“It’s fine. Really.” Mia moved to the fireplace so she didn’t have to watch him watching her anymore. “So, Magda says you’re planning on selling this place?”
Charlie didn’t answer. Mia didn’t dwell too long on what that might mean. Instead, she kept talking, feeling the words bubble out of her like she had no control over them at all. “We used to come up here all the time when we were kids, you know? I always dreamt about owning this cottage one day. I was going to paint it white and blue with tiny wooden boats along the mantelpiece.” She ran her hand along the wall where a mantelpiece had once stood. “And I was going to spend my days lounging in the windowseat, reading and watching the waves outside.”
With a self-conscious smile, she turned to Charlie, only to find him still staring at her. “Anyway,” she went on, “I just wanted to stop by and say, don’t worry about last night, everything’s fine. And to set up a new time to talk about fundraising.”
Charlie dropped his measuring tape onto the sunken wood of the windowseat. “Do you want to do it now?”
“No, no.” Mia took a step back toward the door. “Actually, I’ve got some fliers to photocopy and hand out, so I’m off to the library.” She pulled the draft flier she’d drawn in the early hours of the morning out of her bag and waved it around, hoping he wouldn’t look at it too closely. She was definitely going to have to redo it before she made copies. She thought she might even have spelled festival wrong at one point. “I mean, they’re only for the locals, until we get a new name and a few more things sorted. More a call for help than anything else, really. But I’d better...”
Mia stepped backward again, almost to the front door now, wondering why she’d even come. For God’s sake, if a hand on her thigh could make her so insensible, heaven help them both if he ever kissed her.
Except he wouldn’t, Mia thought glumly, escaping down the cliff path and leaving Charlie confused in the cottage behind her. Because he was doing up Becky’s dream cottage, and he wasn’t planning on selling it. Which meant... Mia shook her head. She didn’t want to think about what that meant.
* * * *
After a long, frustrating and confusing day, Mia wasn’t particularly pleased to see Magda arrive at the A to Z shop just as she was closing up for the night. Then Magda held up a bottle of white wine, and Mia decided maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
“What can I do for you?” Mia asked, taking the wine from her hands.
“Provide glasses?” Magda replied, and shut the door behind her.
Mia laughed. “You’re a lot easier to please than most of the people I’ve spoken to today.” She led Magda through to the shop’s back room and pulled out the cloudy old wineglasses she suspected Ditsy might have stolen from the Crooked Fox a decade or two ago.
“Do this often?” Magda asked, watching Mia root around in the drawer for the corkscrew.
“Usually only when we’ve finished going over the books,” Mia said. “The numbers tend to get a bit swimmy if we start any earlier.”
“Very sensible.” Magda took the offered corkscrew and set about opening the bottle while Mia slumped into the chair opposite her at the table. “So, what was so terrible about your day?”
Mia swallowed down a groan. “I’ve been trying to get people on board for the Fish Festival. Starting with the shopkeepers.”
Magda gave her a sympathetic wince, and a full glass of wine. “Not keen?”
“I think Becky and Tony got to them first.” Mia sipped at her wine. It was the same stuff she’d been drinking with Charlie the night before. She put the glass down. “They all seem to think a casino will bring them more business.”
“Could be true,” Magda said, pushing the cork into the bottle neck. “But then, I wouldn’t have thought the people who come for the casino are the same sorts of people who’ll buy buckets and spades and novelty tea towels.”
“Well, Tony’s got them convinced they’ll buy something.” Mia sighed. “Of course, if it wasn’t me trying to talk them round...”
“They’d probably be just as difficult,” Magda said firmly. “This is their livelihoods at stake.”
“I suppose.” Mia picked up her glass again and just stared at it. “So, not that this isn’t lovely, but did you just come round here to drink wine?”
“Not entirely,” Magda admitted. She gave Mia a sharp look. “I would have suggested we do this at StarFish, but Charlie gets a guilty look every time I mention your name today.”
