"You have a key to the cottage?" Cora Flint gave her a steely look.
"'Course I does. I’ve looked after Mr. Rupert's cottage for years, up until a while back.” With a disdainful look, she inspected her finger after running it along a window ledge. “Looks like it could do with a going over now.” Bella was speechless. The cheek of the woman!
“You’m goin’ to be livin’ ‘ere now, then, is that it?” Cora Flint's manner induced Bella to give little away. It felt as though she were being interrogated.
“You seem to have the advantage, Mrs…Flint. You, at least know something about me, whereas I…”
“I believes you know my brother, Alfie, ain’t that right?” Ah! Now things were becoming a little clearer though it was hard to see any family resemblance. Cora Flint was large, in every respect. Broad shouldered and big-bosomed, with a mop of silvery grey hair fixed into a bun at the back of her head. There was nothing fine or delicately feminine about her face or bone structure. She looked like a dour woman who had led a hard life and Bella found her a little confronting.
“I wouldn’t say I know him, Mrs. Flint, but I have seen him in The Lamb, a couple of times.”
“He seems quite taken with you!” Bella sighed, hoping this wasn’t going to become difficult but then a thought struck her.
“Alfie seems to have a thing about Willow Cottage…”
“A thing?” Cora Flint interrupted her, brusquely. “What you’m meanin’ by a thing, then, might I ask?” Bella gave a little laugh, to cover her discomfort.
“It’s not easy to explain, Mrs. Flint, but he acts as though he knows some sort of secret about the place.” For a moment, she actually thought the woman was going to laugh but obviously laughter was not included in her repertoire.
“You seen Alfie?” The large woman managed to make it sound like an accusation and Bella found herself nodding. “Well, you know what he’s like, then. You don’t want to pay no attention to anythin’ that Alfie says. He’d say manure were butter given half a chance.” There was no humour in the remark and Bella didn’t feel the least like laughing.
“Like I says, anyways, I thought you might like some lunch. There’s fresh bread in there, and ham, as well as butter from the farm…”
“Mrs. Flint, I don’t know what to say…”
“Call me Cora. Most folk do. I’d prefer that if I’m going to be working for you.” Bella wasn’t certain that she’d heard properly but looked shocked nevertheless and Cora Flint wasn’t slow to pick up on the reaction.
“Won’t you’m be wanting me for your cleanin’ an’ bits ‘n pieces then?” It was her turn to look shocked and it didn’t seem like a good thing to get on the wrong side of her, to Bella, and she reacted swiftly.
“It’s not that, Mrs....Cora. It’s just that I hadn’t really given it any thought.”
“You don’t look like a girl that’s capable of hard work, if you get my meaning. An’ I knows this place like it were me own.” The woman was insufferable. But what to do?
"Look, Cora, thank you for lunch, you really couldn’t have called at a better time…”
“Good, that’s settled then. You just let me know when you wants me to start.” She turned and was gone, leaving Bella as she had found her, open-mouthed and speechless.
“….and then she simply walked off. Can you believe it?” So incensed was she by Cora Flint’s visit that Bella had felt an overwhelming need to talk to another human being about it. At least, more human than Mrs. Flint. The one person that came immediately to mind, the only person who would understand the situation, was Ben Hollingsworth so she had got out his card and given him a call without another thought. Being the weekend, she had rung him on his mobile and, as soon as he had answered, Bella was so fired up she had launched into an account of what had happened, not giving the hapless man a chance to speak.
“I presume that’s Miss Foxton?” he enquired, when she had finished, trying to keep the laughter from his voice, and something in his tone immediately put Bella on alert. Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, my God, Ben, I’ve been prattling on about that woman. Where are you?”
“Tina and I are just having drinks at the Country Club, before lunch.”
“She’s right there with you?” For some reason, she found herself whispering.
“Yes, but that’s fine. It’s not a problem. I could have been somewhere else, though…” What’s he talking about, she wondered, then remembered his phone call just before she had left London.
