Signed – Alexander W Copeland. (Executor) Hillside, Blackberry Way, Pentrillick, Cornwall.
Virginia G Copeland. (Executor) Hillside, Blackberry Way, Pentrillick, Cornwall.
“So our next door neighbours are the executors!” Lottie exclaimed, after the sisters had read the article, “Fancy that.”
Hetty looked puzzled. “Are they?” Her expression changed as the penny dropped. “Oh, yes of course, I didn’t look at the addresses. Alexander and Virginia will be Alex and Ginny. Well, I never. I suppose they knew Joe because their antiques shop is only a few doors away from the Old Bakehouse.”
“And now you come to mention it, I’ve heard a dog barking next door, so Alex and Ginny must be looking after Joe’s dog for the time being.” Lottie was surprised she had not realised this before.
“Anyway, it’s exciting,” chuckled Hetty, rubbing her hands together, “because we might be able to wheedle some information out of them. We know how much the Old Bakehouse is selling for but not how much Joe had in the bank. I mean, he could well have accrued quite a substantial amount over the years.”
Lottie tutted. “Don’t be daft, Het. They’ll not tell you anything. Alex is as straight as the day is long.”
As details of the announcement sank in a small number of Pentrillick’s residents began to question their parentage and to look in mirrors hopeful of seeing a resemblance between their own images and those of the late Joseph Percival Williams whose photograph accompanied the announcement in the Pentrillick Gazette.
“We could well be inundated with people when word of the advertisement gets more widespread,” said Hetty, as she sat down in the Crown and Anchor one Tuesday evening after bingo. “I see there are quite a few unfamiliar faces in here already tonight.”
“I was thinking along the same lines,” Debbie removed her coat and placed it behind her back, “Can’t blame folks for trying though. Not when there’s a few bob a stake.”
Lottie handed out the drinks and opened a packet of crisps which she placed in the centre of the table to share with her sister and Debbie. “Anyway, it’s nice to know Norman will get something.”
“Probably the whole lot even,” reasoned Hetty, “and it’d be well deserved if he did.”
“Do you think we ought to try and let him know so that he can apply?” Lottie asked.
Hetty shook he head. “No, he was in touch with the solicitors when he was down here so they already know about him.”
“Of course. Silly me.”
“They probably even told him about the forthcoming advert but asked him not to tell anyone,” suggested Debbie.
“It’s a pity they invented this DNA thing,” grumbled Hetty, “because if they hadn’t we could have interrogated the claimants ourselves to see if we thought their cases were legitimate.”
Lottie laughed. “I don’t think we’d qualify for that job, Het. It’d have to be done by a legal team whether DNA was available or not. And if we did partake in the investigations it’s unlikely we’d be able to wheedle out the truth especially as we’ve only known the village for a couple of years and so don’t have much knowledge of folks from back-along.”
Debbie giggled. “You’re right, Lottie. In fact none of us at this table even knew old Joe or anything about him until a week or so ago.”
“Still be nice to try,” sighed Hetty, dreamily, “and it’d be interesting to have something to do as we approach the dark days of winter.”
“Well, why don’t we have a go?” Debbie asked, “There’s nothing to stop us grilling the applicants subtly even if our investigations wouldn’t be any help to the authorities.”
“But how can you grill someone subtly?” Lottie chuckled, “They’d soon smell a rat. Besides how would we know who to grill? I mean, they’re hardly likely to wear badges telling of their applications.”
Hetty waved her hand towards the bar. “That shouldn’t be a problem with Tess working here. She’ll be able to point us in the direction of any likely candidates and we’ll soon get them chatting, especially if any are women.”
“That’s if they come to Pentrillick in the first place,” reasoned Debbie, “it might be that most will get no nearer than the solicitor’s office in Penzance.”
“They’re bound to come here,” insisted Hetty, “because they’ll want to see where it all began and peer in the windows of the Old Bakehouse. Not that they’ll see much with the old net curtains blocking the view.”
