The Little Teashop of Lost and Found

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Cream background and dusky pink and green pattern,’ she said. ‘I got her to make it loose fitting, so it was easy on and off, and the white petticoat’s sewn in. Leg-o’-mutton sleeves.’

  ‘It sounds … perfect,’ I said weakly. ‘And Nell made it?’

  ‘Yes, she was a dressmaker back in the day, so she can alter it, too, if you like,’ she said. ‘I’ll send her round with it shortly.’

  ‘But surely you don’t want to lend out your lovely dress,’ I began. I mean, I was getting desperate but I didn’t think I was a sprigged muslin kind of person.

  ‘Why not? It’s only hanging in the wardrobe, neither use nor ornament. In fact, you can keep it. Perhaps you’ll be going to this grand do every year and get some use out of it.’

  I gave in. Where else was I going to get anything else in time? And when, only half an hour later, Nell brought it round and unzipped the plastic cover, I was glad I had, because it was beautiful. It was plain and unfussy, and she’d made it all in one piece, with a long, long row of hooks and eyes up the back of the bodice.

  Bel was there by then, intending to help me paint for an hour or two, so I told her about the invitation and we all went up to the flat so I could try the dress on without an interested audience – Jack and Ross were taking down the plate rack and china display shelves that ran right round the walls of the café, so the orange varnish could be sanded down and painted over.

  I got in the dress and Nell hooked me up, then nipped in the waist, her mouth bristling with dressmaking pins.

  ‘There,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll bring it back tomorrow all finished and there’s another inch or two to be got out of the hem – you’re a bit taller than our Tilda.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you,’ I said gratefully.

  ‘It’s nowt. I like to keep my hand in.’

  ‘You’ll be the belle of the ball,’ Bel said when she’d gone and we’d resumed the café painting. The walls were going to be buttermilk below the plate racks (when they were back in place) and white above, like the ceiling.

  ‘It’s not a ball, just a book launch,’ I pointed out.

  ‘It’ll be fun, though. I wish I was going with you!’

  ‘You could, if you dressed up as Heathcliff, because Senga told me to bring one with me,’ I joked. ‘Any man, in fact, though she’d prefer it to be a handsome one.’

  Bel looked at me. ‘I think I’d rather wait and go next year, in full crinoline, but you could ask Nile. I mean, you can’t say he isn’t handsome.’

  ‘There’s no way I’m asking Nile to go with me. He might think I was inviting him out on a date,’ I said firmly.

  Bel’s big blue eyes slanted a sideways look at me. ‘Would that be such a bad thing? It wouldn’t be the first time a girl had asked him out.’

  ‘Exactly! I’m not going to do anything to make him think I’ve added myself to the drooling throng of his admirers. Even the postwoman knocks at his door, so she can hand him his letters personally, instead of shoving them through the letter box,’ I said, and she giggled.

  ‘Oh, well, as they say, treat him mean and keep him keen.’

  ‘He’s just as mean back and neither of us is keen,’ I told her firmly.

  Bel must have told Sheila all about the book launch as soon as she got home, because she rang later.

  ‘The dress sounds lovely, darling – what fun! And I’ve been up in the attic and found you a warm paisley shawl to go over it, because you don’t want to freeze between the car and the restaurant.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ I said gratefully.

  ‘What about shoes?’

  ‘I’ve got some silver ballerina flats that will do.’

  ‘They sound perfect – and of course you must spend Friday night with us, so I can put your hair in rags to make proper ringlets for the party.’

  ‘It mostly is in ringlets already,’ I protested, but she insisted.

  Then she totally distracted me by adding, ‘Bel said your agent wants you to take Nile with you.’

  ‘Not Nile particularly, she just suggested I take a man, because there weren’t very many last time, but I’m sure dressing up and going to a book launch isn’t his idea of a good time.’

  ‘Well, it is now. I’ve just rung him and told him so. He needs to widen his horizons and get out more.’

  ‘He seems to be always out!’

