The Rhyme of the Magpie (19 page)

All good intentions went out the window at my cottage. I made tea and ate four pieces of toast and then made another cup of tea and settled on the sofa, waking up at eleven o'clock, rushing through a shower, and arriving at the TIC just as the church bell rang noon.

Vesta rang not long after she'd finished playing the organ at St. Swithun's.

“Julia, is it all right if I don't stop this afternoon?”

“Of course it's all right,” I said, laughing. “It's your day off—you aren't meant to be here.”

“Yes, but I would do if you needed me, you know.” She paused for a moment. “You sound quite chipper—is there any word?”

I told her that indeed, there had been good news yesterday and explained. “So you see, there's no need to worry about me. Do you have plans?”

Akash had asked her out for the afternoon. “Ickworth House,” she said. “They've one of the Suffolk walks scheduled this afternoon—out across a field and round the obelisk in the park and back through the gardens. The walk you arranged for the Fotheringill estate is in a fortnight, and I thought I'd do a bit of recce.”

“You shouldn't have to work when you're on a date—but I suppose it would be good to know how they handle the event. We'd be better prepared for ours.” Anything to improve my standing with Linus. “Most of all, you and Akash enjoy yourselves.”

The afternoon began well, with a few visitors wandering through, but by four o'clock, I felt as if I were moving through mud. In a quiet moment, I sat at the back table and put my head on my arm and plunged into a deep sleep for about ten minutes. When my phone rang, I shouted with alarm before I could identify the sound.

“Jools,” Dad said, “we wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Fine, just fine,” I said, wiping the drool from my chin and glancing over the counter to make sure no one was watching me. “Are you all right? Did you tell Beryl I gave you that bloody nose?”

He laughed. “You've got a good swing on you. I only wanted to say that this is all settled and you don't need to worry.”

“Dad, it isn't all settled—do the police know any more about Kersey's murder?”

“He was a complicated person, as any human being is. His work with Power to the People aside, they believe he may have owed someone a great deal of money, and they are looking into that.”

I remembered that small square of paper in his shoe—the betting slip. “He gambled, didn't he? Football? Horses? Casinos?”

“They didn't say, but I'm sure they'll sort it out.”

“And Fenny? What will you do about him?”

“I'll take care of it in a few days.”

“Dad, you can't take care of everything in the world.”

“You and I missed our lunch on Friday—why don't you come over for dinner this evening?”

I was over all that, really I was—I could think of Dad and Beryl without any stabs of anger. But I wasn't sure I could manage a dinner together, just the three of us. Not yet.

“I'd better catch up on my sleep tonight,” I said. “But soon—one day this week?”

“Lunch tomorrow? I could come over there.”

“I'm not making excuses. I will see you—it's just that tomorrow Michael is taking me on a picnic. Is that all right?” I felt so silly saying it—as if I was asking permission. Dad, can I go out with this new guy?

I expected a “good on you” or a “you watch yourself,” but instead, Rupert said, “Michael is a fine fellow, Julia. I want you to remember that.” As if I had complained that he was a tosser.

“Yeah, I'll remember.”

I made tea and checked email to find a brief message from Linus.

Julia, I hope you understand my position on this large-scale project of a summer supper in the village. I can in no way authorize an event of such magnitude that might jeopardize the estate and the delicate situation we find ourselves in. I can't help but think that this whole affair and the logistics necessary would be too much for us. You know that I have the utmost confidence in you, and I'm sure you will understand my position. We need to talk. I'm unable to do so today, as I'm off to London to see about Cecil. Tomorrow? Yours, Linus

I attempted to read some hope into his words, but with no luck. And I didn't think it was appropriate for him to ask for a meeting on Monday, my day off. After all, I was going on a picnic. Well, Linus has his own problems—once again, I wondered what sort of trouble his son got into so regularly. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I dived in, typing my short but cheery reply. I hoped he couldn't tell I was gritting my teeth.