A week later there was much excitement in Pentrillick for, the previous day, Tess Dobson who worked part-time as a barmaid at the Crown and Anchor, let it be known to all and sundry that a television crew from the South West were to visit the village on Wednesday to film a report about Joe Williams’ will and then afterwards they were to have lunch in the pub and had booked tables in advance.
“I wonder what time they’re filming,” gushed Hetty, when Kitty called round to tell them the news which she had just learned while in the post office.
“It’s got to be in the morning,” reasoned Lottie, “If they’re having lunch in the pub afterwards.”
“Good thinking. We’ll have to get up bright and early on Wednesday then because we don’t want to miss anything and I’ll need time to plan what to wear?”
“What to wear!” Lottie laughed, “They’re not going to be filming you, you muppet.”
“No, but I might just happen to be in the background somewhere and I should hate to look a mess.”
The main street in Pentrillick was far busier than usual on Wednesday morning and more reminiscent of a sunny day at the height of the holiday season than that of a drab day in October. People wearing their Sunday best tried to look natural as they peered in shop windows, stood outside the church on pretence of reading the notice board and chatted in groups as though having bumped into each other by chance. Meanwhile, many who lived along the street decided it was the perfect day to clean their windows despite the grey clouds looming with the threat of rain; others swept up leaves from their front garden paths and some even washed their cars.
Hetty, Lottie, Debbie and Kitty were amongst the villagers. Their chosen spot was outside the hairdressers where they planned to speak in loud stage whispers about going inside to make hair appointments. The reason for their choice being that it was of course next door to the Old Bakehouse which was sure to feature in the television report.
The television crew arrived in due course and while discussing where the presenter should stand and so forth, Hetty, Lottie, Debbie and Kitty having performed their rehearsed conversation slipped into the hairdressers and watched from the window as the presenter’s make-up was touched up and everything was put in place. Peering into the street beside them stood hairdressers, Karen and Nicki, along with two customers quite happy to leave the chairs where their hair was being styled in order to look outside and join in the excitement.
“You ought to go out there, Lottie,” urged Kitty, “You could tell them it’s your son who is buying the Old Bakehouse. It might interest them,”
The colour rose in Lottie’s cheeks. “No way am I doing that. I’d die of embarrassment.”
“It’s a good idea though,” Hetty agreed, “I think you should do it.”
“Yes, go on, Lottie,” urged Debbie, “then we can watch you on tonight’s news.”
“No,” Lottie was emphatic.
“Coward,” tutted Hetty.
“You go then, Het,” said Karen, “after all Bill is your nephew and you know as much about the place as Lottie.”
“Oh…yes, I suppose he is but…”
“You suppose,” blurted Debbie, “of course he’s your nephew.”
“Yes, but…”
“Now who’s a coward?” mocked Lottie.
“Coward!” Hetty stood up straight. “Are you calling me a coward?”
“Yes,” the ladies all replied.
“Okay, in which case I’ll do it.”
And to the amazement of the others, Hetty left the salon
head held high and casually approached the television crew. In her best telephone voice she told them that it was her nephew, Bill, who was in the throes of purchasing the Old Bakehouse and how hairdressers, Karen and Nicki had discovered Joe’s body. As she spoke a few spots of rain fell from the heavens.
“Quick get a few shots of the Old Bakehouse,” commanded the woman who appeared to be in charge, “and we’ll film the rest in the hairdressers. That’s if they’ll let us.”
And so that evening when the broadcast went out, viewers saw a brief glimpse of the Old Bakehouse exterior; the rest was filmed inside the hairdressing salon, where Hetty and Lottie as instructed by the film crew, pretended to be at the desk booking hair appointments where they told of their family connection with the adjacent building. The next interview was with Karen and Nicki who continued to style the hair of the real customers as they told how they found Joe through his dog. Meanwhile, Kitty sat beside the wash basins in pretence of waiting to have her hair washed and Debbie, with hurriedly put in curlers bulging beneath a hairnet, sat under a buzzing hair dryer and turned the pages of a glossy magazine.
