Page 15 of A Colourful Country Escape
Ben had mainly been in his office. She’d bumped into him a few times when he’d stuck his head around the kitchen door, although she could never work out what he’d wanted. He would just cough awkwardly and make a strange excuse. Did he feel a comfort at being near the glow of the kitchen too? He’d be too proud to show it, if he did. And Lexie still got the impression he hated her.
Yes, if Ben’s office was the brain centre of the house, this room was like the heart. She shook her head, trying to forget the image Ben had painted of his mother stringing up their insides when she found out about her. Lexie hadn’t met this notorious woman yet and she was in no hurry to.
Mrs Moon bustled in through the door in her frilly housekeeper’s apron and bonnet; an oddly archaic look, which she seemed to wear with pride. Lexie had warmed to her instantly, with her squidgy pink-marshmallow cheeks and hair like one of those fluffy dandelion clocks. She just wanted to puff on her and make a wish. Sky used to say if you could blow away all the seeds in one breath, the person you loved would love you back. But then, Sky was a dreamer.
Beep, beep, beep …
Mrs Moon hurried to her ovens, batting the steamy air with an embroidered tea towel.
‘Ooh, my lavender shortbread. I’ve made it specially to calm your nerves. Big day for you, lovey.’ She rubbed Lexie’s back as she rooted in a drawer for an oven glove.
Lexie smiled. She did feel anxious about her trip to the factory, but it was mainly being in such close proximity to Ben that would bother her. Maybe he’d be less abrasive on work territory.
Apparently nobody could resist the delicious fragrance of Mrs Moon’s biscuits. No sooner had the elderly lady put them out to cool and opened a window, a head appeared in its frame. It sported a worn tweed cap, a shy gummy grin and seventy or so years’ worth of friendly wrinkles, and it belonged to Tom the gardener.
‘Ah, just in time for some of yer lovely bakin’, Mrs M. ’Ave you got that kettle on?’
Mrs Moon straightened her bonnet and flushed.
‘Tom, you’ll make the poor girl jump, springing up like that. Now mind you don’t get your grubby paw prints all over my windows.’ She bustled over with a cloth. ‘I was just about to make Lexie some soothing lemon-balm tea.’
Tom pulled his face into a mock grimace and set his muddy trowel down on the windowsill while Mrs Moon was distracted with a teapot.
‘None of yer weeds in me tea, thankin’ you. ’Tisn’t no good for me insides. I’ll ’ave some proper PG Tips.’
Lexie was still getting used to the gardener’s West-Country drawl. She guessed Mrs M was well accustomed to it, after at least two decades of having him around.
‘Honestly, I’m happy with normal tea if that’s what you’re making. I don’t feel that worried.’ Lexie hated to be a burden.
The housekeeper gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Prevention is better than cure, dear. Trust me, when Mrs Carrington-Noble gets wind of you, she’ll be over here like a dog out of hell. Andthenyou’ll be nervous.’
Mrs Moon tipped a heavy dose of leaves into the teapot, took one look at Lexie’s paling face, and scooped in an extra measure.
‘Better stock up on those.’ The housekeeper scribbled a note on her shopping list.
‘’Ere, young grockle.’
Lexie had learned ‘grockle’ meant someone from out of town. It seemed to be Tom’s nickname for her. He said it nicely enough; it was almost touching.
‘I managed to get that peacock mess off yer motor.’
Lexie cringed at the memory. ‘Oh, Tom, that’s so sweet of you. Honestly, there was no need. I would have done it if you’d found me a bucket. I’m not fussy.’
‘It weren’t no bother. Them’s always up to no good. Probably just doing their matin’ dance with yer. Not so often they see a pretty young thing like you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Apart from Mrs M here, of course. Them’s partial to a wave from Mrs M, and one of ’er lovely teacakes.’
He winked at Lexie while Mrs Moon hid her rosy cheeks in her herb cupboard.
Like another bee to the lavender patch, Cory shuffled into the kitchen in flip-flopped feet and sank into a chair near Lexie. He held up a hand in greeting.
Mrs Moon sorted out her chintzy crockery and slid a plate of shortbread in front of him. Lexie noticed she’d sneaked him a double portion. Mrs Moon had told Lexie she’d been the boys’ nanny when they were younger. Ben had been ten when the Carringtons moved in and had been sensible enough not to want much fuss. But she’d looked after Cory since he was three, and she clearly adored him.
‘How are things in the van, Lex?’ Cory asked.
‘Excellent, thanks.’ She tried on her best convincing smile.
‘Really? Because the weather’s been shitty, and those vintage campers aren’t that practical. You can use the showers here, you know. Or just move in; it’s all good. Mr and Mrs Moon’s old living space upstairs would be great with a lick of paint, now she’s moved out to one of the garden cottages.’
‘And Mr Moon,’ the housekeeper reminded him firmly.