  ‘Yes, but the wrong kind of out,’ she said obscurely. ‘He can wear a pair of Paul’s old riding breeches and black leather boots, so a loose white shirt open at the neck and perhaps a dark cloak and he’ll make a very dashing Heathcliff, don’t you think?’

  I thought he’d be more than a tad too elegant and handsome for Heathcliff. But he’d certainly meet the bill where Senga and the others were concerned, especially if, as I suspected, he’d been dragooned into it and would be in a deep and glowering sulk throughout the proceedings.

  I had no idea where Sheila was going to lay her hands on a cloak …

  When I checked my emails next morning, there were the edits Senga had told me to expect, with a covering letter from my editor, ten pages of notes and the manuscript itself attached, covered in coloured highlighting.

  It proved quite a challenge because although they were mostly little queries, there were a couple of suggested changes right near the start of the book that I could see would be like the chaos theory in action: a butterfly would flap its wings and then the whole damned plot would unravel faster than knitting.

  I emailed Senga urgently and got a terse reply telling me to do my best and she’d discuss the rest with me on Saturday. Which was all very well, but after waiting weeks for the edits to appear, the editor wanted them back by Monday.

  I suspected this was how it was always going to be now.

  Nile had returned from wherever he’d been, because later when I’d popped out to buy fish and chips, he accepted a parcel delivery for me and brought it over as soon as I got back. Maybe he could smell the chips from Small and Perfect?

  ‘It’s sample linen-look easy-care napkins, I think. Come up to the flat and I’ll share my fish and chips and make some coffee,’ I suggested, hoping to soften him up in case he was intending to complain about the book launch. ‘They give you huge portions.’

  ‘An offer I can’t resist,’ he said, following me up the stairs. ‘And I deserve it, seeing Sheila’s ordered me to take you to a fancy-dress party on Saturday,’ he added, but he seemed gloomily resigned to the event, rather than cross, which was a relief.

  I only hope he didn’t think I’d angled for him to take me.

  Father had already had a suite of rooms converted for himself on the ground floor, so once I had arranged for an efficient team of carers to come in from a good agency, he was entirely comfortable.

  I subscribed to Sky Sports, so he could watch golf to his heart’s content, and made sure those of his old cronies he was still on speaking terms with knew they were always welcome to visit for tea.

  Father also quickly became attached to my dog, Drogo, who provided an interest and diversion. He had never before shown any interest in pets, so this was a surprise to me.

  24

  Edited Out

  By Friday the café looked completely chaotic, with not only Jack and his assistant ripping things out, but an electrician gouging holes and channels in the plaster and a plumber consigning the cracked and chipped tiles, toilets and hand basins into the skip we’d managed to squeeze on to the parking area at the back, next to the cars. It was as if the place had been besieged by an army of large and destructive termites.

  There was a constant cloud of dust, and grit underfoot, and when Tilda came round, she threw up her hands at the state of it and cleaned my flat instead. But she said she was looking forward to the day when she could give downstairs a good going over again. I didn’t think I’d ever met anyone before who actually enjoyed cleaning.

  Even outside the café, things had begun to change, for the sign had been taken
away for repainting, the remains of the plant tubs removed and the rotten bits of the Victorian trellis-sided porch replaced.

  Aided off and on by Bel and Nile, I’d finished painting the café walls and woodwork, too – and all the horrible tables and chairs had been sold to Nile’s contact and removed in a box van. I only got twenty pounds for the lot, but it looked so much better without them.

  Apart from painting the tiny office, there wasn’t much more I could do until the professionals had finished their bit (although I was constantly called down for an opinion, information, or simply to admire some piece of work), so I retired to the flat to list all the things I wanted to ask Senga about next day … and then after that, by way of light relief, I wrote another scene of the new book.

  ‘What’s all this, then?’ said a commanding voice, and a man in dark blue livery stepped into the room. ‘Breaking and entering again, Kev?’

  ‘I never broke nothing, Officer,’ said Kev virtuously. ‘This lady invited me in – didn’t you, love?’

  ‘In a way,’ Beauty agreed, thrilled that already Prince Kev had called her his love.

