Page 25 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
Ollie returned to the pile of paper she was cutting into strips. Her expensive garlands shimmered in the soft evening light, her living space homelier with them in it, but she couldn’t help thinking about what Becky had said, the derision in her voice when she’d mentioned glitzy events and frilly decorations.
Ollie loved glitzy, and she wasn’t opposed to frilly, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be versatile.
She took a strip of paper, curled it round and stapled it, creating her first link. She was about to pick up a second when her phone chimed. She expected to see another message from Melissa, but there was a different name on the screen: Max.
She grabbed the phone.
When was this battle supposed to be? Looking into the church. Mx
Ollie grinned and typed a reply.
There never was any battle. The author researched it and came up empty. Are you a detective now? xo
The ‘xo’ was her automatic sign-off, but the moment she’d pressed ‘send’ she questioned it, as she was doing witheverything that related to Max. It was an unsettling feeling, second-guessing herself. She saw he was typing, and her paper chains were temporarily forgotten. Henry was laid out on the carpet, sleeping the sleep of the happily exhausted, and Ollie could hear the high, tuneful song of a bird somewhere outside.
Max’s next message appeared:
You have to admit it’s intriguing. I feel bad that there’s a big chunk of history I don’t know.
Come with me next time I explore one of the legends – or on my ghost walk, on Monday night? xo
Maybe I’ll do both. Let me know when and where on Monday.
Ollie blew her sleepy dog a kiss, and replied:
6pm Monday, leaving from A New Chapter. Thea loved the coffee machines btw. We’re good to go with next steps. xo
Ah yes! That’s what I really meant to msg you about. Great news. Mx
Ollie tried not to read too much into the inference that he was keen to spend time with her – he just wanted to learn more about Port Karadow’s history – and went back to her paper chains.
Half an hour later a rap on the door was followed by bustling footsteps, and Marion appeared in the doorway, a cardboard box in her arms. She assessed Ollie, lying splayed out on the carpet, her snake of book-print paper chains coiling around her.
‘Bit different to your fancy swags.’ Marion gestured to the blue-and-silver garland hanging along the mirror above the fireplace.
‘I wanted to try something else,’ Ollie admitted. ‘For the bookshop.’
‘Is that what this is for, too?’ She waggled the box. ‘It was delivered to the main house. Liam was about to open it when I noticed the name on the address label.’
‘I did put FoxgloveBarnon there, didn’t I?’ Ollie scrambled to standing, just as her festive playlist went from Michael Bubléto Eartha Kitt. ‘Santa Baby’was, without a doubt, Ollie’s favourite Christmas song.
‘Delivery drivers get confused, and some are just plain lazy.’ Marion put the box on the kitchen island, and stood, waiting.
Ollie realised that she was expecting to take news of what was inside the box back to Liam. Or perhaps she had a Port Karadow WhatsApp group that fed gossip to the entire town, stories running back and forth like electric currents.
‘What if this is a delivery from Victoria’s Secret?’ Ollie asked, switching the kettle on.
‘What’s Victoria’s Secret? Some other fancy-pants decorations boutique?’
‘Not quite.’ Ollie put two Yorkshire Tea teabags in mugs. ‘Although, in a way, I suppose it is.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s an upmarket lingerie shop. Lots of lace and silk and sultry colours.’
Marion shook her head. ‘Women decorating themselves for men, then.’
‘I would argue that it’s often women decorating themselves forthemselves,’ Ollie countered. ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look nice for yourself; to prance around your bedroom feeling good.’