Mia decided not to answer the implied question there. “Do what, exactly?”
Magda pulled a notebook from her bag. “I’ve had some thoughts about the festival. I think we need a theme.”
“A theme?” Mia decided to drink the damn wine. “What sort of a theme?”
“Well, I was thinking, since the proceeds are going toward saving the cinema, it should be a film theme. Did you know the beach here was used as a set for a movie in 1949?”
Mia nodded. “Smuggler’s Rest. It was one of my dad’s favorites.” Her mind flashed briefly to the two letters sitting on the P shelf. “He loved anything to do with smugglers or A to Z Jones.”
“Maybe we could get a copy,” Magda suggested. “Walt could play it on a loop at the cinema on the day of the festival.”
“That’s...a great idea.” Mia reached for her own festival planning file, tucked away on the shelf. “What else?”
One hour and a bottle of wine later, they had two pages of ideas for the film theme, ranging from the truly excellent to the truly mediocre. Mia decided she’d figure out which was which when she’d had a little less to drink.
She sighed. “Of course, none of this is any good at all if we don’t get the town on board to help.”
Magda tipped the dregs of the wine into Mia’s glass. “A problem for tomorrow.”
“Actually, if you’ve got another bottle, I might have an answer to that too.” Ditsy stepped into the back room, her camel coat hanging over her shoulders. “I saw the light on in the shop,” she explained, and as she moved over to the table, Mia saw Jacques standing behind her.
Mia moved out of her chair to let her boss sit down. Jacques could find his own seat. “I think I’ve got another bottle in the fridge upstairs.”
Five minutes later, when the four of them were sat around the table with full wineglasses in front of them, Mia said, “So, Dits. What’s the great idea?”
Ditsy took in a deep breath. “Now, you’re not going to like this. But bear with me.”
It wasn’t the world’s greatest start, but Mia listened anyway.
Pulling a well-thumbed pack of index cards from her handbag, Ditsy said, “The trick to survival in this town is knowing more about other people than they know about you.”
She unwrapped the elastic band holding the cards together, and an awful sense of foreboding flooded through Mia.
“Between us, Jacques and I know more about the people of this town than they know about themselves. These cards hold everything we know. Every affair, every cheat, every lie, everything about everyone. You take that information, use it carefully, and I guarantee you’ll get anyone you need on board.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Except the vicar. I’m still working on him.”
“You want us to use gossip and secrets to make people help us?” Mia shuddered, remembering all the times people had thrown her own past in her face. Ditsy was right. She didn’t like it.
Beside her, Magda raised a hand. “Just to be clear…isn’t that blackmail?”
Ditsy’s face twisted. “Well, we’re not asking them for money, so…”
“That doesn’t make it all right,” Mia said. “Ditsy, we can’t do this.”
Across the table, Ditsy gave her a steady look, then pushed the cards towards her. “Just take them. In case.”
Mia stared at the cards for a long moment. Could she do it, if she needed to? To save Aberarian?
“I don’t want to do this,” she said. But she took the cards anyway.
/> * * * *
The Coliseum lights were on when Mia stopped by Wednesday evening, which she took as a good sign. Perhaps Walt was rallying, after all. She skipped up the steps into the foyer and paused at the unfamiliar sight of Susan Hamilton standing behind the box office, wearing a red and white striped apron.
“I don’t know how Walt does this all day,” Susan said, leaning against the counter. “You’re the first person I’ve seen since Jacques dropped off the mail at two.”
Mia shrugged. “He loves it here.”
“He used to.” Susan sighed and offered Mia a bucket of popcorn. “Shame to see it go to waste.”
“Is he here?” Mia asked. “I wanted to update him on the festival plans. Well, you too, I suppose,” she added, belatedly remembering that, as a committee member, Susan probably had more right to the update than her husband.
“He’s up in the projection room, I think.” Susan stepped out from behind the counter. “I can barely get him out of there, these days.”
