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

‘Stop it, you!’ Amanda whispered to her familiar. ‘It’s his home. Stop bullying.’

Tempest turned his attention carelessly back to the wary birdlife beyond the window. Churchill now possessed the field, but decided discretion was the better part of valour and toddled off.

‘Miss de Havillande!’ Amanda began, about to launch into her prepared exposition.

‘I know what you’re going to say, Amanda, dear. And yes, I did heed your advice, but Messrs. Ebony, Merchant and Ivory in Hatfield are backed up too. Now I know you’re not a specialist. But you did wonders with Mrs Uberhausfest’s piano. You have done for years.’

‘It’s not a …’

‘Do your best. That’s all I ask.’

‘Can we at least consult with Mr Frumbling? I know that he’s long retired but no one knows more about piano restoration than he does.’

‘He’s at Pipkin Acres Retirement Home now. But, of course, I shall call him. Now, I’ll leave you to finish up what you’re working on before you move on to the grand. You don’t mind, do you, dear? It would mean so much to us to have it back to its old self in time for the Equinox Ball.’

Amanda gave in. She smiled resignedly. ‘If I can talk to Mr Frumbling ... I’ll do my best.’

‘That is more than good enough for me. Think of it as a challenge.’

It’ll be that all right! thought Amanda.

‘Now, as for the guests, I’ve told the girls and Simon to make themselves useful, so if you want any help, just ask them. They’re about here somewhere.’

‘They’ve gone out for breakfast,’ contributed Miss Armstrong-Witworth.

‘Ah.’

Good, thought Amanda, if I can just be left to get on. I wonder if it would look rude if I wedged a chair against the doorknob?’

Chapter 5

Pamela, and Perran’s Advice

First, Amanda heard voices in the hall outside the small dining-room. She had put a chair against the door while she had a piece of coarse-grained brown paper sanding, a few yards away. It had responded to her spell:

‘Rutstric ynentel.’

Now she whispered across to it,

‘Sessiblinn,’ just to be on the safe side. But who was that speaking?

‘Gran and Great-Aunt Cynthia said we should make ourselves useful,’ urged gentle female tones.

‘I’d have to change my shoes. But that wouldn’t be a problem.’ That came from a well-spoken man.

‘’Scuse me? With this nail art?’

Amanda’s heart sank. That voice was all too familiar.

‘I’m more the supervisory type,’ it continued as the door burst open, sending the chair flying, and a bored, sulky, tall brunette 19-year-old struck a pose on the threshold. In green hot pants over tights and crocheted halter top, if she was cold on this British February day, she wasn’t showing it.

‘Hi Amanda, I was just saying, I wouldn’t want to get in your way. I’ll pop in from time to time and you can ask for my feedback.’

‘Hello Samantha.’ Daughter of Damian Gibbs, whose new Asthma Centre in Little Madley was still vibrating with the scandal of recent events, the teenager had, alas, come Amanda’s way before. She added politely, ‘That’s considerate of you.’

‘Great. Pammy will help, won’t you, Pammy? See you later. Come on, Simon,’ she called to the unseen male in the hallway, and mercifully removed her presence.

A girl of the same age, shorter, with a self-effacing air, looked timidly into the room.

‘Hello there,’ Amanda greeted her kindly. ‘Pamela, is it?’

‘Erm, yes, that’s right. Erm … Amanda? I can sand things, if you like. I know you have asthma and dust isn’t good for you.’

Amanda was surprised. ‘What a kind offer. Are you sure?’

‘I help Mummy with the decorating and Daddy in his Pottering Shed, as he calls it. When they’re around. We made a birdhouse together in the summer,’ said Pamela, glowing.

Amanda smiled. ‘Well done. That was one of my first projects with my grandfather.’

That further brightened Pamela and she took out her phone from sand coloured dungarees worn over an old brown sweater. ‘Would you like to see? I’ve got photos.’

‘Yes,’ replied Amanda, with genuine interest. She inspected the images. ‘Is that dovetailing?’

‘Yes. My first attempt. Not perfect, as you can see. Bit of a gap there.’

‘Still. All credit to you.’

‘I think,’ said Pam, gathering confidence, ‘I’d like to be a cabinet maker or work for the Forestry Commission but ... my parents …’

Amanda nodded understandingly.

‘Apart from those,’ the girl went on, ‘I’m not sure what I want to do. I know I should be by now. That I’m supposed to have drive and direction like Gran and .’

‘I think you’ll find that there are far fewer “supposed tos” in life than we are led to believe,’ Amanda assured her. ‘The world is full of extraordinary people doing extraordinary things that they adore doing, who came to that through a long and winding path. You have time. Your parents might support you in one of the things you’d like to do, after all.’

‘Yes, Mummy and Daddy are being very understanding, not pushing me at all, giving me this year to just try things out. I’m very lucky, I know. I love them so much and they love me, and that just makes it all the harder. I don’t want to let them down, you see.’ Pamela sighed and looked at Tempest vacantly.

There was a pause before she spoke again, this time wistfully.

‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’

Tempest preened.

‘He’s a he, actually,’ Amanda replied gently ‘but —’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean the cat.’

‘The cat’, unused to such a demeaning appellation, turned his head in affront and glared.

‘No,’ Pamela expounded, ‘I mean Sam.’

‘Samantha? Well …’ Amanda was so overwhelmed by the unattractiveness of Miss Gibbs’s personality that her physical attributes tended to fade into the distance. ‘I expect, yes, many people would consider her so.’

‘About six-foot tall, legs that go on forever, all that glossy hair, perfect features, confident. Men can’t help turning their heads when she walks by. I wish I was like her.’

‘You do?’ asked Amanda, in surprise.

‘Look at me. Dumpy, freckles, limp hair, sort of washed-out-red-nothing colour. I’m never