‘You can’t get on my bike looking like that,’ Jake said, opening up the visor of his helmet and looking at Gwyneth in amazement. Jake was wearing black leather jacket and trousers
‘What’s wrong with me?’ Gwyneth looked down at her neat black pencil skirt and pale pink spotted blouse, black patent handbag and stiletto shoes to match. The evening was warm and she considered her clothes very appropriate.
‘Well, for one thing you’ll freeze to death, especially coming home tonight, and for another, how are you going to cock on?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Gwyneth said indignantly.
‘Cock on the bike. You know, leg over.’ Jake patted the leather pillion seat behind him.
‘Leg over,’ Gwyneth said astounded, wondering what she had let herself in for.
‘You’ll split your skirt right up to your thigh if you try and get on wearing that thing.’ Jake pointed to her skirt. ‘Haven’t you got any trousers?’
‘Yes, but I wanted to look smart,’ Gwyneth replied.
‘Get with it, Gwyni! Jeans are the smart casual nowadays, and didn’t you say the barbeque has a country and western theme.’
‘I’m not wearing denim, and don’t call my Gwyni. I’ve got linen trousers, will they do?’ Gwyneth retorted.
‘Yes, I suppose so. Be quick though or we’ll miss all the food. Don’t forget, you’ll need a coat or a jacket,’ Jake called to Gwyneth’s retreating back.
Within minutes Gwyneth was back, having replaced her skirt with dark grey trousers. ‘Am I suitable for you now?’ she asked, feeling more than a little put out. Fancy being dictated to on the choice of clothes she wore by Jake of all people.
‘Fine. Here, put this on.’ Jake passed her an enormous purple crash helmet. ‘Now don’t forget, when we go around a corner lean with me. Don’t worry, we won’t topple over.’ Gwyneth scowled at the helmet but did as she was told and squashed it down over her bob, which she’d spent half an hour straightening. Then tottering on her high heels Gwyneth cocked on the bike behind Jake.
‘Okay, we’re off.’ Jake stuck a leather gloved hand in the air, thumb up.
‘Oh my G–’ Gwyneth held on tightly to Jake, trying to remember his advice. She knew she was meant to lean over when they cornered a bend but had completely forgotten which way. Jake kept patting her arm to reassure her and succeeded in making her even more nervous. ‘Keep your bloody hand on the handlebars,’ Gwyneth shouted above the engine noise. She saw Jake’s head shaking and knew he was laughing at her. Gwyneth thought she was doing marvellously, but hoped she wasn’t bandy by the time she arrived.
***
Excited at the prospect of some socialising Amelia and Grace began preparing for the event early. They both dressed in check shirts, Amelia’s a pale blue, Grace’s red, with denim jeans and tan-coloured cowboy boots. To add a touch of glamour they wore a little makeup and added costume jewellery to glitz up their outfits. Amelia intended to wear their Dad’s old Stetson over her thick curls and she tried it on for size. Grace tied a bright blue cotton scarf around her neck like a bandana.
‘Someone’s at the door,’ Grace called from the kitchen where she was busy polishing their boots.
‘Answer it then,’ Amelia shouted back from upstairs.
With one arm down the leg of a boot and a shoe brush in her other hand, Grace managed to open the back door. A small woman looking like a blackcurrant lollypop stood on the step.
‘Thank goodness we’re not too late. We were worried you had gone without us. Jake had to stop for petrol, wasting valuable time. As if he couldn’t have got some before we started off,’ Gwyneth explained hurriedly, giving Jake a withering look over her shoulder at the same time.
‘Gwyneth! Jake!’ Grace stood open-mouthed, looking from Gwyneth to Jake’s grinning face behind her. Gwyneth struggled to pull off the helmet then shoved it at Jake. He took it from her and held it under his arm, still grinning at Grace. Gwyneth’s usual immaculate smooth bob had flattened with perspiration, and instead of turning under it flicked up. ‘Oh my God, Gwyneth, I don’t believe it. You came on Jake’s motorbike.’ Grace literally pulled them both inside the house, hugging each one in turn. ‘This is such a lovely surprise, I’m so happy to see you both.’
Gwyneth looked confused. ‘Didn’t you know we were coming to the barbeque with you?’
