Page 78 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“It is,” Vicky agreed. That was a good way of looking at it. ‘Sensible’ her mother would say. But in this instance, she was probably right.
* * *
The workroom was perfect. Vicky sat in her office chair and admired the length of light-oak kitchen worktop that she had laid on top of a cupboard and drawer unit to give her plenty of room to spread out.
Her new desktop computer had been delivered and took pride of place. A pretty china pot she had found in one of the kitchen cupboards held pens and pencils, another was for paper clips, and a flourishing peace lily stood at the end of the desk.
To her left she had set up her printer, and to the right a three-tier paper tray. And on the wall in front of her she had fixed a cork board to pin up the pictures she had collected of the people and places that were going to feature in her book.
Smiling to herself she trailed her fingers lightly over the keyboard, then opened the file she had transferred from her laptop. She had sketched out the first four chapters, and had an outline for the rest.
Opening a new document, she began to type.
Lady Cecily had quarrelled with Lord William and now she was trying to convince herself that she didn’t care a fig for him. But there were rumours that the Earl of Warwick was scheming to get the deposed King Henry released from the Tower of London, and restore him to the throne. It was vital to learn more of his plans...
The buzz of the phone cut across her train of thought. She cursed it mildly, ready to ignore it — until she saw the number. Her heart thumped as she scrambled to open the call.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Miss Marston. It’s Clive Loughton from Cottesmore’s.”
“Oh, yes — hello, Mr Loughton.” She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow, steadying breath. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you. Thank you for sending me those pictures. They do indeed appear to be by Conejero, but I’d need to see them to form a firm opinion. Could you bring them up to me, do you think?”
“Of course.” She spoke quite calmly, but inside she felt like dancing around the room.
“Would Friday be convenient? Or is that too short notice?”
“Oh... no — yes. Friday would be fine.”
“Excellent. Shall we say two o’clock?”
“Yes, of course.”And breathe.“That would be fine.”
“You’ll be able to park outside — I’ll arrange for Reception to give you a permit. I look forward to meeting you.”
“Yes . . . thank you . . .”
“Until Friday then. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye . . .”
She closed the call and put the phone down beside the computer. She hadn’t really let herself believe that anything would come of that approach to the auction house. But now...
She wasn’t going to let herself get her hopes up too high.Sensible —she could almost hear her mother’s voice. Although as Brenda had said, it really was quite exciting.
And at least it was something to take her mind off her neighbour.
* * *
“I think I’m still in shock.” Vicky laughed unsteadily. “He said to set the reserve at two million pounds! When he told me, I thought I was dreaming.”
“I’m not surprised.” Debbie looked equally stunned. “Come on, have a cup of coffee and tell us all about it. Was it very grand, the auction place?”
“Verygrand.” Vicky waited at the counter while Debbie poured her coffee. “All pale-grey walls and thick carpets, and swish chandeliers. The auction room itself is pretty impressive — it reminded me a bit of the lecture halls at uni, except the seats looked a lot more comfortable.”
Debbie brought her coffee, and one for herself, and leaned on the counter, her eyes bright with excitement. It was early yet, and the café wasn’t very busy.
