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But there was no reply or sign of movement, and after a moment or two, Barney came out of alert mode and turned obediently for home.
You, my girl, she told herself grimly, had better stop being over-imaginative and get down to practicalities—like where you’ll go, and how the hell you’ll earn your living.
And, as she trudged back to the house, she found herself wishing, with a kind of bitter despair, that she’d never heard the name of Andre Duchard. Or, better still, that he’d never been born.
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN GINNY GOT back to the house, she found her mother alone in the drawing room.
She said, ‘Where’s Cilla?’
‘Off to the Manor to consult Jonathan about this appalling situation.’
‘In what way—consult?’
‘How we can fight this fraudulent will, of course,’ said Rosina, the ominous throb returning to her voice. ‘Oh, I can hardly bear to think of Andrew—his deceit—his betrayal of me. Of our love.’
She shook her head. ‘To have had a son—in secret—all these years, and said nothing to me—his wife. It beggars belief. It makes me almost wish...’
She broke off abruptly. ‘Get me a brandy, Virginia. A large one. I need something to settle my nerves.’
As Gi
‘That’s not true,’ Gi
‘But if we all stand together...’
‘We could end up looking grasping and silly.’
‘You might change your tune if you were the one faced with penury.’
If only you knew, Gi
Rosina tossed her head. ‘You go, if you want. I refuse to set foot in the place.’ She produced a handkerchief. ‘Oh, Andrew, how could you do this to me?’
To which, presumably, no answer was expected. Gi
All the same, her mother allowed herself to be persuaded, and was soon deep in a drama series she enjoyed, leaving Gi
The Meadowford Café was the official name of her present place of employment, but it had never been known in the village as anything but ‘Miss Fi
The original Miss Fi
A round rosy lady, her phenomenally light hand with cakes and pastry had made the business a roaring success, opening for morning coffee, serving light lunches of homemade quiches, open sandwiches and interesting salads, and closing once afternoon teas had been served.
And when she eventually retired, her place was taken and her high standards maintained by her unmarried niece, Miss Emma Fi
Gi
‘Such an enormous house to run single-handed, and Mrs Pelham not really pulling her weight any more. And really, you owe it to Andrew.’
Eventually, Gi
‘You’re going to be a waitress?’ Mrs Charlton had been appalled. ‘But you can’t possibly. Whatever will Andrew say?’
Which had turned out to be ‘Good for you,’ accompanied by a wink and a pat on the shoulder.
To Gi
Three years on, Gi
However, a few months ago, Miss Emma had, to everyone’s astonishment, a
So a quick decision about the future of the café was needed. The premises were leased from the Welburn estate, so all she needed was someone to buy the actual business, and she had offered first refusal to Gi
‘I suppose it should be Iris Potter,’ she’d confided anxiously, ‘as she’s been here the longest, but she does so rub people up the wrong way. And while you’re young, Gi
It was, Gi
She’d gone to the bank with a business plan, but got nowhere. Too young, she was told, and with no collateral.
So, eventually, and reluctantly, she took her plan to Andrew, who had sat quietly and listened while she outlined her requirements and her proposed system of repayments.
‘So,’ he said, when she’d finished. ‘You really want to become the new Miss Fi
‘Well, yes,’ she agreed, although that was not how she’d thought of it. ‘It’s a marvellous business, and since they built those two new housing estates over at Lang’s Field we’re nearly rushed off our feet.’
He held out his hand. ‘Give me your paperwork, my dear, and I’ll look it over in detail and let you have my decision.’
But he was away a good deal over the three weeks that followed, and Gi
Miss Emma, however, wanted an answer, and Gi
She heard him call her name and turned to find him standing at the foot of the stairs looking up at her, with his usual gentle smile. He said, ‘Don’t worry, my dear. I haven’t forgotten about the new Miss Fi
But he did, thought Gi
As the credits rolled on her mother’s TV series, Mrs Charlton asked plaintively if there was to be any di
‘I told her we could manage for ourselves.’ Gi
Her mother pursed her lips. ‘Funeral food. Is a warm meal too much to ask? Even an omelette would do.’
Grating cheese and whisking eggs in a basin, Gi
She was just dividing the golden-brown fluffy omelette in two when she heard a door bang in the distance. And as she slid the two halves on to warmed plates and added grilled tomatoes, Cilla walked in.