The Tanglewood Tea Shop, page 21
‘No! It never is?’ Izzie picked up her chocolate cupcake, held it up and studied it. ‘Where?’
‘It’s definitely there,’ Stevie said. ‘Does that make you like it less?’
The girls thought for a moment, and one of them shook her head. ‘I like carrot cake, so it’s a bit like that, isn’t it? And if it’s got some vegetables in it, it’s got to be better than not having any at all.’
‘Does it count towards my five a day?’ another asked, and the rest of them laughed.
Stevie joined in. ‘No, sorry. You still need to eat your vegetables. I’ve got an idea though; if you pop in at the same time next week, I’ll have some more hidden-vegetable cupcakes for you to try, as a favour to me. What do you say?’
‘Not on your life,’ a voice said, and Stevie looked up from the table to see Allegra Johnson’s red and annoyed face glaring at her from near the door. ‘How dare you bribe my daughter with cake!’
‘Mum?’ Izzie’s expression tore at Stevie’s heart. The child looked positively terrified.
‘She’s supposed to be at ballet, and yet I find her in here being seduced by that.’ She flung her arm at the empty plates on the table, nearly slapping an old gent in the head. He ducked just in time. ‘She’s only thirteen!’ Allegra cried, as if thirteen was too young to eat cake. ‘What are you up to? That’s what I want to know!’
Stevie opened and closed her mouth, not knowing where to begin.
‘Izzie, get your kit and come with me,’ her furious mother demanded. ‘As for the rest of you, I’m going to tell your mothers what I caught you doing. Jonelle Jones – you should know better. And as for you, Saffron Dean, I expected better from you too. Your mother’s a nutritionist, for goodness’ sake. I expect they’ll be as disappointed in you as I am. Come, Izzie.’ And when Izzie hesitated, her mother yelled, ‘Now!’
The poor girl jumped to her feet, her cheeks as red as the beetroot cupcake she’d just eaten, and followed Allegra to the door.
‘I’m going to get you shut down for this,’ Allegra cried. ‘Leading young girls astray, it’s disgusting.’ And with that, she yanked the door open, the little bell tinkling furiously and stormed out, a mortified Izzie trailing behind her.
‘We should have had it to take away.’ The girl who’d spoken was the same one who’d insisted on eating in.
‘Take no notice of Mrs Johnson. She’s always like that. Totally batty. It’s Izzy and the other two I feel sorry for. My mum says if she keeps on telling them they can’t have this and they can’t have that, they’ll rebel one day and it’ll be carnage in McDonald’s.’
Stevie hadn’t said a word. Her head was still reeling from the unwarranted outburst. What had she done that was so wrong? It wasn’t as though she was forcing alcohol on unsuspecting teenagers. Admittedly, she was guilty of deception on the vegetable front, but that was a good thing, wasn’t it?
‘Yeah, don’t worry about her, she’s off her head.’ The girl turned to the others. ‘Did you hear her say she was going to tell my mother? “Saffron Dean, I expected better from you”,’ she mimicked in a high-pitched voice. ‘My mum will tell her where to go. In fact,’ Saffron looked up at the stunned Stevie. ‘I’ll get her to call in, if you like. I’m sure she’ll approve of your veggie cakes. She’s always trying to get me to eat more fruit and veg. And she’ll tell everyone else they’re good for you, too.’
Stevie eventually spoke. ‘Thanks, that’s a really kind offer, Saffron but the cakes aren’t exactly good for you.’ She didn’t want people thinking she was making such an outrageous claim. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘everything will be fine. Mrs Johnson will probably have forgotten all about it by the time she gets home and even if she hasn’t, what harm can she do?’
It was only when the girls exchanged anxious looks, that Stevie recalled something Leanne had said yesterday about Allegra Johnson telling people not to visit the tea shop. Stevie began to think she might have a problem.
And she was right.
