Page 42 of The Cornish Christmas Book Clu
Tears pricked Tamara’s eyes. A vivid picture of her own sister floated into her head. She couldn’t remember the last time Tracy had contacted her, as opposed to the other way around. When she did reply to an email or text, the answers were brief and impersonal. The ten-thousand-mile distance between them seemed to have erased their old closeness. She missed it. Badly.
‘Right, girls. Refreshment time.’ Evelyn clapped her hands. ‘I didn’t think anyone would appreciate Bridget’s notorious blue soup or lumpy marmalade pudding, or the Boxing Day turkey curry buffet. Ophelia has baked the most amazing Cointreau-and-orange-marmalade biscuits, and I’ve made curried devilled eggs and ham-and-pickle roll-ups. All washed down with a delicious vodka cocktail, courtesy of my sister’s deft hand. Ofcourse, we also have tea, coffee and soft drinks for anyone not indulging.’
A general swarm started towards the kitchen and as soon as they all had their food and a cocktail, everyone regained their seats and settled down for the far more serious business of the night.
‘So we’re having a village Christmas tree.’ Tamara happily made the announcement. ‘Vernon had a word with the parish council and they don’t have a problem with it.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Mainly because it won’t cost them anything. The vicar thinks it’s a great idea too.’
‘Well done,’ Evelyn said. ‘I suggest we have a tree-lighting ceremony. Penworthal might be small, but that doesn’t have to stop us doing things properly.’
‘Other places have carol singing and craft stalls and food and drink to pull visitors in.’ Laura bubbled over with enthusiasm.
‘Let’s not run before we can walk, dear,’ Evelyn said firmly. ‘Another year maybe. I think if we sing a few carols and have some of your wonderful mince pies, Tamara, that will make a nice evening of it. Perhaps you could put our suggestions to Mr Bull and offer to take charge of the event, with all of us helping of course?’
What could she do but say yes?
When Ophelia brandished a silver cocktail shaker in front of her face, Tamara knocked back her drink and held out the empty glass for a refill.
Chapter Sixteen
After he’d straightened the display of new books, stationed inside the door so they would be the first things customers saw, Gage checked the time. A quarter of an hour left until opening time at nine. Tamara wouldn’t be here for at least another hour, needing to finish her early-morning stint at the pub. With less than six weeks to go until Christmas, they’d hopefully get really busy soon and he was already worried about how he’d manage without her when she started working her day shift at the pub again. At least that problem was a thousand times better than most he’d dealt with over the last twenty years, in the sense that no one would die if he managed it wrong.
But, for now, his tea-making supplies were running low, so he’d better pop across to Vernon’s and treat himself to a dose of the man’s morose grumblings. Whistling happily, he locked up and strolled across the road.
Nowadays he almost bent in half entering Vernon’s emporium to avoid a repeat of the ignominious knee incident. While he debated whether buying orange custard creams as opposed to the regular ones was a step too far, two women around the next aisle were discussing the new houses.
‘Bloody great monstrosities, they are. Don’t fit in the village at all. Some folk got more money than sense. Next thing, they’ll be barging in here telling us what to do and complaining when poor Mr Bull doesn’t stock avocados or whatever other fancy nonsense they eat.’
He smothered a smile. The great Penworthal Avocado War. Villagers against outsiders. Instead of duelling pistols, they could throw avocados at ten paces.
‘Are you the owner?’ A stern-faced woman, whose tweed suit strained over a well-upholstered chest, glared at him.
‘Me? Uh, no, ma’am.’
‘I was hoping to be served, as opposed to insulted.’ Her booming voice carried around the shop. ‘I’m Monica Wyndham-Smythe and I moved into one of the “monstrosities” at Trelawney Court last week.’
He stuck out his hand. ‘Gage Bennet. I own the Mighty Pen bookshop across the road.’ The woman’s brisk handshake resembled Tamara’s and left him wincing. ‘If you’d like to pop over when you’ve done your shopping, I’d love to show you around. We do a twenty per cent discount on purchases for new customers.’ He was prompted to make the offer after hearing about the similar scheme Chloe had initiated here in the shop. ‘I’m a newcomer too and I’ve found everyone very friendly. Some of the locals might take a while to come around, but plenty of others will go out of their way to welcome you.’ He’d raised his voice so the eavesdroppers hopefully heard every word.
Gage spotted Vernon and beckoned him over. ‘This is Mr Bull and he’s the gentleman you need.’
‘You’ve been most kind, Mr Bennet.’ She managed a tight smile. ‘I’m sure I speak for all the Trelawney Court residents when I say we each want to become an integral part of this community.’ Her mouth twitched at one corner. ‘And for your information, Mr Bull, I’m highly allergic to avocados.’
‘That’s good, my love, because we ain’t got any.’ Vernon gave a nervous laugh and rubbed his hands together. ‘You come with me and I’ll show you what’s what.’
Gage struggled to keep his amusement in check. The shopkeeper would do anything to make a sale, even going against his naturally grumpy nature to ingratiate himself with the incomers. Tamara would get a kick out of hearing about this later. He recklessly grabbed a packet of Garibaldi biscuits off the stack. Some people cruelly called them squashed fly biscuits but he’d loved them as a boy, possibly because they weren’t overlysweet, and he hadn’t eaten one in years. He dropped the money on the counter and made his escape.
* * *
Gage perched on the stool for a breather. Thankfully five o’clock was looming. Closing time.
‘Hello, my love.’ Becky bustled in. Emily trailed behind her and, judging by his niece’s mutinous expression, she wasn’t here willingly. ‘This one’s got something to say to you.’ She jabbed her daughter’s elbow when the girl didn’t speak.
‘Thanks,’ Emily mumbled.
‘What for?’
‘Stepping in—’
‘Tamara had a word with me,’ Becky interrupted. ‘Quiet like, after book club, and told me about Christos being a bit over-friendly with our Emily on Halloween night in the pub.’