Amelia descended the stairs and heard Gwyneth’s question. She intervened quickly. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would be able to make it. I never dreamt for a moment you would be so adventurous.’
‘Never again, don’t you worry,’ Gwyneth said shaking her head.
‘How are you going to get home then? Fly?’ Jake shouted from the conservatory.
‘Maybe she’ll feel different after a few drinks.’ Amelia glanced at her watch. ‘Anyway, we’d better be going before all the burgers are eaten.’
At the end of Marsh Lane they turned left and the walk to the pub took them about five minutes. The smell of burning charcoal and the delicious aroma from grilled steaks and chicken drifted into the bar. The lounge and bar were already crowded; people spilled out into the garden where there were white plastic tables and chairs, and they either sat or stood nursing their drinks. A soundless signal was given and everyone began to line up for food.
Amelia’s group took their place in the line and filled their plates. Jake made sure he was one of the first to be served and then commandeered a table for them all.
Outside the French doors which opened in to the lounge, a group of young people stood, each holding a paper plate brimming with food. Intermittently between taking swigs from bottles of beer or lager they bit into thick burgers or sausages. Pamela Carter, the girl Grace had met at the Centurion office, was in the group and Grace waved to her. Pamela waved back, smiling hello, and her friends turned their heads to see who to. A tall woman with flame-coloured hair said something and everyone in the group laughed. Apparently embarrassed, Pamela turned her back on Grace.
‘Nice friends you have.’ Jake glared at them.
‘They’re not friends,’ Grace said defensively. ‘The girl works in the Centurion newspaper office; I met her there.’
‘When was this, you never told me?’ Amelia said in surprise.
‘Who’s for another round of drinks?’ Grace said, to change the subject. ‘Same again is it?’
Jake went with her to the bar. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked Grace.
‘Oh! Nothing really, I just get a bit fed up sometimes. She treats me like a child, having to report what I do and where I go.’
It was on the tip of Jake’s tongue to tell her how lucky she was to have family who cared. Instead he placed his arm around Grace’s shoulders. ‘Don’t be too hard on Amelia. You’re all she’s got, remember.’ Grace had a sudden pang of guilt and looked back to the table, trying to catch Amelia’s eye.
Pamela Carter stood at the bar a few feet away, chatting to an attractive young man by her side. Pamela managed to get served first and began edging her way through the crowd, coming face to face with Grace.
‘Hello again, I didn’t realise this was your local.’ Grace ignored Pamela’s obvious discomfort and introduced Jake to her. Jake nodded in Pamela’s direction but was more interested in making eye contact with the barman, his attention fixated on a Carlsberg.
The young man with whom Pamela had been chatting stood holding a tray of drinks. Seeing Pamela wasn’t about to introduce him, he winked at Grace, saying, ‘Hi, I’m Nathan. We all went to the local school together.’ He nodded his head, indicating their crowd of friends.
‘Except Leonie,’ Pamela chimed in. ‘She’s a bit older than us and I think she went to a private school anyway.’
Nathan gave Pamela a funny look. ‘Whatever,’ he said, and then his attention returned to Grace. ‘I’ve seen you before.’
Grace stared at him and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she answered, smiling.
‘You don’t remember me,’ Nathan said, pulling
a sad face. Grace blushed and shook her head again. ‘The gang of us get together every Friday evening for a few drinks. You’re welcome to join us if you’re ever at a loose end. The barbeque tonight is a bonus.’
‘Wouldn’t your friends mind?’ Grace asked shyly, not sure she wanted to be friends with the red-headed woman.
‘I’m sure the lads wouldn’t mind. We could do with a bit of glamour around here,’ Nathan said, winking at her again.
‘Shut up you.’ Pamela forced a laugh. ‘You’ll have to excuse him, he’s had one too many.’
‘Oi, Nathan. Is there any chance of a drink sometime soon?’ the woman with red hair called out across the room.
‘Better go, bye.’ Pamela walked away with Nathan in tow. By this time Jake had been served and Grace joined him at the bar to help carry their drinks.
Back at the table Joe Jones had taken Grace’s seat. He rose to offer it back to her but Jake pre-empted the situation and grabbed an empty chair from the table next to them. Jake waited for an introduction, taking in the man’s appearance that could only be described as swarthy. Joe’s jet black hair was streaked with grey and his weather-beaten skin had chiselled grooves down both cheeks. Joe was soberly dressed in a pale grey suit and looked nothing like a cowboy, even by the Lone Ranger’s standards.
