Page 63 of A Colourful Country Escape
‘Of course. I get you.’ Lexie gave an awkward cough, although she wasn’t sure she did understand. Why was he getting so edgy about the greenhouse? It was only … oh God. What if it wasn’t only herbs? Or, more to the point, what if it was dodgy herbs?
She gave him a quick sideways glance. No, surely not. He never looked stoned. Did he? Gardeners were just naturally calm. Although anything was possible in this surreal place. With Mrs Carrington-Noble on the prowl, maybe a nifty joint in the potting shed was just what an old guy needed.
Anyway, she was sure she’d remember the heady smell of illegal weeds from her days of putting up with Inkie. Whatever it was, Tom was entitled to his privacy so she’d keep it under her hat. It wasn’t as though she didn’t need a particularly large beret to hide some of her own past indiscretions.
As though on a mission to break up the interrogation, Mrs Moon came wobbling along the path with a tray of refreshments. Tom gave his root a final yank, threw it into his wheelbarrow and climbed to his feet to relieve Mrs Moon of her charge.
‘Hello, Lexie, love. Good to see you back. Lovely time in London?’
Lexie pasted on a thin smile. ‘Er, yes. Great. Very informative. Who knew the world of paint could be so … gripping.’
Was she rambling? Tom and Mrs Moon exchanged looks.
‘I made some rose tea to cheer you up.’
Mrs Moon had set up camp on a white metal bistro table that Tom had dragged over. She was pouring pink liquid from a chintzy teapot.
‘Thanks. But what makes you think I need cheering up?’ Lexie was still pulling at a nut grass stem that wouldn’t budge.
‘Woman’s intuition, dear.’ Mrs Moon tapped her nose. ‘It’s all been very quiet since the two of you got back. Both shuffling around the place staring at your feet, your smiles all upside down. And don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t have any breakfast. Anyway, we’ll speak no more of it.’ She straightened herself up. ‘Victoria sponge?’
Lexie felt a genuine smile begin to battle with the fake one. ‘Thanks.’ She nodded, her stomach rumbling in agreement.
Tom began tidying the muddy equipment and pulled over a hose to clean their hands. Mrs Moon handed him warm towels and busied herself with crockery. The pair worked in effortless tandem, as though they’d performed this routine a thousand times. They probably had, Lexie thought, with a ripple of warmth.
Trying not to upset the careful symphony, Lexie joined in by bringing garden chairs. They sat down for what Lexie had come to know as elevenses. She was always touched when she was welcomed to join – Mrs Moon needn’t have worried about the happy tea.
‘So what have I missed, Mrs M? What have you been up to?’
Mrs Moon smiled and flattened down her apron.
‘Well, the weather’s been lovely. I’ve been able to get out and about a bit more with Mr Moon. I don’t take him out when it’s too chilly, but he does love the sunshine.’
The elderly lady’s face lit up like a carnival when she talked about her husband, but Tom’s expression was a little odd. Was he … jealous? Or maybe his gums weren’t coping well with all the sticky jam. Who could tell.
‘Now, Tom, you will remember to save me some of the nut grass root?’
Mrs Moon pointed to the gnarly brown knots in Tom’s wheelbarrow. They were ugly things, like scum-sucking catfish with long twisting whiskers. Why on earth would she want them?
‘They’re good for the epidermis,’ Mrs Moon responded to her puzzled look. ‘It’s the latest thing in skin lightening technology. Should work wonders on my age spots. Certain folk use it for weight loss too, but I’m not into all that kerfuffle.’
Now Lexie really was baffled. Sometimes the housekeeper came out with the strangest little insights.
‘Oh, you know. I saw it on … something or other.’ Mrs Moon stood up sharply and began clattering the crockery back onto its tray. ‘Anyway, must dash. Something in the Aga.’
And with that, the housekeeper rattled back up the path, her short legs moving surprisingly quicker than before.
‘Is she OK? Should I go after her?’ Lexie asked Tom.
‘Ah, no, she’s all right. Probably still in a tiswas about the boss woman sniffin’ around while you were gone. Collecting post and snatchin’ papers from Ben’s office. But Mrs Moon don’t like to tell tales.’
At least someone’s post had arrived. Lexie was still waiting on the package for her little paint-mixing experiment. She’d have to order more.
‘It’s her business too. She’s allowed to check the paperwork.’ Although Lexie knew as well as Tom that Mrs Carrington-Noble only seemed to look for trouble. She’d probably been dying to find some after that incident in the living room when she, Sky and Grace had been caught twirling, bride-like, in thebobbinetcurtains and calling her precious sonshot.
Tom drank the rest of his tea. ‘And Mrs Moon is still worried we’ll be ’omeless by Christmas if Ben doesn’t marry one of these fancy Cynthia Forty-skew types.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Lexie reached across and rubbed his arm. ‘I’ll encourage him to persevere with the rich-wife plan. We can’t have you all homeless.’ Although surely any new woman wouldn’t want Lexie hanging around – not even on the driveway in her new van, whenever that would turn up. She should chase it, and put some money in that new ISA.