Chapter 36
Nick stood by the side of the bridge and watched the workmen. One man was lowering another over the side of it, and the man dangling on the end of the rope looked decidedly pale. He wore a hard hat, a suit and tie, and a high viz vest over the top, and Nick guessed he might be an engineer. Apparently, there had been a flock of them there over the past few days, supervising the removal of the tree and prodding at the increasingly exposed old stonework as the water returned to its former level. It was remarkable how quickly a river could rise, and just how swiftly it could fall again.
The brief inundation had caused some damage, mainly to the properties adjacent to the river itself, and now that it was safe to go back inside the residents of three of the five cottages had returned to deal with the mess. The fourth was still unoccupied and, as no one knew how to get hold of the owners, nothing could be done. The remaining cottage belonged to Betty Roberts who, Nick had been reliably informed, was still staying with Stevie.
He wanted to take a look inside, to assess what needed to be done. Which meant he’d have to go to the tea shop to ask Betty if she’d mind and to ask her to give him a key. Which also meant he’d probably bump into Stevie, considering she owned the place, and who he was determined not to think about. At least, not in the way he had been thinking about her.
He saw her before she saw him.
Lingering outside the shop, Nick watched her for a while, liking the way her hair was piled on top of her head, a bright beacon in the grey and overcast day, wisps of it curling around her face and neck like a cascading sunset.
Bloody hell, what was up with him?! Waxing all lyrical about a mop of ginger hair? Only, it wasn’t ginger, it was more of an apricot or peach – strawberry blond, he thought they called it. And her eyes were a sort of smoky grey, not the green he would have expected with her colour hair. Not that he could clearly see her eyes from here, but he knew from memory how they changed colour slightly, depending on the light; or her mood. And those freckles, dusted across her nose and cheeks like the sprinkles of chocolate on a cappuccino.
He shook his head in exasperation, closed his eyes, and counted to ten.
He hadn’t even made it to five when a tap on the shoulder made him jump. His eyes flew open and he looked straight into those grey eyes he’d been trying not to think about a few seconds earlier. He noticed they were a deeper hue today, like a storm-tossed sea, and—
‘For Pete’s sake, you nearly gave me a heart attack,’ he said, wondering if he was coming down with something. The flu maybe, or at the very least, a nasty summer cold from getting soaked through the other day. It would certainly go some way to explaining the fuzziness and the silly thoughts he was having.
‘What do you expect if you stand in the middle of the pavement with your eyes shut?’ Stevie asked. ‘Were you praying?’
Nick snorted. ‘Yeah, praying you won’t give me any more grief.’ His tone was gruffer than he intended, but this girl kept popping into his mind and it was starting to annoy him that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Maybe it was because practically every time he came into contact with her, there was some kind of drama.
‘When have I done that?’ she wanted to know.
‘Ever since you arrived. First, you nearly killed me in your car when you drove like an idiot around the horse I was riding, then—’
‘Wait up there, cowboy, what do you mean, “I nearly killed you”?’
‘You mightn’t remember, but I do. Bloody idiot drivers. You’ve got to be careful around horses, especially if they are on public roads.’
Stevie sent him a sheepish look. ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I’m sorry, I was a bit distracted and I wasn’t sure where I was going, and then this car beeped, and— Hang on, why were you riding it in the middle of the village if it was so dangerous?’
‘He was doing fine until you appeared,’ Nick argued.
‘OK, I’ll let that go, but I still think you shouldn’t ride horses on a busy road.’
Nick glared at her, debating whether to keep arguing, but all he could think of was cradling her in his arms, and the way she had snuggled into his neck. He tried not to think about what he’d seen under the dressing gown, but it was hard not to when those lovely curves were standing right in front of him.
He dropped his gaze and kept his attention firmly on the pavement, hoping his discomfort wasn’t showing too much.
‘Are you coming in, or not?’ she asked.
‘Only to see Betty,’ he said, grumpily. Stevie really was having a rather unfortunate effect on him – whenever he saw her he turned into a right surly git. What on earth must she think of him? Suddenly Stevie’s opinion mattered very much indeed, and he got up the courage to look at her.
‘How is Saul?’ he asked, and could have kicked himself.
