28
Mr Wrong
First thing on Monday morning, Jack surveyed the teashop floor, which was now sealed to a warm, mellow, almost honey colour, and pronounced that I could walk on it.
This was just as well, since in two days’ time the job lot of tables and chairs that Nile had found for me were to arrive. If there were any to spare, Teddy would collect them in his big four-wheel-drive pickup and ferry them out to Oldstone for the waffle house.
When I texted Nile to tell him about the floor I didn’t get an answer, so he was probably busy. He’d taken himself off to his flat when we’d returned (in convoy) after lunch the previous day and I hadn’t seen him since.
Ross was stripping the outside paintwork of the back windows with a small blowtorch, which looked rather dangerous, while Jack had resumed his tiling, and on a sudden impulse I slipped out of the front door and across the courtyard to Small and Perfect. Even if he was going to open, I was sure Nile wouldn’t be in his shop that early and I wanted to look at the Spode jug again to confirm it really was the same shade of blue as my Minton teapot in case of any further argument.
There was no sign of it, though. Could he possibly have sold it to an online customer overnight and taken it out of the window to pack up? Its place had been taken by a brightly coloured porcelain parakeet, so it looked rather that way.
I knew it would have been out of my price range but I still felt disappointed and cross as I returned to the café and gave the wall above the panelling in my little office a second coat of cream paint.
Then I retired upstairs to write, though as usual I was called down several times, on the final occasion to admire the new loos and washbasins in the customer toilets, though one white suite looks much like any other.
Nile must have been out all day, because it was only late that evening, just as I was about to stop working, that the lights in his flat went on. The blind was already down, so I couldn’t see him … and he couldn’t see me being a Peeping Thomasina. But two minutes later my phone buzzed with the incoming reply to the message about the floor being finished ready for the furniture.
‘Good ,’ it said, as tersely as if text messages were being charged by the letter.
I went to register at the nearby medical practice next day and was informed that the only doctor taking on new patients was the one I most wanted to avoid. But then the receptionist added that of course, since it was a group practice, I could make appointments with any of the others instead.
Her tone suggested that this wouldn’t be at all unusual and her expression as she glanced at the name board, where a red light was flashing next to Dr Collins, was uneasy.
The forms being completed, I was just about to leave when the woman herself flung open a nearby door and called imperiously for her next patient.
‘Mrs Clemency Jones?’
She scanned the waiting room, spotted a small, inoffensive woman cowering behind a potted palm and jerked her head.
Mrs Jones got up and scuttled in past her.
As she turned to follow, Dr Collins’ basilisk gaze fell on me and for the briefest moment she looked quite startled. Perhaps she thought I was stalking her?
I hadn’t seen Nile to speak to since Sunday lunch, but that afternoon I had another of his terse texts saying he’d collect me at seven on the way to the pub.
Honestly! No ‘would you like to go’ or anything of that kind: it appeared that with the Giddingses, you only had to do something with them once, like go to the pub or stay for a weekend, and it was assumed to be a regular fixture.
A reply didn’t seem called for, so I didn’t send one. And when he called for me and we walked round to the pub, I didn’t know why he’d bothered, because he wasn’t the liveliest of company. In fact, he seemed to be pondering a knotty problem. Maybe he’d lost an amazing Stanhope or an outstanding bit of netsuke to a higher bidder and didn’t know how to break it to one of his cherished list of clients?
Whatever it was, he didn’t share it with me and I was just starting to wish I’d brought a book with me, when the handsome blond barman gave me a cheery grin and a wink. I smiled back and Nile happened to look up just at that moment and caught this exchange.
He glowered at the poor man. ‘Is he flirting with you?’ he demanded, though what business it was of his, I don’t know.
‘In my dreams!’ I told him. ‘He’s got to be at least ten years younger than me. And you can’t talk, because I only left you alone for two minutes to go to the loo and when I got back you were chatting up a strange woman.’
‘She was only a tourist, asking me to point Top Withens out on her map.’
‘Yeah, right! But at least she got more conversation out of you than I have. I think the barman noticed you’d gone into a coma and was just trying to cheer me up.’
He frowned at me, his black brows knitted, as if he wasn’t sure whether I was joking or not.
‘I was just wondering how to explain to you about Zelda and why she told Sheila we were getting married,’ he said. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Then don’t explain it. It’s really nothing to do with me whether you get married or not, or who to,’ I told him, even though secretly I was dying to know. ‘And anyway, didn’t you tell the family it was just her idea of a joke?’
‘Well, that’s what I thought a couple of weeks ago, when she reminded me we’d made that pact about marrying each other. But I mean, we were students at the time and it was just a flip, throwaway remark.’
‘But she wasn’t joking? She thought you meant it?’
He ran a distracted hand through his black curls. ‘That’s what she told me when I got back to the flat on Sunday and rang her to ask what on earth she was playing at.’
‘And you definitely didn’t agree with her when she reminded you about the pact?’