“Alright, don’t get smart! Just tell me, what am I going to do about this Flint woman?” Ben didn’t reply immediately and she presumed he was thinking it over.
“Your uncle had mentioned her…”
“What, was she on the list of Dorset’s Ten Most Wanted?” This time, Ben couldn’t help laughing.
“No, he spoke very highly of her. Apparently, she is very reliable and does an excellent job. It’s just that she’s a bit….
“Psychotic?” Bella suggested.
“Miss Foxton!” he chided, obviously using her surname for the benefit of his wife. “I think you’re being a little cruel. Rupert said that her bark was far worse than her bite. I mean, after all, she did bring you lunch…”
“By the look of her, it’s probably poisoned,” she interjected.
“Bella!” He exclaimed in an explosive manner, completing forgetting himself. “Don’t you think you’re over-reacting…”
“Ben Hollingsworth! Don’t tell me I’m over-reacting, again! We seem to have had this conversation before, I remember.” To anyone who didn’t know, it sounded like they were having a lover’s tiff, over the phone. She could imagine the look on his face and tried to picture what his wife was making of it all.
“Ok, look,” Ben said, after a moment, having got himself under control. “I don’t think you should make too much of it. Let things take their course and I think you’ll find out you’ve got nothing to worry about. She can just be a bit,” he paused, searching for the word, “daunting, according to Rupert.”
“It’s not the word I would have used,” Bella said, miserably. “That’s a bit like calling Hitler aggressive.” Ben gave up. He couldn’t win.
“I’m sure you’ll cope. Don’t forget your appointment.” She presumed he had to go.
“I won’t. And thanks for listening.” She rung off actually feeling better for having got the redoubtable Cora Flint off her chest. She glanced at her watch, wondering what the time was, then remembered it was up in the bathroom, where she had taken it off. The basket! It felt as though she hadn’t eaten for hours. What had the woman said? Bread, butter, ham. It had sounded wonderful.
There was far more, as it happened, occasioning Bella to revise her opinion of Cora Flint, somewhat. After the frightful woman had left, Bella had finally gone up and had her shower. There was no sign of the cat but Mrs Flint had probably scared that off too, she thought. Lunch was a feast, with ham, tomato, lettuce and cucumber, then there was an apple and a pear, doubtless from the garden, for dessert. The garden! With everything that had happened it had slipped her mind but she wasn’t surprised. The events of the last twenty-four hours had taken their toll but, she had to admit, it had been interesting. If that was the right word. When she had finished the meal, she sat back and thought about it all. Back to when she had come down with Ben, and her first impressions of everything, to her experiences of the past couple of days. She could have done without having had the dream, and getting up in the middle of the night, but there wasn’t much she could have done about that, though. It crossed her mind that she hoped she wasn’t going to dream about Cora Flint next. God forbid! Bella couldn’t help laughing, able to see the funny side of it now, then she leaned back and stretched, unable to stop herself yawning. Right, I must get myself organised, she told herself. Make a list of everything I’m going to need down here. Not that it’ll be much, she conceded, remembering also that she had to measure the room upstairs, before she left. A
nother thing that occurred to her was the possibility of getting a chest freezer, there was plenty of room for one in the laundry and then she could keep plenty of food on hand. Bella wondered where best it would be to go for her shopping. Blandford, she supposed. Or, where else was it she had seen on the map. Dorchester? Unsure, she would have to look at the map again but, before she went back, it would be a good idea to have a look at what the High Street offered in the way of shops. To the best of her memory, it was very little and bound to be expensive.
