same.
There was no way he was about to discuss his dad’s health with one of the village’s greatest gossips. That had been one of the wedges to split them apart: he’d discovered Serena had a sharp tongue, not something immediately apparent when they’d first started dating. Jake was never one to talk nastily about people behind their backs, but Serena could—and did, until he couldn’t take any more.
“He’s doing okay.” Jake left it at that. The wind picked up, and he cast a longing glance at his truck, his refuge from both the winter and Serena Marwood. “Was it something urgent that you wanted to talk about?”
Serena blinked. “Urgent? Oh. Oh, yes. I was just wondering if you’d heard the news about Jane Phelps’s house. I know you were fond of her.” Serena’s lips tightened ever so slightly.
“News? What news?”
Serena moved closer, maybe to escape the bitter wind, but Jake couldn’t be sure. “It seems Jane’s son won’t be contesting the will after all.”
“Really?” Well, that closed off one avenue. Jake would be left to deal with Emily.
“Not only that. Jane’s niece—Emily Darrow, I think—has decided that not only is she not going to sell the house, she’s going to do it up and make it into some fancy bed and breakfast.”
A B&B? Where did that come from? “How do you know all this?”
“She and Frances Doherty were in my tea shop, and they were discussing Emily’s plans.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t say I approve.”
Jake couldn’t hold back his smirk. “Why? Can’t you handle the thought of a little competition? You can’t expect to have the monopoly forever.” Then a thought occurred to him. “You eavesdropped on their conversation?” Further proof—not that he needed any—that Serena was not a nice woman.
“It wasn’t deliberate.” Serena set her jaw and looked him in the eye. “I was coming into the shop and I… happened to hear, that’s all.” Her eyes grew flinty. “Well, if that’s her plan, that’ll mean a change of use for the house, and she’ll have to bring it before the church council for approval.” Then Serena’s face relaxed. “Which she might not find so easy to achieve.”
Jake stilled. “You’re not saying you’d steer the council to disapproving the plans, are you? Just because it would mean direct competition for your business? You surely wouldn’t reject a proposal that would mean more visitors to the village—more money to the village—just because it treads on your toes? Because that would be petty, and certainly not something I’d expect from a God-fearing member of the church, a stalwart of the council, a pillar of the community.” Jake knew he was laying it on a bit thick, but he wanted to make Serena see how low-minded she was being.
Serena gulped. “Of course I wouldn’t do that.”
“Glad to hear it. I knew I’d misunderstood somewhere along the line.” Right then all he wanted to do was get away from her. “Well, I’d best be off to Dad’s. If I don’t see you, have a quiet Christmas.”
She gave a quick nod. “You too, Jake. Give my best wishes to your father.” Serena bustled off along the street, her shoulders hunched over, her head into the wind.
Jake shook his head. He hoped to God Serena didn’t oppose Emily’s plans. The knowledge had him torn. On the one hand, he was pleased to hear Jane’s dream was being pursued. They’d spoken of it a couple of times, and if Emily was trying to bring it about, then maybe he had her all wrong.
On the other hand, however, such plans made it less likely that she’d be open to selling off part of the land, especially if it meant increased traffic past the house.
What do I do now?
A phrase came to mind, one whose origin he was unsure of, but it fitted his situation perfectly.
You can either be pulled by your dreams, or pushed by your circumstances.
Right then, Jake was unsure which was the greater force.
Chapter Twelve
Emily sat by the fireplace in the drawing room, staring into the flames, her arms around her knees. Log fir
es always reminded her of Jane’s house, not that there had ever been much call for one during the summers she’d spent there. But memories lingered of a brisk, cold Easter, when the south of England had been caught in an unexpected fall of thick snow. Judging by the news on TV, the region appeared to have ground to a halt, with schools closed and motorways impassable. All of that had seemed very far away from the warm farmhouse.
“We do have perfectly good sofas,” her mother remarked dryly as she entered the room. “Why you feel the need to sit on the rug is beyond me.”
Emily cast a glance at the stiff, unyielding leather sofa with its many buttons and firm seat cushions. It was elegant, because God forbid there be anything in the house that wasn’t, but it didn’t invite one to curl up on it. “More room for you if I sit down here.” She picked up her glass of tawny port and sipped from it, appreciating its warmth as it spread through her.
Her mother sat delicately, a sherry glass in her hand. “Dinner will be served at seven.” She wrinkled her nose. “Darling, one drinks port after dinner, generally?”
Emily smiled and raised her glass. “That’s me. Ever one to fly in the face of convention.”
Her mother lifted her head, her concentration suddenly more intense. “Where is everyone?” She smiled. “Not that I am complaining. The children provided all the noise one could possibly need this morning.”
Emily laughed. “Mother, it’s Christmas Day. Were you never excited Christmas morning when you were a child?”
Her mother opened her eyes a little wider. “Of course, but that didn’t mean I ran around the house, screaming like a banshee. Your grandfather would never have allowed such behavior.”
“Grandma Rachel wasn’t so… cold, was she?” Emily had no memory of her: Rachel had died when Emily had been four years old.
To Emily’s surprise, her mother relaxed her posture, her gaze alighting on the fire. “Your grandmother and Jane were very alike, you know. Both were strong, opinionated women, but with a great capacity to love.” Her expression softened as she regarded Emily. “I see a lot of Jane in you.”
Pulled by a Dream Page 10