Damn it! He hadn’t meant to say that and he had no idea where the question had come from. It had simply jumped out of his mouth without his brain having anything to do with it. He watched as Stevie’s face closed up and he wished his mouth had stayed shut.
‘Fine, I think,’ she said, not looking at him.
‘Did he stay and help clean up?’ Nick really wished he’d offered to stay himself but seeing Saul there and the easy way he had with Stevie, and knowing she had spent the afternoon with him, made Nick feel like a spare wheel. He could tell Saul hadn’t wanted him there too, especially when he had staked his claim by mentioning the date he had with her.
Which was the reason why he hadn’t offered to stay and help, if he was honest.
‘Is Betty here?’ he asked, changing the subject with relief.
‘Come in. She’s in the kitchen whipping up some madeleines. She’s a really good baker. Did you know? Her Victoria sponge is better than mine!’
He didn’t. He knew very little about the old lady, apart from the fact she needed some help if she was to return to her own home.
He followed Stevie into the shop, trying not to look at the way her hips swayed or how well her bottom fitted into her tight jeans, and he was glad when she stood to the side to let him enter the kitchen on his own. Her nearness was rather off-putting. He felt a little hot and his stomach kept clenching. Maybe it was a sort of stomach upset he was coming down with, rather than the flu.
‘Nick, my dear, what a nice surprise. Here, have a madeleine.’ Betty picked up a shell-shaped cake and offered it to him.
He took it reluctantly. Eating was the last thing he wanted to do, although he could murder a cup of coffee.
Betty must have read his mind. ‘You can’t eat it without a coffee,’ she announced. ‘Sit yourself down and I’ll fetch you one.’
He did as he was told, and as he waited for her return his eyes were drawn to the island in the middle of the room. What he saw there, wasn’t racks of cooling cakes and pastries, nor was it bowls of buttercream, or compote, or jam; what he saw was a mound of clothes as they slowly sat up to reach for him.
The memory made him smile. He had acted like a right idiot, running out into the street as if the hounds of hell were after him. What a prat! Still, he’d had the guts to go back in, and he was glad he had (once more the image of a semi-naked Stevie nestling in his arms popped into his mind) because she’d needed warming up.
‘Get your lips around this,’ Betty said, scattering his thoughts. She plonked a cup of strong black coffee in front of him.
He was about to ask for milk, when Betty added. ‘It’s best to dip the madeleine in the coffee, then eat it. When you take a drink, the bitterness of the coffee will be offset by the sweetness of the cake.’
‘Madeleine? I take it these are French? Is that how our cousins over the water eat them?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s how I like to eat them. Now, you didn’t come here just to eat cake, or to ogle Stevie,’ Betty observed, astutely.
If he hadn’t just had a mouthful of sweet, buttery goodness, he would have refuted the notion of him ogling anyone, especially Stevie, but the Madeleine was too good to rush, so he waited until he’d enjoyed every last bite before he said anything. Betty was right about the coffee, too.
‘If you let me have the key to the cottage, I’ll start cleaning up,’ he suggested.
Was it his imagination, or did Betty suddenly look a bit deflated? Poor love, she’d probably managed to forget about her predicament for a while and now he’d gone and reminded her of her situation. But it had to be done, because she couldn’t stay here forever.
‘I don’t know where they are,’ she replied, her eyes darting about the kitchen as if she expected to see them hiding amongst the cake tins and spatulas.
‘They’re in your coat pocket,’ Stevie said, catching the tail end of the conversation. ‘At least, that’s where I think they are. I heard a jangle when I hung it up last night. Let me go and check.’
Stevie darted up the stairs and was back down again in a trice, clutching the keys in her hand.
‘Here they are,’ she said, handing them to Nick.
An electric shock rushed up his arm and squeezed his chest when her fingers touched his. He inhaled sharply, and the scent of her flooded his nose – a faint hint of perfume mixed with something sweet. It made his mouth water.
Swallowing, he muttered his thanks and stood up.
Big mistake. Now he found himself almost nose to hair with her, their bodies nearly touching, and he took a quick step back, not trusting himself to be this close to her.