The garden had great potential, there was no doubting that, especially to someone who knew about gardening. The thought crossed Bella’s mind that perhaps she should get Mrs Flint onto it. She could just imagine her striding purposefully forward through the long grass, grim-faced, flame-thrower in hand. Dismissing the thought, she wandered slowly along the overgrown path that led to the line of trees marking the far boundary. The pond that she had first seen from an upstairs window was of free-form design and paved around the edges. Its narrowest point was about four feet across, while it was around six or seven feet in length. Weeds had sprouted through a large crack in the bottom and it looked like many years since it had held water. Beyond it, the path weaved its way through an area which had once been cultivated but was now mostly weeds and that, in turn, led to the small orchard at the end of the garden. Bella had the imagination to visualise what it had once been like and was in no doubt that she wanted to restore it to its former state. Turning back, towards the house, she could picture flower beds, a riot of colour, and a kitchen garden full of herbs to complement the home-grown vegetables. It was exciting and she was looking forward to becoming a part of it all but she was ready to go back now. More than ready in fact but not looking forward to the long drive. The sooner it was over the better.
Chapter Seven
Once Jane had informed her of the deadline for the book, Bella had become acutely aware of how quickly time seemed to pass. It had not been this way with her other novels, none of which had achieved the degree of success of Lingering Doubts. Previously, the publishers had not applied undue pressure to demand that she produced the next book within such a specific time frame. She put it down to the price of success. What was worrying her, more than anything, was that she had no clear idea of what the next book was going to be about. In fact, no idea whatsoever. Lingering Doubts had been a one-off, prompted by a situation that had occurred within her own family and featuring a controversial subject of potent topicality. All the ingredients were there and it seemed to gain a natural momentum of its own. Unfortunately, no such gift was staring her in the face this time and she was becoming increasingly concerned.
Three weeks had passed since Bella’s experience with Cora Flint and the time had simply flown. The meeting with Ben appeared to resolve any outstanding matters with the transfer of title for the property and she was now the owner of Willow Cottage. She’d thanked him for getting the water and electricity sorted in time for her visit and he reminded her that she would now have to budget for the overheads, such as rates, power and maintenance that would be associated with the cottage. He’d also asked, discreetly, when he could see her again, prompting her to apologise for phoning him at such a bad time. He had laughed it off but said she could make up for it by buying him a drink. They’d agreed to have lunch soon and she’d left it with him to contact her but, as yet, he hadn’t called. Since then, she had resolved the matter of the phone with the telephone company feeling reluctant to be entirely dependent on her mobile plus it assured her of a broadband connection. Her agent, Peter Bellamy, had called to say she had a cable tv spot that he’d secured for her, plus she’d been invited to attend a Writer’s Festival in Birmingham, which had, in the end, taken three days out of her calendar. An exciting development which he had also mentioned was that there was interest in making Lingering Doubts into a tv drama. All of this activity brought home to her the need to keep the impetus going, hence the importance of knuckling down to the new book. In her usual fashion, Bella had recorded the best snippets of the recent weekend she had spent in Knapthorne, on her computer. Whether she liked it or not, Cora Flint was going to be cloned somehow, somewhere in Bella’s future scribblings.
Bella stood with her head cocked to one side, the phone held between her ear and shoulder thus freeing her hands so she could finish doing her nails. The secretary had asked her to wait while she checked if Miss Symington-Bentley was free. Bella had decided that it was in her interest to get away from London as soon as possible, in order to focus on the book. The idea of renting the apartment had occurred to her but she felt certain that she’d have to come back to London occasionally and wanted to have it available for her own use. So there was nothing to stop her going. She’d purchased a laptop, printer, modem and scanner, similar to her present set-up, and already loaded the software and files she’d require. After all the fuss from Laura, she’d never heard another thing and hoped that was an end to it. Knowing Laura, though, that was unlikely. One thing she had to do was ring Jane and let her know and she waited patiently for her editor to come on the line. She recalled the lunch, ten days ago, with Jonathan Carey and how pleased he had been for her. There was much about him that reminded her of Rupert, her Uncle Foxy, and he had thought she was doing the right thing, which meant a lot to her. They had always confided in each other, even in matters of great intimacy, and they were comfortable in each others’ company in a way that many married couples weren’t. Jonathan had thought it a great adventure, which was typical of him. He even looked the part of an old swashbuckling pirate, with his pony-tail and single, gold ear-ring. All he needed was a parrot or an eye-patch, to finish the job.