  Then the man in blue said, sounding puzzled, ‘What beats me is why I didn’t ever notice this place before? It doesn’t seem right to me.’

  ‘It’s because it was enchanted, but something must have gone wrong with the spell, because I woke up before Kev kissed me,’ Beauty told him.

  ‘Am I dreaming this?’ The man frowned.

  ‘Not unless we’re both having the same dream,’ said Kev.

  ‘Right …’ said the man. Then his attention was caught by a sudden rattling noise from the next room and he added, suspiciously, ‘What’s through there, then?’

  He flung open the door even as Beauty and the mouse both yelled together: ‘Don’t go in there!’

  I got to Oldstone in time for dinner as Sheila had suggested, wishing I didn’t have to go to the book launch party next day. I could have done with a restful weekend.

  I certainly didn’t get a lot of rest that night, once Sheila and Geeta had tightly bound up my hair in long strips of cotton ripped from an old pillowcase, because the only way to describe how my head felt was knobbly.

  I was forbidden to remove the rags until after breakfast next day, too, so I was glad Nile wasn’t coming over until later in the morning.

  It was a huge relief when Bel and Sheila finally unwound them and then coaxed my hair into side ringlets, with more cascading at the back from a high topknot. Then they helped me into my dress, which was now a perfect fit.

  Sheila had found me a green velvet reticule to go with the outfit, as well as the shawl she’d mentioned, which was a huge and fringed affair made from fine paisley-patterned cashmere.

  ‘I feel a complete prat,’ I said ungratefully, when they’d finished and we’d adjourned to the kitchen.

  ‘But you look lovely,’ Teddy said, coming in in search of tea and cake. ‘Doesn’t she, Nile?’ he asked, and it was only then that I saw Nile had followed him in.

  I think my jaw probably dropped a mile: imagine Johnny Depp in pirate mode, channelling Heathcliff, add a bit of dark and brooding edge, and you’d get a fair idea of how he looked.

  ‘She certainly looks exactly like a Pre-Raphaelite muse,’ he said, one eyebrow going up even more piratically.

  ‘You’re very swashbuckling, darling,’ said Sheila admiringly.

  ‘Actually, I think these tight breeches have buckled my swash permanently,’ he said gloomily.

  ‘There’s lots of give in the fabric and they’re supposed to be snug,’ she assured him. ‘Now, don’t forget to put your cloak on, because the wind’s cold out there and that shirt is very thin.’

  ‘Where did she get the cloak from?’ I asked, as we went out to Nile’s car and the billowing folds of it threatened to envelop me like a heavy cloud.

  ‘A friend who runs an amateur theatrical group.’

  He was silent after that until we arrived at the venue. There were already two or three cars there, but they must have belonged to the family or staff, for there were no guests in the restaurant, which was a former barn in a courtyard, set at right angles to the closed Hikers’ Café.

  Inside, the dining area was a long space with a modern décor that still subtly fitted in with its rustic heritage. A middle-aged woman in an overall came through a swinging door with a stack of teaplates, put them down on the nearest table, and went out without a word or even glance at us. There was certainly no sign of Eleri or her Mr Rochester, though there was some interesting crashing and swearing coming from what I presumed to be the kitchen.

  ‘Are you sure you got the right time?’ asked Nile, just as I was starting to ask myself the same question. But then I spotted Senga, half- hidden by an antique wooden butter churn.

  ‘There’s my agent over there,’ I whispered, as she waved what looked suspiciously like a gin and tonic at me, though at that time of day it was probably just lemonade. I’d have recognized her instantly anywhere, even though the afternoon tea had been years ago.

  The recognition wasn’t entirely mutual, for she got up and looked me over with piercing, light blue eyes. ‘Alice?’ she queried doubtfully, then answered herself: ‘Yes – it has to be, because I remember your hair – we must get some publicity shots of you like that, you look maaarvellous!’ She kissed me on both cheeks.

  ‘But I don’t usually wear my hair in ringlets …’ I began, then noticed that I’d lost her attention: her eyes were on Nile and had widened appreciatively. She smiled, revealing a lot of teeth like a crocodile about to snap him up.