Chapter Five
With time on their hands while they patiently waited for the sale of the Old Bakehouse to be concluded, Hetty and Lottie decided to visit Norman’s Aunt Alice in Porthleven keen to learn anything they could about the last occupants of the property, because until Bill and Sandra had the keys there was no chance of them having a look round the old building and conjuring up a picture of its past for themselves.
They found the elderly lady alone in her cottage; like her nephew Norman, she was tall but in contrast she was lean. The sisters introduced themselves and briefly explained how they had recently met her nephew, Norman in the Crown and Anchor.
“Yes, yes, I remember he did mention you and said that you might call. Please come in.” She stepped back for them to enter her home. “Now tell me, have I got this right? You are the ladies related to the people purchasing the Old Bakehouse in Pentrillick?”
“That’s right,” Lottie confirmed, as she wiped her feet on the door mat, “It’s my son Bill and his wife Sandra who are buying it.”
“Any children?” Alice asked.
“Three. Zac who is eighteen and twin girls, Kate and Vicki who are sixteen.”
“Oh good, it’ll be lovely for the house to have youngsters there. It’s been a long time since there were any.” Alice closed the front door and then looked at the sisters more closely. “Are you the pair that were on the local news the other day in the hairdressers?”
Hetty beamed, “Yes.”
Lottie looked embarrassed.
“Well I never. Not often I get celebrities come and visit.”
Lottie winced. “Are you feeling better now?” she asked, as they followed Alice into her cosy sitting room where a log fire crackled in the hearth.
“Yes, thank you, dear but I’m still a bit croaky. I hate coughs they’re such an inconvenience and I really would have liked to have attended Joe’s funeral for old time’s sake. Please take a seat.” The sisters sat down on the sofa.
“It was a lovely service and the turnout was impressive too.” Lottie pulled out an order of service card from her handbag and showed it to Alice who took it as she sat down in the chair nearest the fire.
“Can you leave this for a while and then I can put my specs on and look at it at my leisure.”
“You can keep it. Hetty has one so we don’t need both and to be fair we didn’t even know Joe and only went to the funeral because of the bakehouse connection.”
“I see, thank you,” Alice propped the card behind a framed photograph of a handsome young man. “I wonder what happened to Joe’s possessions.”
“At the moment they’re all still in the house,” Lottie disclosed, “You see, to save the expense of the solicitors finding someone to clear it out, Bill said to leave it all and he and Sandra will do it instead.”
“They’ll have plenty of time,” Hetty added, “because they’ll stay with us for a while until the place is modernised, decorated and so forth.”
“Well in that case if your family find any old photos amongst his things please ask them not to throw them away because I’m sure Norman would like to see them.”
Feeling warm, Hetty unbuttoned her jacket. “Don’t worry we’ve already discussed that so all personal and knick-knacky things will be put aside for him to go through.”
Alice glanced up at a cuckoo clock on the wall above the fireplace, “Would you like a cup of coffee? I see it’s nearly eleven and I usually have a cup then.”
“That would be very nice but we don’t want to put you to any trouble,” said Lottie.
“It’s no trouble but perhaps you’d come with me to the kitchen and help me carry it through. Save loading up a tray.”
“Of course.”
While in the kitchen they heard the cuckoo signal it was eleven o’clock. Hetty looked disappointed. “Bad timing there, I should like to have seen the cuckoo in action.”
Alice laughed. “Don’t worry, he’ll put in an appearance again at half past eleven, albeit just the once.”
When the coffee was made and they were back seated around the fire Alice asked, “Have you been inside the Old Bakehouse yet?”
Lottie shook her head. “No, but my son and his wife have of course and they love it. We’re told it has huge potential and a lovely olde worlde feel.”
“And a whopping great inglenook fireplace in the sitting room apparently,” Hetty added.
