Page 71 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
I gazed at her, astonished. ‘I’m sure you’re wrong – or if he is fascinated, then it’s only because he can’t understand why I haven’t rolled over on my back every time he smiles, like practically every other woman.’
‘Iprobably would, if he smiled at me,’ she said. ‘And I think you’re in denial and really fancy him.’
‘Well, OK, I admit I do find him attractive – but even if it was reciprocal, I’m not looking for yet another relationship with a short shelf life.’
Lola dropped the subject, but I kept thinking about what she’d said about Nile staring at me, when I wasn’t looking …
The circle of dancing, diaphanously clad dryads pressed closer and closer around Kev, their soulless, beautiful eyes fixed on him and their grasping hands reaching out …
But Beauty hadn’t been asleep all those hundreds of years just to let a bunch of airy-fairy nymphs get her man, even if he did now seem both mesmerized and acquiescent.
She pointed the weapon she still held and the magic force caused the nearest dryad to fall over in a heap with a loud and satisfying scream.
Beauty snatched Kevin’s scimitar and would have followed on with a little letting of green blood, had the fallen nymph’s sisters not scooped her up and run for the trees, where their fluttering draperies soon vanished into the foliage.
Given the situation of the GP surgery I’d joined, it was inevitable that my former lover’s family would register there after they’d moved into the ancestral home on the moors just outside Haworth. Oldstone Farm was an extensive, sprawling affair, with the central part rumoured to be of great antiquity, though I have little interest in such things.
Nor do I have any idea why it should be called by that name, for it was miles from the rocky outcrop, and if the place had ever been a working farm, it had ceased to be one within living memory.
My practice was a large one and the family were registered with another of the doctors there, so I had little contact with them, though of course, whether I did or not was a matter of complete indifference to me.
27
Distant Views
Lola had to set out for Shrewsbury early next morning and once Ross arrived and started sanding the floorboards in the café, I began to wish I’d gone with her.
Bel had suggested that I went over to stay with them that day, though, so we could walk up to the Oldstone together very early the next morning, so in the end I put my overnight bag in the car and left Ross to it.
I had an appointment to meet a local artisan baker I’d heard about, who was young and enthusiastic about the idea of providing the bread for my teashop, then afterwards I went on to check out the stock of a cash and carry, before ending up at Oldstone Farm.
When I was there the previous night with Lola it was clear that Sheila assumed that I’d be spending my weekend with them, probably helping to paint the room she was revamping. It was a bit of a busman’s holiday, but I didn’t mind. It would get me away from the reek of the floor sealant too, which I hoped would have abated a bit by the time I returned to my flat on Sunday.
Just after dawn on Saturday morning, Bel and I set off across the moors in my car with an eager Honey in the back.
In fact, it was so early that we were surprised to find a glossy new Renault hatchback already parked on the turf below the Oldstone.
‘I hoped we’d have the place to ourselves,’ I said, disappointed. ‘There was no one about last time.’
‘It could be a twitcher, out watching birds,’ Bel suggested.
‘Is there anything much to watch at this time of year?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ she confessed.
But it appeared that it wasn’t a twitcher, for as we headed up the path a woman appeared from the other direction, with a white Bichon Frise at her side.
‘Early dogwalker,’ Bel said.
‘I thought that was a lamb, at first,’ I said. ‘They’re very woolly little things.’
When we got nearer, I could see that she was perhaps in her fifties, of medium height and well built, without being stocky. She had steel-grey hair pulled back into an uncompromising plait, pale lipstick, chilly blue eyes and an expression to match.
But therewassomething familiar about her … and then I suddenly realized she was the woman I’d met driving towards me in the narrowest part of the lane the day of my first visit, when she’d simply sat there waiting for me to reverse miles to a passing place. You don’t forget someone you’ve had that kind of stand-off with – especially when you came off the worst! So, either she lived nearby, or this was a favourite haunt of hers … or perhaps both.
The cold, uninterested gaze swept over us, though I thought her eyes lingered on me for just a moment, so the recognition might have been mutual.
‘Good morning,’ she said briefly.