‘No, of course not!’ he said, sounding totally exasperated. ‘I think she’s gone slightly mad ever since she realized she was about to hit forty. One minute she’s a complete party animal with a string of unsuitable boyfriends and the next she’s telling me she’s desperate to settle down and have a baby before it’s too late.’
‘Well, I suppose it would make you think,’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s a bit late for a first baby, but people do have them well into their forties these days, don’t they?’
‘They might do, but not with me!’ he said firmly. ‘We only went out with each other for a couple of weeks right at the start of my first university term, but it didn’t work out. The difference in our ages seemed greater then and she found someone older. Since then, I’ve felt exactly the same towards her as I do towards Bel: brotherly.’
I suddenly wondered if he saw me in the same light, a sort of irritating new sister, and that’s why he kept dishing out the bossy orders and advice. I mean, just because I found him irritating and devastatingly attractive in equal measures didn’t mean he had to see me the same way. And probably just as well …
‘So, did you tell her exactly how you feel?’
‘After all these years, I shouldn’t have needed to, but I did. She said she doesn’t really want to bring a baby up on her own, but if she hasn’t found Mr Right by now and I won’t oblige, then she’ll have to. She’s had some kind of test done to see if she’s still fertile and I think they told her to get a move on.’
He gloomed into his Guinness again.
‘I expect that was what threw her into a panic, so she grabbed at the nearest man – you,’ I said.
‘Thanks: I feel so wanted.’
‘I’m sorry for her, though,’ I said. ‘I thought I’d found my Mr Right, though actually he was never as keen on the idea of having children as I was. I’d have liked them, because then at least I’d have had real family that I was related to.’
‘I know what you mean,’ he agreed. ‘I’d like a family too, only not with someone I’ve spent half my life thinking of as a friend … and I keep forgetting how recently you lost your fiancé,’ he added thoughtfully.
‘It’s only about six months ago, but actually, the breakdown I had after he was killed seems somehow to have compressed the grieving process into a couple of months,’ I said. ‘I mean, I still miss him and think about him a lot, but I came out on this side of the depression feeling empty and looking for something to fill the space.’
‘Hence the rash decision to buy the Branwell Café, sight unseen,’ he said. ‘It makes more sense now.’
‘And to try to trace my birth mother. I know you think that’s rash, too, but Dan was impulsive and happy-go-lucky and he’d have thought both were a great idea.’
‘Would he?’ Nile said, then gloomed into his Guinness a bit more. ‘Zelda said I was unable to commit to any relationship and my girlfriends always got tired of waiting and found someone who would,’ he said, this obviously rankling.
‘They had better luck than I did then,’ I commented slightly bitterly, then added curiously, without intending to, ‘Did all your girlfriends dump you and marry someone else?’
‘Some did – or they got serious and I got cold feet and dumped them,’ he admitted.
It was just as I thought: he was Mr Commitment-phobe. Zelda’s phone call was now starting to look to me less like a misunderstanding but more like an attempt to hogtie him! Maybe she regretted letting him go first time round and wanted another bite of the cherry?
He sighed. ‘We’re business partners, so we can’t permanently fall out. I’d better go down and make things up with her, and persuade her to see sense. I’m busy till the end of the week, but then I have a country house sale to go to in Surrey, so I could call in on my way back.’
‘Netsuke or Stanhopes? I asked brightly, though for some reason I wasn’t feeling that cheerful about him visiting Zelda …
‘Neither: a Black Forest carved wooden bear hall stand and a matching barometer.’
‘They don’t exactly sound small and perfect?’
‘No, actually they’re big and ugly, but this particular client loves Black Forest bear carvings so much, she’ll buy anything.’
To my surprise, on the way home he invited me back to his flat for coffee for the first time and I accepted out of sheer nosiness. He clearly wasn’t interested in pouncing on me, so it seemed safe enough.
He unlocked the door of the shop and put the light on, and as I went in I suddenly spotted the Spode jug, sitting on a shelf.
‘Oh, you haven’t sold it!’ I said, picking it up and fondling it. ‘I noticed it had gone from the window.’
‘I like to change the display from time to time,’ he said. ‘And you can see now that it is nothing like that Minton teapot you got at the car boot sale!’
‘I never said it was,’ I told him indignantly, ‘only that the blue of the pattern was the same – though you can’t tell that in this light.’
He looked for a moment as if he might argue the point, but then thought better of it and said, ‘Come on, let’s have that coffee.’
Reluctantly (and carefully, because I’d just spotted the price sticker) I replaced the jug and followed him.
His flat was smaller than mine and his kitchen and bathroom downstairs, behind the shop and its small storeroom.
He made the coffee and we carried it up to his living room, which was furnished in a rather funky retro Swedish style, with bright fabrics and lots of light wood.
‘This is fun,’ I said, surprised.
‘I’m a fun person,’ he said gravely.
‘You could have fooled me. I’d have milked you for design suggestions for the teashop if I’d known, though.’
