Page 21 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
‘I’m so glad things have settled down with them,’ said Lark, dunking a sweet potato chip into some tangy tomato relish. ‘They’re a far cry from your parents who have always been loving and supportive.’
‘True.’ Florrie nodded. ‘Talking of parents, how’s your dad?’
Lark’s mouth curved into a smile as she recalled the recent phone conversation with her father. ‘He seems really good actually. I feel he’s turned a corner, at long last.’ She continued, filling Florrie in on what her dad had told her about his planned retirement and move to Micklewick Bay.
‘I’m really chuffed for you both. I know you’ve been worried about him since Greer passed away.’ Florrie reached for her cup of tea. ‘But I reckon moving back here’ll give him a new lease of life.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping.’ Lark paused for a moment, debating whether to mention the other matter that had been bothering her, buzzing away at the back of her mind like an annoying fly.
Despite convincing herself of her theory about Nate and him absorbing the energy of his vintage clothing and the furniture he worked on, she couldn’t shake off the lingering doubt she had about it. The bright sunlight bouncing off the snow earlier that morning when they’d headed off to Crayke’s Cottage had been unforgiving and only served to emphasise the dark shadows she’d noticed hanging under his eyes like a couple of purple bruises. He’d looked pale, too. She told herself it was probably due to lack of sleep. After all, he’d mentioned his mind had been too fired up about the furniture from Crayke’s Cottage the night before and he hadn’t managed to drift off to sleep until the early hours. She was sure she must be overthinking things, and had tried to push it from her mind, but she still hadn’t been able to shake the annoying little niggle. It didn’t mix well with the way her feelings towards Nate had been changing.
Before she could make up her mind, Abbie arrived at the table. The server cleared their plates, making friendly small talk as she did so, then went to fetch the ginger shortbread Florrie had reserved, along with a fresh pot of tea.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Lark opened her mouth, deciding she’d feel better running it by Florrie. Her friend was calm, level-headed and the soul of discretion. Plus, Lark was confident she’d tell her the truth if she thought there was genuinely something to worry about.
‘I wouldn’t mind your opinion on s?—’
Before the rest of her sentence could pass her lips, a harsh cackling laugh filled the room, causing conversation to halt and heads to turn.
There was only one person in this town who possessed such an ear-splitting laugh: Wendy Swales.
Lark’s suspicions were confirmed when her gaze followed the sound to see the very woman. She was accompanied by her husband, Dick. The pair were swanning around the tearoom, making a show of looking down their noses at the décor.
‘What the heck are they doing here?’ said Florrie, her expression darkening.
‘I have no idea, but they seem to want everyone to notice them.’
‘Hard not to when they’re dressed head-to-toe in black like some sort of caricature mobster and his moll. They clearly don’t realise how ridiculous they look. And I don’t know how theydarecome in here after what they did.’
It wasn’t like Florrie to be so critical and harsh, but Lark understood where she was coming from. On the run-up to Christmas last year the crooked pair had tried to force Florrie and Ed into selling the bookshop to them so they could fulfil Wendy’s plans of turning it into an “exclusive” hair and beauty salon, as she’d called it. When their offer to buy them out had been refused, the duo started a campaign of intimidation until their plans were thwarted by Jean Davenport and her son, Jack Playforth, who bought into the bookshop in order to galvanise itsfuture. It sent the message loud and clear that the business and the property were not for sale.
Since then, the disreputable pair had given the shop a wide berth. Until today.
‘Just stay calm and act as if they’re not here. If they see they’re getting to you, they’ll do it all the more. It’s just the sort of people they are,’ Lark said, her heart going out to her friend who was now looking agitated as the dodgy businessman and his wife strutted about the place, mocking the tearoom in their loud voices.
Florrie took a fortifying breath. ‘I know you’re right, but it’s bloomin’ difficult after what they and their criminal relatives did, hassling us last year. It was awful.’
‘Just ignore them, they’re not going to do anything in front of all these people. Concentrate on your shortbread instead, which is absolutely sublime, by the way. Our Jazz has excelled herself again.’ Lark hoped she could take Florrie’s mind off the dodgy duo. But Florrie appeared not to have heard a word she’d said.
‘I don’t believe it! They’re heading over here.’ Florrie’s shoulders tensed, a look of horror on her face.
‘You’re kidding me?’ said Lark, just as Wendy Swales’ familiar harsh perfume grabbed her nostrils as it descended upon them, overpowering the aroma of mince pies and freshly ground coffee. The woman’s even harsher cackle grew louder as she drew closer.
‘Oh my God! Don’t look now, but they’ve sat down at the table behind you. They clearly know the couple there.’
‘What?’ Hard as it was, Lark resisted the urge to turn round. ‘Do you recognise the other people?’ She had a vague memory of a man and a woman in her peripheral vision when she’d first arrived. It had half-registered with her that they seemed overdressed for the teashop. A thought sent a swift spike of panic through her. She hoped they hadn’t overheardtheir conversation about what they’d found at Crayke’s Cottage or the rumoured gold coins. She didn’t want to be responsible for attracting attention to Crayke’s Cottage, especially with it standing empty.
‘Never seen them before.’ Florrie peered surreptitiously over Lark’s shoulder, rubbing her fingers against her chin anxiously. ‘They look as if they’re from the same ilk as Mr and Mrs Dodgy Dick though.’
Not good.‘Would you prefer it if we left?’
‘Much as I’d rather get as far away from them as possible, I’m not going to let them intimidate me in my own shop,’ Florrie said, a determined tone in her voice.
‘Good for you, flower.’
Florrie pushed her mouth into a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘Anyroad, you were about to tell me something…’
FIFTEEN
