Page 8 of The Beekeeper's Cottage
‘Well, thank you for not running off, screaming,’ said Grace. ‘Bees don’t sting unless provoked but you’d be surprised at the number of people who become almost hysterical.’
‘Ah,’ said Amos. ‘Well, I figured I’m in safe hands. If the beekeeper isn’t worried, neither should I be.’
Grace turned, a perplexed expression on her face. ‘How do you—?’
Amos laughed, and fished in his pocket for the note that Flora had given him. ‘I’m staying up at Hope Corner,’ he said. ‘And I’m afraid I knowallabout you.’
Her eyes crinkled. ‘I did wonder where the eggs had come from,’ she replied as she quickly scanned the note. ‘Well, Amos, I’m pleased to meet you,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘And I’d already worked out that you’re a friend; this little chap seems to have taken a remarkable liking to you.’
Amos shook her hand, instinctively knowing the moment before his hand touched hers what it would feel like. He saw the flicker of surprise cross her face too, but then he dropped her hand and, bending down, picked a forget-me-not from the side of the path. He held it out.
‘Do you think this might help?’ he suggested, smiling to himself as his purpose in Hope Corner suddenly became clear.
Grace took the flower and held it against Amos’s shoulder, murmuring a stream of encouragement to the tiny creature. ‘Aha! There you go, see, isn’t that better?’
She turned and transported the bee from the forget-me-not onto the middle of a rose head that was poking over the top of the wall. They both watched it for a few moments as it explored its new home, cheering when it finally flew off.
Grace glanced at her watch again. ‘Right, where were we?’ She stood up, a troubled look crossing her face.
Amos followed her back inside the shop, sensing that the relaxed atmosphere that greeted him when he first arrived would be gone, replaced by something… He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not hurried or fraught particularly, but changed somehow.
Back behind the counter, Grace pulled the basket of eggs towards her and began to remove the trays it contained.
‘Three dozen?’ she said.
Amos nodded.
‘I have Hannah’s money here from the last lot,’ she added. ‘Would you like to take it for her?’
Amos was torn. He wasn’t sure whether Hannah would appreciate him dealing with the money on her behalf, and yet if he didn’t take it, it would mean another trip to the shop for someone to collect it.
‘We can leave it on the tab…’ prompted Grace.
Or indeed Amos could be the one to return…
‘I think I’ll leave it,’ he said, before his head had even fully considered the options. ‘I can always pop back if necessary.’ His own words surprised him.
Grace smiled. ‘Right you are then.’ She looked at him expectantly. ‘Was there anything else?’
Their business was concluded but Amos was still staring at her, feeling a little like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He should say something, but he had no idea what. And then it came to him.
‘I might just have a look around, if that’s okay… in your other room. I didn’t get the chance when I was here yesterday.’
Grace waved her hand. ‘By all means. It’s a bit of an Aladdin’s cave; gifts, handmade crafts, local produce. There are some wonderful things and then some of it is… well, absolutely dreadful actually…’
She gave him another smile, but much tighter than the relaxed welcome of earlier. There was a new tension he just couldn’t quite put his finger on.
The shop bell sounded and Amos backed out of the room, nodding gratefully at the customer who had just entered. It made his exit rather less awkward than it might otherwise have been. The shop, previously a house, was essentially two front rooms either side of a central hallway and as he crossed into the other room he was immediately struck by a series of botanical prints facing him on the top shelf of a display cabinet on the opposite wall. They were simple in design and beautifully composed, printed mainly in black and white, but here and there a flower head or two had been splashed with colour and accented with gold highlights. They were modern but nonetheless had a timeless quality to them which Amos greatly admired. He stood for a few moments considering each print individually before standing back and taking them in as a group. Amos didn’t own much, but these he would be happy to take possession of.
He moved away, looking at the other items for sale, smiling when he reached those which Grace had quite correctly described as dreadful. Still, they were the results of someone’s proud labours and Amos didn’t doubt that one day, somewhere, they would find the perfect home. As he browsed, he kept one ear on the sounds of conversation drifting through from the other room; not because he wanted to eavesdrop but simply to garner when the customer might be about to leave. Hearing such a cue, he returned to stand in front of the prints and then carefully removed one from its shelf.
Pausing by the doorway into the main shop, he stood aside to let the customer pass by him. He was about to speak when he realised that Grace was staring out through the window of the shop, utterly lost in thought. At first, he assumed she must have been looking at something in the road until he realised that her look was vacant, seeing only the things inside her head and nothing of what the outside world had to offer. He hesitated, unwilling to break her reverie, but then, as he watched, she gave a sudden start, checked her watch again, and frowned.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked, moving forward.
Grace looked up, startled, seemingly having forgotten that Amos was still in the shop, but then she recovered herself and the smile was back in place.
‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ She gestured towards the print in his hand.
