Page 47 of The Wedding Cake Wish
‘Crikey, I can’t believe this!’ I breathe, staring acrossthe road.
Hudson gets out of the car and joins me on the pavement.
The pretty little village of Amberley, in the heart of theCotswolds, is bustling on this sunny Friday morning, people in summery attiremaking the most of the September sunshine...ducking into thegreengrocer’s and the fancy bakery, and stopping to pass the time of day withfellow shoppers.
‘Look.’ I point across the road at the little café opposite.
His brows rise and he grins in acknowledgement. ‘So we’vedriven a hundred miles and we’re back where we started?’
‘So it would seem. Except it’s the Duck Pond Café, not theLittleDuck Pond Café! Have we got time to grab a coffee and a muffin? Oh, no, I guessthey’ll be closing. It’s just after five.’
He grins. ‘You and cake. You’re inseparable.’
‘Er, you eat more of the stuff than me! Who is it thatalways hoovers up the last few bites on my plate?’
‘Guilty as charged, m’lud. That’s why I like going to caféswith you. You always leave a bit.’
‘Oh, right. So it’s nothing to do with desiring my sparklingcompany and scintillating conversation, then?’
‘Yourwhat?’ He pretends to look confused and I aimmy elbow at him, but he dodges it niftily.
‘I’m going to look in the window,’ I inform him with a huffytoss of the head, and glancing both ways, I hurry across the high streettowards the Duck Pond Café. It is indeed closed, but when I peer in the windowout of curiosity – wanting to see how it compares toourLittle DuckPond Café – I suddenly realise there’s a young woman in there, mopping thefloor.
I straighten up and she waves cheerily, points at her watchand gives a sad shrug, apologising for being closed. I smile back and stick upa thumb, as Hudson joins me on the pavement.
‘We’ll make sure we call in at some point,’ he promises witha grin.
‘Definitely! Right, shall we head over to Amberley Gardens?I noticed a sign for them as we were driving along the high street.’
Hudson nods. ‘As good a place as any to start looking forRory. Come on.’
As we cross the road back to the car, he says, ‘You neverknow, we might find him straight away, get talking and realise hisdisappearance has been nothing but a storm in a teacup.’
‘You mean his reason for being here –ifhe’s here –might be completely innocent?’
‘Exactly. We could be home and eating a ready meal in frontof the telly by nine o’clock.’
‘I suppose we could.’ I force a smile while trying to ignorethe pang of disappointment at the thought of our trip being cut short.
*****
Amberley Gardens is situated a mile or two from thevillage. We park opposite the white-painted wooden gates, which are currentlypadlocked – not surprisingly, since there’s a huge sign announcing the grandopening of the gardens the following afternoon.
‘What shall we do now?’ I murmur, trying to peer through thetall hedge and foliage by the side of the gates to get a look at the gardensbeyond.
‘Let’s take a walk around the perimeter?’ suggests Hudson.
There’s no pavement but there is a wide grass verge. So weset off, pausing every so often to look through the hedge, hoping to get aglimpse of the gardens – a place that interested Rory so much that he took off overa week ago and vanished, apparently without trace.
At last, having skirted one side and turned left into a muchnarrower country road, Hudson spots another gate up ahead. We quicken our stepto get there, and when we arrive, we find it’s a much smaller entrance...agate, with a sign beside it saying ‘Deliveries’.
‘The tradesman’s entrance,’ I murmur.
Hudson narrows his eyes, studying the gate. ‘Do you thinkyou could climb over it?’
I grin. ‘Hey, I scaled Brendan Myers’ massive wall. I thinkI can manage a titchy gate.’
‘It’s quite high, though.’ He looks at me doubtfully.
