A Winter’s Tale (27 page)

‘Your mother used to bring you over to play with me sometimes when we were little girls too,’ I said more loudly. ‘Aunt Hebe reminded me. I’d forgotten, but it’s all come back to me now.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. I can’t have been more than a baby when you were last at Winter’s End,’ she said icily.

‘Come off it,
Lindy
—you’re only a year younger than me. Don’t you remember how I used to call you toffee-eyes, and you would start crying?’ I said helpfully.

‘You’re thinking of someone else.’ She glared at me, then
turned her thin back and started to tell the others some terribly long and involved story, which they all seemed to find highly amusing. She kept drawing Jack in for corroboration and after a while he withdrew his arm from behind me and half-turned away, so I would say that Mel had won that round—and probably any other round she decided to engage in. But I came to the conclusion this was merely a demonstration of power that was also intended to make Seth, her real target, jealous, because she was constantly checking the effect her flirting was having on him.

It didn’t seem to be putting him off his darts, so she can’t have got much satisfaction from that. But then, I have a feeling that sort of tactic simply wouldn’t work with a man like Seth.

I decided it was time to go.

The plump, curly-haired woman behind the bar caught my eye and waved at me, smiling. I got up, murmuring, ‘Excuse me, Jack, I think I see an old friend,’ but I’m not sure he, or any of the others, registered I’d gone. I wasn’t out of sight, but I was certainly already out of mind.

But before I could make a hasty exit from the pub, the woman who had waved beckoned me over. ‘It’s Sophy, isn’t it? I thought you’d remember me! Val? We were in the infants’ school together.’

She looked vaguely familiar…and then it all came back to me. ‘Hi, Val! Of
course
I remember you—and especially the day that horrible little boy put frogspawn down the back of your neck!’

She shuddered. ‘It’s given me frog phobia for life.’

‘Wasn’t he vile! What was his name?’

‘Josh Priestly.’

‘I wonder what happened to him? No good, I expect!’

‘Well, actually, I’m married to him—he’s the landlord, the man at the other end of the bar.’

‘Oh,’ I said weakly, ‘how lovely!’ I managed to smile when he waved at me. I hoped he had grown out of practical jokes and nasty surprises.

Val gave me a drink on the house, which I couldn’t very well refuse, so I slid onto a vacant barstool. I glanced over my shoulder at the table in the corner, but there was no sign anyone had noticed my absence.

‘Cheers!’ said the small, rotund man on the stool next to me, catching my eye and lifting his glass in salute. ‘And welcome back to Winter’s End.’

Thanks,’ I said, deciding that he looked harmless. He was middle-aged, yet had an air of puckish boyishness about him that owed a lot to the bright curiosity in his eyes.

‘You won’t know me—George Turnbull. I only moved into the area a few years ago, but I’ve heard all about you, of course. The whole place was buzzing after news of the will got out. I heard your cousin’s nose was right out of joint.’ The grin that went with this remark took away any offence.

‘He’s not really a cousin—well, I suppose he is, but a very, very distant one, and he’s taking it very well,’ I assured him, which was no more than the truth, even if I had a strong feeling that the reason for that was because Jack was still convinced he would get Winter’s End back, one way or another.

‘Someone told me you’d been working as a cleaner, just a single mother trying to scrape a living. Then—
wham
—heiress of Winter’s End! It’s romantic, that, just like a fairy story.’

I wondered who he’d been talking to, but agreed that yes, it
was
like a fairy story. He was both sympathetic and funny, asking me whether things had changed much since I’d lived here as a little girl, and telling me quite scurrilous
gossip about some of the new people who had moved into Sticklepond since I left.

We’d been chatting for several minutes when Seth’s dark head suddenly came between us and he said quietly, ‘So, has your new friend told you he’s a newspaper reporter?’

‘
What?
’ I said, turning startled eyes on my companion.