“Well I suppose it would have an olde worlde feel,” smiled Alice, “because it must be one of the oldest buildings in the village.”
“Yes, someone did say that to us,” Hetty recalled.
“And I assume you remember the days when bread was baked there,” said Lottie.
“Oh yes, of course. I remember when Joe had two new electric ovens installed as well. They were his pride and joy and made life so much easier. The old stone oven was lovely but it wasn’t so easy to control the temperature as it is with the flick of a switch.”
“Sandra, my daughter-in-law, said something about exposing the old oven to make it a feature because they intend to convert the baking room into a kitchen.”
Alice put her head to one side as she tried to visualise the old oven. “If I remember correctly the stonework was quite attractive but I’m not sure it’d be my idea of a nice feature. To be honest I prefer to see stonework on the outside of a house and like interior walls to be smooth and washable, especially in the kitchen but then different generations like different things and quite rightly too.”
Lottie smiled. “And if I’m honest I’d have to agree with you, Alice.”
Hetty was non-committal.
“So would you like to hear a little of the Old Bakehouse’s history?”
“Yes please,” replied the sisters in unison.
“And the people who lived there,” Hetty added. “We’re intrigued to know what they were like.”
“Well, I can’t tell you a great deal because after Eve left I’m sure I never went there again. I was married soon after, you see, and my late husband and I moved here to Porthleven so there was no need to go to Pentrillick and Joe had closed the bakery anyway. This is my husband by the way.” She pointed to the photograph behind which she had placed the Order of Service sheet. “Taken many years ago I might add.”
“He was very handsome,” said Lottie. Hetty nodded to agree.
“Yes, and he was still handsome when in the autumn of his years. Bless him.”
“So when exactly did Eve leave?” Hetty asked, “We believe it was when Norman was two years old.”
“That’s right he was. Now let me think. If he was two it would’ve been 1958. Yes, definitely 1958 and it was in January I believe. Yes, yes of course it was January because it was a few days after my eighteenth birthday. Not that I came of age then like they do now. Back then you had to wait until you were twenty one to get the key of the door.”
“Ah, yes,” chuckled Hetty, “the law changed in 1970 and as Lottie and I were born in 1952 we were some of the first to benefit from the change, if there were any benefits other than being able to marry without parents’ consent and being able to vote.”
“Well to be able to marry without parents’ consent is a blessing as far as I’m concerned. I was eighteen, you see, when I got wed which meant I had to ask my parents’ permission. Mum was fine about it but Dad wasn’t…miserable so-and-so. I got my way in the end though.”
“You must have missed your sister when she went,” sympathised Lottie, “especially with her having gone up-county. I can’t imagine being separated from Het by more than a few miles.”
“Yes, I did miss her for a while but at the same time I was angry with her. I considered Joe to be a good man, you see. Admittedly, he was a bit of a flirt but I thought it very wrong of Eve to have taken Norman away from his father. And as regards missing her, I had plenty to occupy my time with a new husband, a new house and so forth.”
“So, when did you last see her?”
Alice hung her head. “I’m ashamed to say it was sixty years ago and the day before she left. After she went she wrote to me saying where she was but asked me not to tell Joe or his elderly parents. And so I never saw her again. We kept in touch by post but our letters were very few and far between. Just birthdays and Christmas I suppose.”
Hetty cast a quizzical glance in Alice’s direction. “If you saw Eve the day before she left surely she must behaved differently or said something which might have given you a clue as to her imminent departure?”
“No, there was no indication whatsoever. She behaved like she always did which in retrospect I’ve always considered to be a little odd.”
Hetty tutted. “How strange, it must have been a great shock to you then when Norman called here.”
A huge smile crept across Alice’s face and then she laughed. “It was and at first I thought I was seeing a ghost. He looks so much like Joe, you see. Older of course than the young baker I remember but his face has the same expression and his blue eyes, well, they’re one and the same.”
The Old Bakehouse Page 4
