Page 19 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
‘Well, it’s never too late to start. Wait downstairs, please. I do hope the fruit isn’t too warm.’
‘Well, it’s a little chilly out—’
‘And the sausage hasn’t lost its crispness.’
‘I don’t know—’
‘And if it’s touching the beans, that’ll be another black mark. How fast did you take those corners?’
‘Pretty slow.’
‘Well, maybe you’ll be better than the part timer they had in last year. You know, there was one day the whole lot was slopped in against the clingfilm. I had words with your uncle and aunt after that, I’ll say.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Well, wait downstairs please. All this idle chatter is eating into my breakfast time.’
As though having just made the joke of the century, the old woman burst into a flutter of laughter. Lily began to wonder if everyone associated with the Willow River Guesthouse was certifiably insane.
She was still wondering when Victoria Borton took the hamper inside and slammed the door in Lily’s face.
‘Hey….’
She could hear Victoria stomping away into her room, so she slouched back downstairs and sat outside on the old platform edge, enjoying the scenery as she waited. It was turning into a beautiful autumn day, the few clouds banished by a bright sun, a light tickle of breeze enough to keep her honest without wishing she’d brought a proper jacket. The trees alongside Willow River rustled in the breeze, and a cackle of ducks sounded from below the river bank.
‘Girl!’
Lily was daydreaming when the cry from overhead shook her out of her reverie. She turned to see Victoria leaning out of an upstairs window, the hamper in her hands.
‘No need to come back up. Can you catch?’
‘Not very well—’
Too late, the hamper came sailing through the air. Lily reached out for it, half catching it before it slipped through her hands and thudded unceremoniously against the old platform. From inside came the crack of breaking crockery.
Feeling flustered, Lily looked up, ready to give the old woman a few choice words, but the window was already shut, the curtains drawn across.
Afraid of what Uncle Gus might say but at the same time not caring, she fixed the hamper back onto the bike and headed back to Willow River Guesthouse, wishing she’d had the opportunity to give Victoria Borton a piece of her mind.
11
Whispers of Forgiveness
Pete held the phone against his chest. ‘It’s Uncle Gus for you,’ he told Lily, who was brooding at the kitchen table with a glass of wine in front of her.
‘I don’t want to talk to him,’ Lily said. ‘I quit.’
‘He says sorry for Mrs. Borton, but that the experience should be character building.’
‘I don’t care,’ Lily said. ‘I have my payoff. I don’t need to deal with people like that. I can sit around for six months if I want. Maybe I’ll go travelling.’
Pete leaned into the phone. ‘She says she’s rich, she doesn’t need to deal with idiots, and she might go travelling.’ Pete frowned, nodding. ‘Uh huh. Right. Okay, got it.’ He looked back at Lily. ‘Uncle Gus wants to know what he needs to do to tempt you back. He says there’s a large group coming in tomorrow and he thinks the egg count could go over twenty in a single go. You did such a good job with the thirteen you did this morning that unless he hires someone from the TV he can’t possibly replace you. And the icing on the cake—or the salt on the eggs, if you like—is that he’ll give you a pay rise. How does an extra twenty-five pence an hour sound?’
Lily couldn’t help but smile. ‘Twenty eggs, you say? Tell him to make it thirty-pence and I’ll be there at seven o’clock. On one condition, though.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t have to deliver to that old bag in the station house.’