  ‘And who is this hunk?’ she said. ‘Heathcliff, I presume?’

  ‘Nile Giddings, a friend,’ I said, with some emphasis. ‘We both had to find costumes at short notice, so I’m not sure who we’re meant to be.’

  ‘Whoever it is, you look wonderful,’ she said, and then you could see her business mind flip over. ‘Do sit down, Alice. We need to talk before everyone else arrives.’

  ‘I’ll go for a walk and leave you to it,’ suggested Nile.

  ‘No – stay if you want to, because I don’t mind you being here,’ I said. ‘It’s too cold to go walking in that thin shirt.’

  He’d discarded the cloak the moment we got in, presumably because it kept getting wrapped around things, like flypaper.

  ‘There we are then, sit down,’ said Senga, and then, shifting her focus, grilled me at length about the next novel, so it was just as well I’d finally got my ideas together.

  ‘That sounds fine,’ she said eventually. ‘It needs to be exactly like the first backlist book they’re republishing, only totally different. Crack on and get it finished.’

  ‘I’ve been a bit distracted, because I’m opening a teashop soon and it’s being renovated.’

  ‘You haven’t got time to be distracted. Delegate, dear, delegate!’

  ‘I am, as much as I can,’ I assured her.

  ‘Yes, I’ve done more painting than she has,’ Nile broke his silence to remark, and I shot him a quelling look.

  ‘Can I ask you about those edits?’ I said to her. ‘I’ve done my best with them, but there are just a couple of things …’

  I’d jotted down the two awkward ones, including the chaos theory one, which she told me to tweak slightly and then leave.

  ‘And ignore the other one entirely, because you can’t possibly change the sex of one of the main characters. It would totally throw out the motivation in the whole book,’ she said, demonstrating that she’d actually read it. I was writing such different material from Eleri and her other authors that I’d been surprised when she took me on.

  ‘Won’t my editor mind?’ I asked.

  ‘Not if she’s got any sense: I’ll back you if they query it again.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ I said gratefully. ‘They want it back on Monday and there was no way I could rewrite the whole novel by then, even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. I mean, it’s already been published as an e-book and no one
had any problem with that aspect of it.’

  ‘Quite,’ she said, and then, business obviously completed, turned her attention back to Nile. She flirted with him outrageously until Eleri came out of the kitchens looking flushed, pretty and extremely pregnant, in a long, flowing, high-waisted dress.

  ‘Alice, how wonderful to see you again!’ she said, coming over and kissing me, as Senga had. I remembered all this kissing from London – they’re all at it down there.

  ‘I’m so pleased you’ve got a publishing contract and are with Senga,’ she said, which was generous of her. I mean, last time we’d met I’d merely attended the tea as her adoring fan, so my suddenly popping back up in author mode had probably been quite a surprise.

  ‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ I said. ‘But congratulations on your new book … and I see I should congratulate you on your future new arrival, too.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve a first edition on its way,’ she said, and Senga, predictably, remarked that she hoped she’d finish her new book before its arrival. She was clearly a slave driver.

  Eleri called Henry, her husband, out to meet us – and he cut a dark and romantic figure in riding clothes similar to Nile’s outfit and with much the same gloomy expression. He was thicker-set than Nile and rugged rather than handsome.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, shaking hands and allowing a brief and very attractive smile to make an appearance.

  He shook hands with Nile, too, and the two of them seemed to recognize in each other kindred spirits. ‘See they’ve got you to wear fancy dress, as well,’ Henry said.

  ‘I can’t wait to get out of it,’ Nile agreed, and Senga looked as if she’d like to help him … or even both of them.

  There was the faint sound of car doors slamming, footsteps scrunching on the gravel and excited voices.

  ‘Here come the guests,’ Eleri said.

  ‘You go and sit down, darling, ready to sign books,’ her husband suggested. ‘I’ll welcome them in and then give Martha a hand to bring out the refreshments.’

  Eleri obeyed orders, heading for a table laden with copies of her new book – I think she was glad to sit down. But before she went, she invited me to come and have tea with her one day before the baby arrived.