Page 61 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
‘Not if she’s got any sense: I’ll back you if they query it again.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ I said gratefully. ‘They want it back on Monday and there was no way I could rewrite the whole novel by then, even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. I mean, it’s already been published as an e-book and no one had any problem with that aspect of it.’
‘Quite,’ she said, and then, business obviously completed, turned her attention back to Nile. She flirted with him outrageously until Eleri came out of the kitchens looking flushed, pretty and extremely pregnant, in a long, flowing, high-waisted dress.
‘Alice, how wonderful to see you again!’ she said, coming over and kissing me, as Senga had. I remembered all this kissing from London – they’re all at it down there.
‘I’m so pleased you’ve got a publishing contract and are with Senga,’ she said, which was generous of her. I mean, last time we’d met I’d merely attended the tea as her adoring fan, so my suddenly popping back up in author mode had probably been quite a surprise.
‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ I said. ‘But congratulations on your new book … and I see I should congratulate you on your future new arrival, too.’
‘Yes, I’ve a first edition on its way,’ she said, and Senga, predictably, remarked that she hoped she’d finish her new book before its arrival. She was clearly a slave driver.
Eleri called Henry, her husband, out to meet us – and he cut a darkand romantic figure in riding clothes similar to Nile’s outfit and with much the same gloomy expression. He was thicker-set than Nile and rugged rather than handsome.
‘Good to meet you,’ he said, shaking hands and allowing a brief and very attractive smile to make an appearance.
He shook hands with Nile, too, and the two of them seemed to recognize in each other kindred spirits. ‘See they’ve got you to wear fancy dress, as well,’ Henry said.
‘I can’t wait to get out of it,’ Nile agreed, and Senga looked as if she’d like to help him … or even both of them.
There was the faint sound of car doors slamming, footsteps scrunching on the gravel and excited voices.
‘Here come the guests,’ Eleri said.
‘You go and sit down, darling, ready to sign books,’ her husband suggested. ‘I’ll welcome them in and then give Martha a hand to bring out the refreshments.’
Eleri obeyed orders, heading for a table laden with copies of her new book – I think she was glad to sit down. But before she went, she invited me to come and have tea with her one day before the baby arrived.
‘We’ll have time for a proper talk then,’ she said, and I told her I’d love to.
The room quickly filled up and began to buzz like a shaken hive of hornets, and the book launch went with a swing. There was a brief speech from Senga, the reading of the first chapter of the new novel by Eleri, and then a scrummy buffet tea of sandwiches, cakes and savouries that were along the lines of the food I intended serving in the teashop, only mine would be daintier. There was a toast in champagne, too, one of my many weaknesses, so I was glad Nile was driving.
Goody bags were distributed to everyone, containing fans, heart-shaped chocolates and a postcard bearing the facsimile of the Brontë sisters’ portrait painted by Branwell.
Everyone mingled over tea and I talked to people from all over the world: Eleri had millions of fans, and the Brontës, of course, even more. In fact, I’d just met someone involved with the Brontë Parsonage Museum and was telling them about my plan to open a premiertearoom in Haworth, when Henry happened to overhear and said he hoped I wasn’t stealing his ideas, so I could set myself up to be competition!
But then I decided he must be joking, in a straight-faced way, and Nile, who was standing next to me, said a teashop in Haworth was too far away to be competition anyway. Then he added that he’d heard how wonderful Henry’s restaurant was and he must bring me to try it one evening.
‘We’re open all year in the evenings – and so is the café now, every afternoon between two and five,’ Henry said. ‘Since Eleri found that diary mentioning Charlotte Brontë and we put it on display, we get a lot more visitors out of season.’ He indicated an illuminated glass display box on the back wall. ‘There’s a facsimile in the tearoom, but this one’s the real thing.’
I left him talking to Nile and went to look at the journal, where I met two American sisters bent on the same errand. They’d both come as Cathy and had been at the initial tea party the year before.
‘It was a smaller party in the café, and things got very exciting when it was breaking up, because there was a tractor accident right outside and Henry was a real, genuine hero,’ said one of them. ‘He was so brave, wasn’t he, Eleri?’ she said, appealing to her as she finally abandoned her book-depleted station and began to circulate among the guests. ‘And you were too.’
‘Oh, I didn’t do anything much,’ Eleri said modestly. ‘My husband’s cousin George managed to roll his tractor into the ditch while trying to turn it,’ Eleri explained to me. ‘Henry got right under it to help him until the emergency services arrived.’
‘Yes, I’m a genuine hero,’ Henry said sardonically, putting his arm round his wife.
‘Not that George is at all grateful – or he was, but it wore off quickly,’ Eleri said ruefully. ‘He’s such a grumpy, mean kind of man.’
‘Not a bit like his father,’ agreed Henry. ‘You couldn’t find a kinder man than Joe Godet.’
My ears pricked up: could it bethateasy to find one of the two people I wanted to talk to?
‘Does he live nearby?’ I asked.
‘Unfortunately, yes – Withen Bottom Farm, just over the hill,’ he said, his face going all shuttered, so despite the rescue there was clearly no love lost between them.