Walt’s projection room was a tangle of old-fashioned reels and loose film strips, tossed haphazardly across dented metal tables and surrounded by the toothy grins of Hollywood stars through the ages. Mia paused under Cary Grant and took in the sad sight of Walt trying to splice two pieces of film together in the half-darkness.
“Walt?” Susan said. He didn’t look up. “Mia’s here to see you.”
Not a flicker of acknowledgement. Mia looked to Susan for guidance, but the other woman just shrugged.
Stepping forward, Mia said, “I just wanted to let you know about the new festival name, Walt.” She paused, just in case, but Walt’s attention was solely focused on the film in front of him. “We’ve decided to call it the Aberarian Fish and Film festival. We were hoping you might be able to set up some entertainment for the festival goers here at the Coliseum.”
“Isn’t that a lovely idea?” Susan’s voice was too chipper, like she was talking to a sulking child. Walt obviously wasn’t too offended, though, since he just kept ignoring them.
“Magda and I thought maybe we could show Smuggler’s Rest? So people could see what Aberarian might have looked like in the days of A to Z Jones,” Mia tried, hoping vintage movies might pique Walt’s interest. “We can have a weeklong film festival, if you liked, the week before. Get all the locals in.”
Walt gave a loud sigh, put down his film and his tweezers, and creaked his swivel chair ‘round to face them. “Look. It’s not like I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do, Mia, honest. But you have to see it’s pointless. So thank you, but please. You can stop now.” He turned to face his desk, leaving Mia staring at him in amazement.
Susan put a gentle hand on her arm, and Mia followed Walt’s wife down the stairs, toward to the box office.
“I didn’t realize he was so bad.” Mia reached for another handful of the popcorn. Comfort food.
Susan looked fierce. “Don’t you listen to him,” she said, clutching at the ticket machine. “God knows I’ve wished over the years that he loved me as much as he loves this place. But seeing him like this... No. We’re going to save this cinema for him. We’re going to save my husband.”
Mia nodded, fast, in case Susan decided to turn some of that determination on her. “Absolutely. Do you think you can find the film?”
“Smuggler’s Rest? For certain. He’s got about five copies in different formats.” Susan gave a sharp smile. “You tell me when you want it to play, and I will make it happen.”
Mia smiled back.
As she stepped out into the Aberarian afternoon, tub of popcorn tucked in the crook of her arm, Mia reflected that her job would be a lot easier if everyone in town had the determination of Susan Hamilton.
* * * *
Mia avoided StarFish, and by extension Charlie, until Friday, when the next committee meeting meant she had no choice except to go to the restaurant. Arriving just before ten, she was pleasantly surprised to see several of the tables in the window occupied–by people finishing up breakfast. Looked like Magda had been right again.
The tables were already set up for the committee, and Mrs. Hamilton and Enid were happily pouring coffee and picking at Danish pastries. Charlie was nowhere to be seen. Mia slipped into her chair at the head of the table and let Enid pour her coffee while she stared at the kitchen doors. And when they finally opened, half a croissant later, it was Magda who appeared through them, looking cross.
“I’m afraid Charlie won’t be able to join us today,” she said, taking her seat. “For once, we’re actually too busy. He’s given me the fundraising information.”
Which neatly ruined Mia’s main excuse for going and talking to him after the meeting. “Great. Well, then, I suppose we’d better get started.”
The meeting went smoothly. Mia and Magda filled the other women in on their theme ideas, and between them they whittled down the various suggestions to the really good ones, then split responsibility for them between themselves.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had much luck recruiting more help as yet,” Mia said, aware of the pointed look Magda was giving her from across the table.
“We think we’ve got some good potential recruits, though, don’t we,” Magda added.
Mia winced. “I’ve got a few more people to ask.”
“You’re sure they’ll say yes?” Enid had bent so far forward across the table, her nose was almost in the coffee pot. “Because, really, there’s so much work here for just the four of us.”
“Five of us,” Mia corrected. “When Charlie comes back.”