“Bella! Sorry to keep you waiting.” Jane sounded breathless when she eventually came on the line. “Must be a short book,” she gasped. It was not unusual for Jane’s comments to take her by surprise. Although Bella had lived over half of her life in England, the English sense of humour often went right over her head.
“Pardon?”
“I thought you might be ringing to tell me you’d finished it.” The penny dropped.
“Very good, Jane. You’re not on those garlic pills again, are you? They always make you a bit strange.” She was rewarded with a wheezing giggle from the other end of the line. “I’m ringing to let you know, that I’m off to Dorset tomorrow, certainly for the immediate future…”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding, as you put it!” Bella replied emphatically. "Makes sense with the deadline you've given me and I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet. So, if you want to see me, you’re going to have to hop in your car and come on down. Just don't give me a hug when we meet!" There was a short silence before Jane replied and Bella could imagine her lighting up a cigarette.
“Good for you, darling!” she said, in a tone that obviously endorsed the move. “I presume it’s so you can concentrate on the book is it?”
“Exactly. And stay healthy," she added as an afterthought. "But that doesn’t mean I won’t welcome visitors!”
“I should hope not! What are the men like down there in turnip territory, anyway?” Bella had no intention of disappointing her.
“Well, that’s something you’ll have to come down and find out for yourself, isn’t it?”
“I’ll keep you to that. How do I get hold of you?”
“Use the mobile for now. I’ll send you a card with my new phone number, when I get it.”
“Ok. Sorry, darling, must rush or I’m going to be late for an appointment.” Bella bit her lip, but she nearly said something. “Give you a ring soon. Bye!”
Feeling relieved for some reason at having told Jane, Bella sat at the kitchen table to finish her nails and think through what else she had to do. There was a small circle of close friends that she intended to ring and tell of her plans but felt that the fewer people that knew the better. Now all she needed to do was finish packing the suitcase she intended to take and take care of the minutiae associated with
her decision. Like cancel the papers, have telephone calls and the mail diverted and anything else she could think of. Jonathan had been right. It was becoming an adventure. Certainly after the pressure of recent months and her total absence from writing. That’s what she was really looking forward to. Having got out of her working routine, and it had to be a routine for Bella, she knew how enormously difficult it was going to be to get started again. Especially when she had no idea, whatsoever, of what she was going to write about!
The more she tried to concentrate on developing a story for the novel, the more she came up totally bereft of ideas. In her heart of hearts she knew that when the idea was ready, it would probably come to her in a flash of inspiration. What worried her, increasingly so with the passing of each day, was exactly when this flash was going to occur. Strangely for her, or the old social butterfly that was Bella anyway, she just wanted to slip away, without any fuss and get in the right frame of mind for what she had to do. She would contact the people she had decided to tell, once she was down there. Whether it was the beginning of a process of isolation or not she wasn’t sure, but as isolation was currently a global phenomenon she was certainly on trend. All that she knew for certain was that her emotions seemed to be sending her a lot of mixed messages at the moment. Could it be the menopause at, what, thirty-four years of age? Highly unlikely, she figured, but like most women as they got older, she had been subject to all manner of stories about ‘the change’ and its effects, most of them painting a gloomy picture. Her own feeling was that for as many women that suffered because of it there were the same number that sailed through the experience and therefore had nothing to talk about. How had she’d got onto this? Perhaps it was the new book. Change for the better! A positive tale for the new millennium. Hardly. Bella sighed. All she wanted was a lazy, quiet night. She’d ring for a pizza and have a couple of glasses of wine to toast the success of the new book. Perfect!
The Knapthorne Conspiracy Page 11