George grinned unrepentantly. ‘Even a reporter is entitled to his evening off, Seth, though the whole rags-to-riches thing might make a good story. I’ve heard you’ve got ambitious plans for extending the visitor facilities at Winter’s End, Miss Winter, so you never know when you might need a bit of publicity.’

‘I suppose not,’ I agreed, sliding off the stool into the small area of floor space next to it not already occupied by Seth’s big boots, ‘but the right kind of publicity! I’d really hate to see my private life in the newspapers, George.’

‘You might change your mind—here’s my card. But you’ll usually find me here in the evenings, if you want me.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ I said, ‘but now I must go—it’s been a long day. Excuse me, Seth, I can’t get past you.’

But Seth, frowning, was gazing beyond me to where Mel and Jack were now deep in a serious, heads-together discussion of some passion—though of what kind I wasn’t sure, except that it didn’t seem entirely amicable.

Suddenly I felt amazingly annoyed with Seth for being stupid enough to fall for that kind of woman
and
angry with myself for minding about the way she flirted with Jack.

I certainly didn’t feel I needed to say goodbye to either of them and nudged Seth sharply in the ribs.

‘You’re blocking my way—I want to go. If you’re leaving too I could give you a lift?’

The green eyes suddenly refocused on me. ‘Why not? There’s nothing to stay for.’

He didn’t say much on the journey back, except to remark
morosely that now I’d told my life story to George I could expect to see it splashed all over the
Sticklepond and District Gazette
.

‘I didn’t have to tell him my life story because he already knew most of it. I can’t imagine who gave him all the details.’

‘Well, it wasn’t me…though it might have been Grace. She was in earlier and they were talking when I arrived.’ He shook his head. ‘A half of Guinness and she’s anybody’s.’

‘You don’t really think he’d use it, do you? I don’t think my story is
that
interesting.’

‘Depends how short of news they are. But the circulation’s very small, there is that,’ he said, and lapsed into silence again until I dropped him off.

That was gratitude, considering I’d gone all the way round to take him to the lodge. I should have made him walk from the house.

Chapter Eighteen: Friendly Relations

My poor husband is no more. Last night he could not get his breath and though I tried everything in my power, he left this life at midnight. At the last, to ease his passing, I whispered to him my good news and he squeezed my hand and smiled.

From the journal of Alys Blezzard, 1581

When I got home I didn’t feel sleepy any more—too full of confused emotions and edgy irritation. So, with reckless extravagance, I rang Lucy from the telephone extension in my room, which made me feel terribly guilty, even if settling the phone bills was now entirely my responsibility. I didn’t stop to calculate the time difference between Winter’s End and Japan either (which I usually get wrong anyway), but luckily she picked up.

‘Lucy, I wish you were here. Can’t you come home?’

‘Maybe…’ she said, showing slight signs of weakening for the very first time, ‘though I’d have to pay for my own ticket if I left before the end of my contract.’

‘I can find the money for that, somehow. I really do need you here to help me.’

‘That’s true—goodness knows what you’ve been doing without me to keep an eye on you!’

‘Nothing really, except getting organised for Operation
Save Winter’s End,’ I said, and updated her on the meeting and how my plans had gone down.

She gave gracious approval. ‘But don’t
totally
alienate that gardener. He’s free, for one thing; and for another, he’s sort of family.’

‘Only by marriage to your great-aunt Ottie…or is that great-great?’

‘Whatever. Seth sounds interesting, though, and you still need him to sort out the bottom terrace, don’t you?’

‘I suppose so,’ I conceded. ‘And he did sort of apologise later…or at least, I think it was meant as an apology—he quoted Shakespeare at me, then helped me take down the parlour curtains. Tomorrow we’ll both have to be polite, because apparently all the family, including Seth, gathers round the table for the Sunday roast. Considering Ottie and Hebe are barely on speaking terms, that must be a riot.’

‘Why aren’t they speaking?’