‘I think you’ve done pretty well on your own,’ he said, and then we talked about my renovations and what still needed to be done until I spotted the time – which had flown by – and got up to leave.
He handed me a small but weighty box at the front door.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, surprised.
‘That paperweight you wanted for Lola, remember? It’s Clichy, so you’re going to be paying me back in afternoon teas for ever.’
‘I might toss you the occasional crust,’ I conceded magnanimously.
The van driver bringing the tables and chairs actually managed to follow directions and find the back of the café, which was unique among delivery men.
In fact, the first I knew of his arrival was a knock at the back door – and when I opened it, the first stack of chairs was already piled up outside and he’d gone to fetch the next.
Jack, who was grouting endless yards of tiling, helped him carry the rest in and through to the teashop, where I spent ages arranging and rearranging the tables and chairs, until I came up with a configuration I liked. I didn’t want the customers jammed in together, but an airy, relaxing ambience.
There was a large, round table capable of seating six people, which fitted neatly into the bow window. Then I arranged half a dozen little square ones down the side of the room and dotted the smaller round tables about.
Finally satisfied, I half-closed my eyes and imagined the lights glittering on cutlery and glass tumblers, the sheen of the white tablecloths and the chink of cake fork against plate …
‘You could squeeze a couple more in,’ helpfully suggested Nile from right behind me, almost giving me a heart attack. I’d forgotten the door was open because Ross was out at the front, stripping paint from the door and window frames.
‘I think you should be belled, like a cat,’ I told him.
‘Did I startle you? I didn’t see you standing there until I was in, because you hadn’t got the lights on. I think you need some replacement light fittings, by the way,’ he added. ‘Those rustic wood effect ones would look better in the waffle house.’
‘You’re right, but I thought they’d do for now and I could replace them later, when I found something more suitable. I’m not sure quite what.’
I gestured at a stack of chairs and tables at the back, near the counter. ‘I don’t want to squeeze any more in, so those are to go up to Oldstone.’
‘I expect Sheila will store them in the attics until needed. Goodness knows, there’s enough room in there to hide a battleship.’
‘They are very spacious,’ I agreed. ‘Sheila could make lots more letting bedrooms there eventually, if she wanted to.’
‘Don’t encourage her, or we’ll be a country house hotel,’ he said.
‘Oh, I don’t think so – she couldn’t do it all herself, and her pottery is her consuming interest, isn’t it? She just slots one or two visitors in with the family and then it’s not any trouble at all.’
I looked round the room with satisfaction at how it was coming together. ‘You know, if Jack carries on at this rate, there won’t be any major jobs left unfinished after next week! He’s painting the outside woodwork tomorrow if it’s dry – that’s why Ross is stripping the old paint off – and the sign should be back, too.’
‘Yes, is that boy safe with a blowtorch?’ he asked.
‘I hope so, but I’ve told him if he cracks any of the old glass in the bow window I’ll kill him.’
I checked my watch. ‘Well, if you just wandered in from curiosity and don’t need me for anything, I’d better go and chase up the fitted double ovens that were promised for today and haven’t appeared.’
‘Actually, I came over to give you this,’ he said, handing me a bubble-wrapped parcel. ‘Early teashop opening gift.’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have …’ I began to protest, and then stopped once I’d revealed the lovely blue and white jug I’d adored from the moment I set eyes on it. ‘Nile – really, you shouldn’t have!’
‘I didn’t think you’d be able to resist picking it up and fondling it every time you came into the shop, so I thought I’d give it to you before you dropped it and wiped all the value off in one go.’
‘But … I saw the price tag, so I know it really is valuable! You can’t give all your stock away and I haven’t even paid you for Lola’s paperweight.’
‘Actually, this is one of my mistakes. It’s been mended, listen.’ He pinged the side of the jug and it made a flat sort of note.
‘It’s been well done, though. I arrived late at an auction and bought a box of stuff sight unseen, because they held the jug up.’
‘Well, I suppose you would have needed X-ray eyes to see the mend from where you were?’
He shrugged. ‘It still has some value and also, I found one or two good things in that box when I got it back home. I was going to take the jug down to London to see if Zelda could sell it, before you took a fancy to it.’
‘Thank you very much,’ I said. ‘I do love it, though I don’t know why, unless it’s because the pastoral scene is so idyllic and soothing.’
‘Soothing redheads is my speciality,’ he said.
‘How many do you know?’
‘Just the one, which is quite enough,’ he said, then favoured me with the ghost of his shatteringly attractive smile and turned to leave. ‘Don’t forget dinner tomorrow – I’ll drive.’
‘What?’ I said blankly.
He half-turned and raised a surprised eyebrow. ‘Mr Rochester’s Restaurant? You did say you wanted to go, so I’ve booked us in for tomorrow evening. I’ve got a flail to deliver while we’re at it.’
‘While we’re at what?’ I blurted out, so it was probably just as well he was halfway back to his shop and didn’t hear me.
And did he say a flail?