“We’re almost positive,” Magda said. “Don’t you worry. We’ll have all the help we need, once Mia starts talking to people.”
As the meeting wound up, Magda dragged Mia over to the counter. “So I guess we’re not telling the others about Ditsy’s idea?”
Mia winced. “Do you really think it would help? I mean...”
“Look,” Magda interrupted. “I know you don’t like it, but I don’t see we have any other options. You’re going to have to...”
“I know, I know.” Mia sighed. “Still, for the sake of plausible deniability, wouldn’t it be best if we were the only ones who knew? That way, no one can blame Enid or Susan if this all blows up in our faces.”
“It won’t,” Magda said, with what Mia thought was unearned confidence. “These things never really do. People hold their secrets too close.”
Magda returned to work, clearing the tables they’d used and setting them in their proper formation. Mia reached into her bag and surreptitiously pulled out the small stack of note cards Ditsy and Jacques had put together. They were already well-thumbed; Mia had been reading them obsessively since she got them. She just needed to decide what to do with them.
“Uh, Miss Page?” Mia spun round at the sound of the voice behind her, shoving the cards into her bag and catching her hand on a hole in the lining.
“Yes, Vicar?” she asked with her very brightest smile on.
Reverend Dafydd Davies, the welshest Welshman Mia had ever met, gave her a puzzled look as he stared at her hand, still caught in her bag. “I was just wondering... Do you need any further help with the festival planning?”
“Are you kidding?” Mia freed her hand at last. “We need all the help we can get.”
“Well, I may not have the time to assist myself,” Reverend Davies said with a sly smile. “But I’m sure many of my parishioners could use a more worthy way to fill their free hours. If you wanted to perhaps add a notice to the service on Sunday, my sermon just happens to be on volunteering and helping the community.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “I do not think a casino is what God has planned for this town.” He pulled back again and studied her. When he spoke again, he sounded surprised. “You may be.”
“That would be...fantastic,” Mia said, stunned. “I’ll write something for you and get it to you later today?”
The vicar nodded. “Fine, fine. And I’ll ask my wife to make her lovely lemon cake to go w
ith the teas and coffees after the service. Everyone always stays on for that.” He smiled again. “Give you a chance to recruit in person.”
Watching him leave, hands deep in his trouser pockets, Mia reflected that if God was on her side, perhaps things weren’t quite as dire as they seemed. Especially if His support came with lemon cake.
Maybe she wouldn’t need to use Ditsy’s idea at all.
Chapter 10
Mia settled into her pew, reflecting that her best tea dress was getting more wear in a month than in the past year, and listened to the melodious rise and fall of Dafydd Davies’s voice. More importantly, she listened to the guilty shuffle of parishioners in their pews as the vicar spoke about doing unto others and walking by on the other side.
If she didn’t have volunteers after this, Mrs. Davies’s lemon cake didn’t stand a chance.
“The church is not this building,” Reverend Davies said. “It is not these pews or this pulpit or that stained glass. The church is its people. And the church is not constrained by these four walls. The church wanders as far as its people wander. The church is limitless in what it can achieve, because whatever the people of God achieve is in the church’s name. This week, I want you all to think about what you think the church should be doing in this community. And then I want you to remember that you are the church.”
There was silence as he stepped down from the pulpit. Mia hoped that in their ashamed averting of their eyes, no one else in the congregation noticed the way the vicar winked at her while announcing hymn 271.
“Do you think it will help?” he asked, shaking Mia’s hand after the service.
“If it doesn’t, I don’t know what will,” she said honestly. “Thank you.”
Reverend Davies grinned. “It was sort of fun, actually. Now, go get some lemon cake before it all goes.”
Loading up with tea and cake, Mia decided the best place to start was with the ladies who did the tea. “It’s funny,” she said, even though it wasn’t. “We’ve been discussing refreshment stalls for the festival this week in the committee.”
An A to Z of Love Page 10