‘It’s to do with Alys Blezzard’s book.’ I had lowered my voice despite the several inches of solid oak between any eavesdropper and me.

‘Our witchy ancestor? How can they fall out over a book? Anyway, you’ve got it.’

‘Yes, but Hebe’s read it and remembered enough of what Alys said in the foreword to blab to Jack, and now he seems to think there’s a hidden treasure at Winter’s End!’

‘And is there?’ she asked, interested. ‘I thought that bit in the flyleaf was about the recipes, especially the rose ones?’

I had brought Lucy up to know about Alys, as my mother had done with me, making the book an exciting secret between us. I suppose, through the centuries, that was always how it was…

‘Reputedly there are at least
three
treasures hidden at Winter’s End, including a Saxon hoard somewhere in the grounds. But all old houses have these stories, and generations of Winters
have probably sifted every inch—when they weren’t busy rebuilding, panelling or stuccoing. The place is a total architectural hotchpotch.’

‘I noticed that when I visited. Maybe Alys did hide something, though I don’t think it would be any kind of valuable thing in the money sense, would you, Mum? Perhaps just her more incriminatingly witchy recipes, and a few scraps of parchment or paper would be easy to conceal.’

‘Yes, that’s quite possible. Your grandmother always thought there was something else that only Ottie knew about.’ I spared her the information that her great-aunt also thought she was Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

‘Or it might be some scandalous titbit of family history,’ suggested Lucy, still turning over the possibilities. ‘Perhaps the King popped in and showed Alys a right royal good time?’

‘I think it was Queen Elizabeth then, and she didn’t seem to be inclined that way,’ I said doubtfully, because my grasp on history is not brilliant. ‘Still, whatever it is, I expect Ottie will tell me in her own good time.’

‘Oh, I
do
want to come back and search now, Mum, just in case. It’s all so Famous Five! And if either of the great-aunts has any secrets, I bet
I
could winkle them out. You know I can twist little old ladies round my fingers.’

‘It’s your golden curls and blue eyes that get them every time. But not these two old ladies,’ I assured her. ‘Anyway, Jack has the same advantages, plus that of being male, and Hebe adores him. He’s here at the moment, though he missed most of my speech.’

‘Have you told him you’re not selling Winter’s End yet?’

‘I’ve certainly
tried
, but he just doesn’t seem to take it in. I’m sure he’s convinced I’m just playing Lady of the Manor and will be sweet-talked into selling eventually. He says he has the money to maintain it, but I could still make Winter’s End my home, so I’d be in a win/win situation.’‘

Big of him,’ Lucy commented.

‘Yes…’ I added after a pause, because I still wasn’t entirely sure on exactly what terms Jack envisaged us both living at Winter’s End. ‘I went to the local pub with him tonight and met some of his friends.’

‘Oh? Did you have a nice time? I’m not sure being wined and dined by Jack is a good idea. You’re so susceptible to that kind of man.’

‘I had an
interesting
time—and I’m not susceptible to
any
kind of man,’ I said with dignity, ‘I’ve learned my lesson. If it makes you feel better, Jack didn’t wine and dine me, either, just bought me a Coke, let his rich friends snub me, then lost interest in me entirely once one of his old flames came in.’

‘Oh, Mum, it sounds horrible!’

‘It was. I left early and came back with Seth Greenwood instead.’

‘That’s more like it. I do like the sound of
him
.’

‘I can’t imagine why. He’s rude, overbearing and obsessed with finishing the garden to the point where he doesn’t see anything else. And don’t get your hopes up, because he just wanted a lift. Jack’s old flame is Seth’s, too. I think they fell out over her years ago. But now she’s back, she seems to have a thing going with Seth and the flirting with Jack was just intended to whip him back into line. She played the field before she married and, so far as I can see, she’s reverted to type now she’s widowed.’ I sighed. ‘She’s called Melinda Christopher and she is
stunningly
beautiful in an unusual way—silvery blonde hair and these strange, very light brown eyes.’