Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths by Holly Bell (good book recommendations TXT) 📗

all over John, as you’d expect, him being the man of the moment. But apart from that, no. I just registered her presence and made a note to avoid it, if at all possible.’

There was nothing more to be had from Ryan Ford, Trelawney decided. He made his farewells, returned to the Mondeo and moved on to his next appointment.

***

The interview with Jonathan was awkward. The younger man was uncomfortable in the extreme. To him, the situation spoke only of chaos, dragging the library into the limelight, out of the obscurity in which he felt safe. The conversation, such as it was, did nevertheless, yield one vital piece of information.

‘I, er, looked round,’ said Jonathan, twisting his hands nervously, ‘and suddenly saw M-Miss Cadabra. It was at that moment that I felt this sort of … oscillation.’

Chapter 19

Mr Frumbling

The antique piano keys and keytops had arrived. The latter was one of the very few items exempt from the ivory ban. These were, of course, second hand. It had taken Amanda half an hour to source them.

She was now at work, dust-masked, with the Hoover on while she was sanding off the old glue from the keys that she’d salvaged but whose covering was damaged beyond rescue. The door opened, and Amanda looked over her shoulder at a welcome sight. She smiled, switched off the vacuum cleaner and removed her mask.

‘Good morning, Gwendolen.’

‘Good morning, dear. I have some good news for you. I’ve just come back from visiting dear Winifred Hempling at Pipkin Acres Residential Home, and she has told Mr Frumbling about your project.’

‘How kind!’

‘There’s more. The dear man has said he’ll come along and check on your progress if you’d like. Help you through the process.’

‘That’s extremely generous of him. Given his advanced a …’ Amanda paused, aware that Miss Armstrong-Witworth was in her 90s.

‘Oh yes, he’s my senior by quite a few years: over 100 now and very proud of it. Carries his card from the Queen around with him. He still manages his walks to the library and plays the piano for us when he can.’

‘Mr Frumbling is astonishing. I can go and collect him, if he’d like.’

‘He prefers to walk. Says it does him good.’

‘I’m overwhelmed. When would he like to come over?’

‘This afternoon, if that would suit.’

***

‘Hello, Mr Frumbling. I can’t thank you enough for helping me out. I’ve never taken on a piano restoration on this scale before.’ Amanda had opened the door of The Grange herself and welcomed in a spare man about her own height, with thin round gold-framed spectacles and an unexpectedly thick shock of white hair.

‘That’s all right, my dear.’

‘Would you like a cup of tea before we start?’ Amanda asked solicitously.

‘Moffat is expecting me and he’ll be bringing it, with my favourite: Jaffa Cakes! And I will have a quick sit-down before we get going.’

Amanda led her guest and mentor-to-be into the small salon where they could relax in comfort. Right on cue, Moffat brought the desired refreshments, tea for two, with Jaffa cakes for Mr Frumbling and gingernuts for Amanda. Moffat withdrew, and they set to on their treat. While they sipped and dunked, Amanda put the question that had been in her mind since this morning.

‘Mr Frumbling, may I ask you something?’

‘Of course, duck.’

‘Is it true that you carry the telegram the Queen sent you on your 100th birthday around with you?’

‘Well, the palace doesn’t send out actual telegrams any more. Instead, you get a very special card. And yes, I have it right here,’ he said, putting a hand into his pocket. ‘Now, it’s not the original. I have that framed on my wall. This is a copy, but a good one.’

He took out a wallet from his inside breast pocket and opened it for Amanda.

‘There … see that? That’s the Princess Elizabeth’s signature.’

‘My word!’ exclaimed Amanda in admiration.

‘Of course, she’s queen now,’ Mr Frumbling added, ‘but it’s how I always think of her. I was eight years old when she was born. Not a princess then. That came later. Can you imagine me at eight, looking at me now? White hair and a lot of wrinkles!’

He gave her a roguish twinkle, and suddenly Amanda saw him. There he was before her: a boy with a lot of untidy thick brown hair, a missing tooth, grey shorts and lace-up boots.

She grinned. ‘Yes! Yes, I can, Mr Frumbling. It’s my belief that you haven’t changed a bit.’

‘That,’ he affirmed, ‘is the secret to not getting old. You keep all the best bits of yourself as a child. Just like you, duck. I see you as nine, nine years old. Don’t you change, Amanda, don’t you change a thing.’

Her eyes misted. ‘Thank you, Mr Frumbling.’

They finished up their tea and biscuits with sighs of satisfaction. The piano restorer dusted off his fingers and suggested,

‘Now let’s have a look at the old girl, shall we?’

As they progressed out of the small salon, across the hall and into the ballroom, Mr Frumbling asked Amanda,

‘Still living in the Witch’s Cottage?’

Amanda was taken aback. No one called it that. Not any more, not for many decades.

‘Er … yes.’

‘Good. That’s your place. You bide there. I like stories about witches. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Mary Poppins — oh yes, she was a witch, all right — the Enchantress of Nanjizal —’

‘I don’t know that one,’ Amanda responded in surprise.

‘From young Jonathan’s collection.’

‘Jonathan Sheppard?’

‘That’s right. He has a bit of a library within the library. Down in those stacks. Odd place that, they say, but he found the book there for me, when I told him I like stories about good witches.’

‘His collection, you say?’

‘That’s right, duck. Now let’s have a look at this old Joanna, shall we?’

That was a new piece of information. Amanda didn’t know if it was important or not. But it might be. She needed to talk to Jonathan. But even more urgent was the matter at