Page 25 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
‘I don’t know that they can do anything about it and she’s too wary a bird to show her face here again,’ Tilda said, shaking her head. Then she looked round the room with the satisfaction of a job well done and added, ‘I’d get someone out to service that old gas boiler in the kitchen before you light it. The name of the man who does the one in the basement is on a label stuck on the side; I’d ring him.’
‘Good idea – I shouldn’t think it’s been used for donkey’s years.’
‘That’s right, you don’t want to start off by blowing the place up,’ she agreed. ‘Now, here’s my phone number if you need me to help with anything else, otherwise I’ll be back Friday as usual, to clean through again, shall I?’
‘Yes, do, but I might ring you before that, because I’d like to meet Nell when my plans for the teashop are clearer in my mind.’
‘Where are you staying till you can move into the flat, then?’ she asked. ‘Did you find somewhere else?’
‘I haven’t got round to looking yet, but I’d better do that now. At the worst I expect they’d have me back at the Gondal Guesthouse – I could survive one more night – then just camp in the flat after that.’
Tilda looked doubtful about this idea and said she’d have put me up herself, except she only had a two-bedroomed cottage and Nell lived with her, but I assured her I’d find somewhere.
But when she’d gone, I wondered how I’d set about it, because the telephone landline wasn’t yet connected and I was waiting for a router as well, so I could get the internet … and now I came to look, there was no sign of a local phone book.
I really ought to upgrade my phone, too. The one I had was an old one of Dan’s.
My laptop, with the latest list up on the screen, was still blinking at me in the office and on impulse I had a quick look at internet connectivity … and discovered I could piggyback someone else’s open connection!
Quick as a flash I was in, and emailing short updates to Edie and Lola. Then, just as I was embarking on a search for a guesthouse, that damned doorbell did its loud jangle.
‘Is that you, Tilda?’ I called. ‘Did you forget something?’
She’d certainly forgotten to lock the door behind her again, for Nile Giddings suddenly appeared in the doorway, then pounced before I could slam down the lid of my laptop.
‘Aha! I had a feeling it would be you,’ he said triumphantly, and I felt myself going guiltily pink.
‘Oh, was thatyourinternet connection I borrowed?’ I said innocently. ‘Sorry, I just wanted to check out local guesthouses … and anyway, how did you know?’ I asked, as the thought occurred to me.
‘Because it was taking me for ever to download new photographs on to the Small and Perfect website,’ he said grimly.
‘Well, I’m very sorry,’ I repeated, ‘but my router is supposed to arrive tomorrow and my landline will be connected early next week, so I won’t need do it again.’
‘You’d better not,’ he said tersely. Then he looked around and clocked all the empty spaces in the kitchen.
‘She reallydidclean you out, didn’t she?’
‘The only things she left were fixed in or screwed down, apart from a fridge and freezer so old they belong in a museum,’ I agreed. ‘You should have seen the flat: not only was it stripped bare, it was filthy, too.’
‘So you won’t be moving in any time soon, hence the guesthouse search?’
‘Oh, Tilda has spent most of the day cleaning the flat so it just needs a lick of paint and some furniture now,’ I said, hoping I sounded more upbeat about it than I felt. ‘I’ll move in when the rest of my belongings arrive along with my car on Sunday. I don’t want to go back to the guesthouse I stayed at last night, if I can find a different one – preferably cheaper.’
‘Even off-season, Haworth is still pricey,’ he said, then paused, frowning. ‘I’ve got a better idea. My family live just out of the village and my mother takes paying guests when she can get them. The house is a big old place, a bit ramshackle and run down, but it’s cheap and she’s a great cook.’
‘I’m sure it’s wonderful, but I need to be within walking distance of the café until I’ve got my car, so even for a couple of nights—’ I began, but he interrupted me.
‘I divide my time between home and the flat over my shop and I’m there most weekends, so I’ll give you a lift in and out.’
I was very far from sure that I wanted to be stuck out on the moors with strangers and dependent for transport on Mr Tall, Dark and Stroppy. ‘I don’t want to put your mother out, when I need somewhere for only a night or two. She’s probably shut for the winter like a lot of the local guesthouses, isn’t she?’
‘Sheila’s doors are never shut,’ he said enigmatically. ‘I’ll ring her.’
‘Sheila?’ I repeated and it suddenly occurred to me to wonder if he had a wife stashed away there, too. He might well have, for he was about my age – mid-thirties, or possibly a year or two older … Maybe one of those hens Tilda had told me about had fluttered a little more attractively than the others?
‘My mother – I always call her Sheila. She’ll be delighted to hear you’re going to stay at Oldstone.’
‘Oldstone!’ I exclaimed, sharply.