Dear Linus, Thought I'd let you know that all is well with Rupert. I'm unable to meet tomorrow, but look forward to our discussion on how to go forward with the estate's needs uppermost in my mind. Could we make it Tuesday morning instead? Thanks!

I hit “send” and exhaled. Should I be looking at “situations available” websites?

I rang Bianca instead. Seven-year-old Enid answered and began a long story about a hedgehog in the garden that she had named Eddy—what was it with this family and their “E” names?—and how she would introduce us when I came for a visit. Bee relieved her of the phone, promising a biscuit in exchange.

“Have you heard Dad's story?” I asked first thing.

She had. “I can't believe you didn't tell me what was going on,” she said.

“Yes, rather annoying when people don't tell you the truth about things, isn't it?”

That gave her pause. “Well. So is Dad really all right? Is this all about Fenny?”

“There's an example right there,” I said. “I go along merrily thinking that Dad and Fenny are great friends, and then find out Dad's been cleaning up his messes for years. Stephen told me about the A-levels scam.”

“When did you see Stephen?” Bee asked brightly. I could see her ploy but was too tired to complain, and so we reminisced about our childhood and the gang of three for a few minutes.

“How are you feeling?” I asked. “How's little Evangeline—or is it Eduardo?”

Bee snickered. “We don't know which yet. I'm fine, just tired. I'm looking forward to that burst of energy at the end. The week before Emmy was born, I cleaned out four wardrobes and the attic.”

It's true, she did become super-mum right before each birth.

“And now you,” she said. “Tell me about Michael.”

Dad or Beryl had grassed me up—snitching on me before I could break the news. “Tell you what about Michael?” I asked, acting the innocent. I checked the time, got up, and locked the TIC door.

“Are you or are you not?”

My sister knew how to get straight to the point.

“Am I what?” I asked with great indignation.

“Oh, please,” Bee said.

“We had a lovely evening Thursday—I cooked. He brought me a box of chocolates.”

“Well, that answers my question,” she said. I laughed, breaking any hope of fooling her. “And now, details, please.”

I gave them. The word
“accommodating”
may have come up once or twice.

“And now what?” my sister asked.

My face felt hot as I searched for a way to explain something I hadn't actually thought through yet. “Well, he's asked me out for tomorrow.”

Bianca didn't answer for a moment. In the background, I heard little Emmett rabbiting on in his unintelligible English.

“Jools, that sounds promising, it really it does,” she said at last. “You'll stick with it, won't you? Get to know each other—see how you are together. You know, you do seem to go to extremes occasionally, either plunging in or running away before you know if something will take hold or not.”

“I do not plunge in,” I said, switching on the kettle for another cuppa.

“How long had you and Nick known each other before you got married? You have no idea how many people asked Mum if you were pregnant.”

“All right, perhaps we
were…impetuous.
It was a mistake, I realize that now. But I'm not always impulsive.”

“Gavin Lecky.”

“One time—that's not fair!”

“And that fellow who worked in the pub near Hodbarrow when you were filming the great crested grebe?”

Oh, him. That was a weekend better left where it belonged, in a cheap guesthouse in Kendal. It was by mutual agreement that we never saw each other again. I swished the tea bag around in my mug before fishing it out and slinging it into the sink. I didn't like this list of failures in my love life.

“I'm not saying any of those fellows were terrible choices,” Bee said in a pacifying tone. “I'm only pointing out that you never hang around long enough to know.”

It's true, the phrase “working it out” has never sounded terribly romantic to me.

“I want you to be happy, Jools—to find someone you love who will love you back. No matter how difficult that may seem at times.”

I sniffed and wiped my nose on the back of my hand. “You don't want me to have four children, do you? Because I don't think that's in the cards.”

Bee laughed, and I joined in. “Then you'll just have to be the best auntie in the world—you remember Emmy's playing Nana in
Peter Pan
?”

“Certainly I do,” I said. But I had not remembered to write it down. I did so now, scribbling it on the back of an envelope until I could put it into my phone calendar.