Jake whispered close to Grace’s ear, ‘Isn’t this supposed to be a country and western night?’ Jake’s contribution to the themed evening was a black shoe lace tie knotted loosely around the collar of a cream woollen shirt. He’d brought but hadn’t yet worn a black Mexican hat, and that, along with tight fitting black leather trousers, made him look more like Zorro than Billy the Kid.
Grace shushed him, and as she did so she smelled the woody, slightly musky aroma of Jake’s aftershave, and his nearness brought a flush to her skin. She moved back an inch and noticed his long lashes outlining a slight slant at each corner of his large hazel eyes. Jake returned her gaze and from the hidden depths of his eyes a luminous glow shone back at her. Grace’s heart did a funny flip, and under her own lowered lashes she considered Jake properly. Why had she never noticed how tall he was, or his perfectly straight teeth and clear skin? Jake was just the chap who worked with Amelia. A lad whose clothes and face were normally covered in a fine layer of emulsion and dabs of paint, nothing like this gorgeous young man sitting beside her.
‘I miss you,’ Jake said, long lashes shielding his expression.
‘Yeah, I bet. Like a hole in the head,’ Grace said, pleased and breathless with pleasure. Gwyneth’s voice broke the moment and Grace turned away from Jake, her cheeks still pink.
‘Mr Jones here has just been telling us his grandparents originated from Wales, although I knew he had Welsh blood in him as soon as he began to speak,’ Gwyneth gushed.
‘Glyn Ceiriog they lived, a beautiful part of North Wales. My grandfather owned a farm up there. Dead now, so Bryn my younger brother runs it.’ Mr Jones looked around at their faces. ‘Call me Joe, not Mr Jones.’ This was said more to Gwyneth.
‘This is the Joe I was telling you about, our new gardener.’ Amelia introduced Joe to Jake.
‘My father moved over the border into Cheshire when he was a young lad. He worked with horses mostly, for a Mr Leo Deverell at Tapscott Manor. He met my mother, a local girl, and they settled here.’
‘Deverell, I’ve heard that name before,’ prompted Grace, taking the opportunity to find out more.
‘Land owners on a large scale they were at one time, but not anymore. Sophia Deverell is the only one left of them now.’
‘You married a local girl too Joe, your Janet,’ Amelia said.
‘Yes. But Janet’s been gone now for five years and I’ve decided to get on with my life. Life’s too short to stuff a mushroom, so they say. Make the most of every day, that’s my motto.’ Joe glanced in Gwyneth’s direction and gave her a knowing look. Gwyneth responded by touching Joe gently on the knee.
Amelia felt left out. She still didn’t know what had happened to Janet and it didn’t look as though Joe was about to tell her. She sipped her wine and watched them all sitting around the table. Grace talked animatedly to Jake while he hung on her every word. Gwyneth and Joe, despite their difference in years, had obvious chemistry between them, which was electric. Amelia glanced away, feeling lonely. She looked around the room full of people. There were a few men alone at the bar, some talking to mates, but mostly the crowd was made up of couples. Amelia wondered what was wrong with her. Why didn’t anyone find her attractive enough to talk to? David Lanceley came into her mind and remembering his face, she felt better.
‘Hi, we’re off now.’ Pamela and Nathan ambled over to say goodbye.
‘Don’t forget, every Friday about nine we’re in here,’ Nathan said, smiling at them all.
‘Nathan’s giving me a lift home on his motorbike,’ Pamela told them and put on a crash hat. Gwyneth looked on in dismay, remembering what was in store for her later.
‘You’ve got a motorbike, mate?’ Jake stood up with sudden interest, and with a show of camaraderie he followed the couple outside to inspect Nathan’s machine. Grace watched them go, realising where she had seen Nathan before. He was Doreen Brock’s grandson.
‘That Nathan’s a real charmer,’ Amelia said, watching them leave.
‘He’s a bit young for you, sis. Anyway, I thought you had set your sights on the vicar.’
Gwyneth was in deep conversation with Joe but her ears pricked up when she heard this and she rounded on Amelia. ‘What’s this, Amelia? Have you been holding out on me?’