Disconcerted, he whirled on his heel and strode out of the shop, and as he stomped down the street towards the river, he wished he could rid himself of the sight of her beautiful smoky grey eyes.
Chapter 37
‘William.’ Nick gave a nod. He wasn’t surprised to see him there – half of the village was out helping with the clean-up operation, in one way or another. Some were helping to strip out the damaged houses while others, like Tia, were on the phone organising alternative accommodation for the three families made homeless by the flood. At least they didn’t have to worry about Betty, as she was being well looked after by Stevie.
‘Nick.’ William nodded back.
Nick wanted to say something to ease the tension but didn’t know where to start. Tia loved William, William loved Tia – it should all be quite straightforward, but it wasn’t. Maybe he’d have a quiet word with him later? But then again, what could he say when Tia was so adamant about the situation.
‘The power’s off,’ Nick said, stating the obvious after a considerable pause.
‘I thought it might be, so I’ve brought a genny,’ William said. ‘I’ll need a hand to get it off the van.’
The two men worked in silence except for panting, grunting and the odd curse as they manoeuvred the generator to the edge of the van’s bed and lifted it off. A couple of other men stopped what they were doing and gave them a hand. Muscles straining, they gently lowered it to the ground and Nick straightened up, his back in bits already and he hadn’t got started yet.
‘Thanks, guys,’ he said, as they returned to their own tasks. ‘I’ve got a spare at the stables. Sorry, I didn’t think to bring it, but I’ll pop home later and fetch it, and I’ll ask my sister to ring around a couple of the nearby farms and see if we can rustle up another two or three.’
‘Geoff Green was bound to have a genny he could spare for a week or two,’ Nick thought then frowned when the thought of Geoff’s farm led to thoughts of Saul and his date with Stevie.
‘Wait, there’s a trolley in the back.’ William hopped into the van and pushed the trolley to the edge. Thankful for the distraction, Nick turned his attention to the job in hand, and lifted it off as William jumped back down.
‘I’ll help you get it started,’ William said, wrestling the generator onto the trolley and heading off down the path to Betty’s house.
The cottage was a mess. The water had reached knee height and had left a disgusting tidemark to show how far up the walls it had come. The carpets were sodden and reeking, most of the furniture was beyond saving, especially the upholstered stuff, the electrics were probably shot (although they wouldn’t know until they tried to switch the power back on) and the whole place stank. The smell was a mixture of mud, rotting vegetation and sewage, although as far as Nick knew, the sewerage system hadn’t been affected.
William halted just inside the door and scratched his head. ‘Oh boy, where do we start?’
‘We take everything salvageable upstairs, the rest we take outside. I’ll organise a skip. The other owners will need one anyway and we might be able to share the cost,’ Nick said.
‘Good idea. I’ll get started in here.’
“Here” was the living room. Nick squelched his way past it to get to the kitchen and found the source of the smell – rotting food from the dead fridge-freezer, and an even deader pigeon.
Wishing he’d thought to bring thick rubber gloves, he gingerly picked the bird up by its tail feathers and deposited it outside. Operation clean-up was going to take longer than he’d anticipated.
By lunchtime, the two men had made a good start. Nothing could be done about the kitchen cupboards (they would have to be ripped out and replaced), but the living room was now empty, and William had got to work with a bucket and some hot soapy water (courtesy of the generator and a kettle) and was busy sponging the walls down.
Nick left William to it and was in the middle of pulling up the hall carpet to reveal a lovely Victorian tiled floor, when a familiar voice called out, ‘Fancy a spot of lunch?’
Stevie. His heart flipped over – an odd sensation – and he paused for a second, trying to regain control of the thud in his chest. To give himself time, he rinsed his hands under the tap, found a clean tea towel and sauntered casually outside, feeling anything but casual.
William was already helping himself to a sandwich from a loaded tray which Stevie had balanced on the low wall which ran the full length of the cottages. She called to the other owners and volunteers to come and help themselves. ‘There’s plenty to go around and I can always pop back and get some more.’