“And you'll tell me how it goes tomorrow?”

“I tell you everything, you know that.”

I walked home dreaming of a picnic at the seaside and decided to spend the evening going through my wardrobe for the proper outfit. Still a bit chilly for summer frocks, but I might be able to pull together cropped trousers and a gauzy top. At that thought, a frigid gust of wind rounded the bend and hit me in the face. I added a cardigan to the mix.

But when I arrived home and looked into my fridge, I realized that although I may be able to work up an outfit, I would need to go out for a meal or go to bed hungry. I chose the Royal Oak—Smeaton's other pub. As manager of the TIC, I was the face of the estate, and needed to spread myself around.

The server—whom I'd met once or twice but whose name I couldn't recall—brought me the half pint of cider she had recommended while I waited for the haddock and chips. “Thanks, um…”

“Louisa,” she said.

“Louisa. Thanks.”

I sat in a corner at a tiny table with a good view of the light Sunday evening crowd, smiling to myself at how comfortable I felt in my new home. I took a sip—crisp, ever so slightly sweet, and a tiny kick from the alcohol. Over the rim of my glass, I saw a good-looking fellow with cropped brown hair sitting across the room with a pint of his own. He lifted his glass to me and nodded. I smiled, then blushed and looked down at the table. So much for a quiet meal. Louisa came round, nodded back to the man, and said, “You're drinking his cider.”

I set my glass down abruptly. “But you gave it to me.”

“No, I mean, he's the maker. Bugg's Best Cider—it's made right here on the estate.”

“Oh yes.” A cider orchard—that sounded vaguely familiar. I raised my glass to him and said, “Very nice.”

“He's my boyfriend,” Louisa said. “But that's not why we serve it,” she rushed on. “It's local. Adam plans to sell it at the farmers' market when you get that started.”

The penny dropped. This was a sales presentation. “It's quite good, I'm sure he'll do well.”

“It would be even better to have a permanent place to sell it in bottles,” she went on.

“Has he talked with Akash Kumar at the shop?”

“Mr. Kumar does stock it, yes, but of course, he's only room for a few bottles at a time. Not quite the same as at that enormous farmshop on the Chatsworth estate.”

Don't even mention the Chatsworth estate to Linus,
I thought,
he yearns to be even a tenth as successful.
That brought me up short. If he longs for that, he shouldn't dismiss my summer supper out of hand. If we pulled that off, we'd be one up on Chatsworth. And if we can have a summer supper, why can't we have our own farmshop as well?

“I see that I need to meet Adam.”

Louisa called him over to my table and we had a quick introduction; I told Adam to look me up at the TIC.

“Thanks for that, Julia,” Louisa said when she served my haddock and chips. “Let me bring you another half—on the house.”

I crawled into bed and stretched out, considering my options. If I were to lose my position for proposing the summer supper, why not sound even crazier and champion a farmshop? An organic farmshop—with fresh fruit and produce, a bakery, cheese and meat counter, and ready-made meals. Of course, we'd need a café, too. I drifted off to sleep with visions of opening a picnic basket and offering Michael a selection of local cheeses and a bottle of Bugg's Best followed by chocolate truffles followed by Michael reaching out and me falling back and feeling the sand sifting into my knickers.

Damn sand.

“Julia, good morning,” Akash said. He stood behind his counter, straightening his grocery apron. “I've heard good news about your father.”

I smiled. “Good morning. Yes, he's fine and home and all. I hope you and Vesta had a lovely afternoon.”

“The walk was
invigorating—only
three miles, but far enough for me. Vesta took notes to give you—they began the walk indoors with coffee and cake. She hopes that Nuala might do the same at the Hall.”

“I don't see why not—what better way to get people ready for the outdoors?” I asked, digging my hands deep into the pockets of Mum's—formerly Dad's—old chestnut-colored cardigan. I'd thrown it on over a skimpy cami—the cardy was long enough to cover up the threadbare bum on my trousers. That's the beauty of a quick trip to the corner shop—there is no dress code.