Mortified, Amelia sat and fumed while Grace gave Gwyneth and Joe chapter and verse about their first meeting with Reverend Lanceley. Thankfully she omitted to tell them the reason why they had gone to the cemetery in the first place.
Chapter 14
By the time Jake returned last orders had come and gone. Amelia invited them all back for coffee and because Joe knew a shortcut home he led the way. Like in a parade they all followed him to the back of the pub where a path led directly into Oakham Wood. Joe assured them that eventually it ran alongside the back of Primrose Cottage.
Five minutes later Joe stopped. ‘There’s a gate along by here somewhere,’ he said, shining a small torch over the bramble hedge. ‘Here we are.’ Joe pushed his arm into the brambles and pulled hard. A loud creak and scuffing noise followed and the brambles parted to show a low gate, now opened. One by one they passed through and found themselves behind the shed in Primrose Cottage’s garden. The ground consisted of broken bits of twigs and Grace nearly tripped over a ladder lying lengthwise on the ground along the inner hedge.
Soon they were all in the cottage and the kettle was on for coffee. It came as no surprise when Gwyneth and Joe sat side by side, thigh by thigh next to each other on the sofa. Grace took the armchair nearest to Joe and settled back comfortably. Jake sat on the floor near Grace’s knees and rested his head against the arm of the chair. His legs were stretched out parallel with the sofa.
Grace decided now was a good time to quiz Joe, so before Amelia came in with the coffee she asked him, ‘Do you ever do any work at the vicarage, Joe?’
‘Not a lot, no. I fixed a leaking radiator a few months ago. The whole house needs painting and decorating, inside and out, and I wouldn’t say no to that job either. I offered to give the vicar an estimate for me to do the work, but he wasn’t interested. Doesn’t want to pay out good money on a house he doesn’t own, he said.’ Joe turned to Gwyneth. ‘A big job like that would keep me going for a few months,’ he said emphatically.
‘What about the cemetery. Have you ever done any jobs there?’ Grace persisted.
‘Oh no, that’s the council’s responsibility. Their workmen do all the grave digging and maintenance. Why do you ask?’
Jake raised an eyebrow and said, ‘I was just wondering that.’
‘Just interested, making polite conversation,’ Grace said.
‘For one minute I imagined you had a grave tha
t needed digging,’ Joe said jokingly, his swarthy face red and puffy from the effect of alcohol. Gwyneth and Jake laughed too, joining in the joke, waiting for her reply. Grace was saved by Amelia who timed it just right to bustle in carrying a tray with five steaming mugs on it. She set the tray down onto the coffee table and took the other armchair near Gwyneth.
‘What have I missed?’ she asked, looking from one to the other.
‘Joe’s been telling us about work he’s done at the vicarage.’ Before Joe or Gwyneth could enlighten Amelia further, Grace went on, ‘I was thinking – is it advisable for Jake to ride his motorbike home tonight?’
Jake stirred and looked round at Grace, trying to judge her line of thinking. For a wonderful moment he had the idea she might fancy him after all and wanted him to stay the night so they could be together. Grace soon knocked that notion on the head.
‘You’ve been drinking all night,’ Grace said to him, ‘and one coffee isn’t going to sober you up. Anyway, I think Gwyneth would prefer not to have to ride home on the back of your bike at this time of night.’
‘I’ve only had a couple of lagers,’ Jake stated, outraged she should think he was drunk.
‘It has gone a little chilly,’ Gwyneth ventured, taking the opportunity to put her oar in.
‘If Jake doesn’t mind sleeping on the sofa, I can make a bed up for you in the office, Gwyneth. We have sleeping bags and spare pillows and the futon is very comfy,’ Amelia offered, agreeing with Grace’s suggestion.
‘If Gwyneth prefers she could stay the night with me,’ Joe told them.
Four pairs of raised eyebrows turned to look at Joe. Flustered, he began to stammer, attempting to set the record straight. ‘I don’t mean sleep with me. I have a spare bedroom at home. What on earth are you all thinking?’ Gwyneth’s pink cheeks went a deep shade of rose and she giggled. ‘Tomorrow I’ll drive Gwyneth home to Llangollen and we could stop on the way and have a pub lunch somewhere. It’s just an idea. I don’t want to offend anybody.’
A Grave Inheritance Page 9
