Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange by Jenny Kane (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📗

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Helen felt as if she’d been told off, even though she knew that was paranoia on her part. ‘Sybil’s lovely. If there isn’t anything Dylan would want on the menu, she’d sort something out for you.’

‘He’s not a bad eater to be honest. It’s more that he’s into everything. I’d hate him to disturb other customers. I usually carry colouring and story books with me, but some places can get a bit funny about potential crayon marks on the tablecloths, or the customers don’t like hearing the same picture book read over and over.’

Having assumed Dylan would be sat in a corner with a phone or tablet, Helen felt chastened by her own preconceptions. ‘I used to be like that with stories when I was five. My poor parents would read the same book again and again. I was obsessed with one about a rooster called Run, Run, Chase the Sun. I can’t remember how many hundreds of times I got that book out of the library.’

‘I don’ know that one, but I’m sure Gertrude and the gang would approve.’

‘Tony Stark would love it.’ Helen laughed. ‘I’m not surprised you haven’t come across it; it was an old book even thirty-four years ago.’

Not missing the precise mention of thirty-four years, Tom wondered if Helen really was thirty-nine. She certainly didn’t look like a woman approaching forty. Giving himself a shake, Tom opened the door. ‘After you.’

Helen, hoping Sybil would recognise her as a friend of Thea’s, felt self-conscious as she caught sight of her slightly distorted reflection in the window. Her grubby dungarees and windblown hair wouldn’t bother Sybil; it didn’t normally bother her, yet Helen felt tatty against the pristine tablecloths and polished knives and forks.

Sitting at one of only two free tables, Helen picked up the menu. She had a rapidly growing urge to hide. What the hell was she doing here with a man she didn’t know? What if he thought it was a date, and not her just introducing him to Sybil in a desperate attempt to find something to talk about beyond the fortlet?

Hooking a spiral of hair that hung across her right check behind her ear, Helen felt it bounce immediately back to its previous position. Two tries later and she became aware of Tom watching from over his menu.

‘I’d give up if I were you.’

Dropping her hand from her hair, Helen felt the tress ping up faster than before, settling over her right eye this time, forcing her to sweep it to one side and wish she had a hairgrip on her. ‘It has a mind of its own.’

‘It’s gorgeous.’

Helen was taken aback by the matter-of-fact way in which he spoke. It was as if he was stating a certainty rather than paying a compliment. ‘It’s a bit wild.’

‘My favourite colour.’ Tom said nothing else on the subject as he examined the menu.

Saved from contemplation of his comments by the arrival of Sybil, Helen smiled as the café’s owner waved her order pad in their direction. ‘Helen, isn’t it?’

‘How kind of you to remember.’ Helen gestured across the table. ‘This is Tom; he’s just joined the Mill Grange team.’

Tom shook Sybil’s hand. ‘Delighted. I’ve heard a great deal about your delicious scones.’

‘Have you indeed?’ Sybil laughed. ‘What have Sam, Tina and Thea got you doing up there?’

‘I’ll be training the retreat’s guests in archaeological excavation techniques. Give them some transferrable skills for when they leave.’

‘What a fantastic idea.’

‘Helen’s I believe.’ Tom gestured across the small round table with its pale tartan tablecloth and mismatched Spode china.

‘It was just a suggestion. Thea did the thinking and…’

Sybil grinned as she saw Helen blush. ‘Whoever cooked it up, it’s a cracking idea. So, what can I get you?’

*

‘Oh well done, Thea!’ Phil slapped her on the back, delighted Sophie had returned to work in her trench without having made a fuss. ‘I don’t suppose you asked her about her mother?’

‘There was no need.’ Thea, her face set, passed Shaun his phone.

No one spoke for a minute, before realisation dawned.

‘Not Lady Hammett?’ Phil sank into a seat. ‘Thank God we didn’t accuse her. Can you imagine?!’

‘Sophie was the timewaster?’ Shaun stuttered at his phone screen. ‘I didn’t take this photo. Thea, I—’

‘Need a bloody password on your phone? I would say so!’ Twisting round, to talk to Phil, Thea avoided Shaun’s gaze. ‘Sophie knows she has been an idiot. Enough said. You have a full complement of archaeologists and little time. So, shall we get on with it?’

*

Tina thought her stomach might explode. She couldn’t recall ever eating so much, or so well, at lunchtime. She was beginning to see what Lord Malvern had meant by it being a shame Karen wanted to be a physicist. She really would be a fantastic cook or housekeeper.

When the home-made butternut squash soup and crusty bread had arrived, Tina had eaten heartily, believing that would be the entire meal. Now, with half a dozen finger-sized honey roast ham and cucumber sandwiches consumed, and an array of miniature but filling cakes sat on the table in true afternoon tea style, Tina wasn’t sure she could keep going, although she wanted to. There was a tiny scone that kept looking at her temptingly.

Only an hour before she’d been worried that, when they sat down to lunch, the atmosphere would be frosty and she’d have no appetite. Now, however, it was obvious that something had happened between father and son, and although the air between them remained formal, the hostility had faded.

Lady Malvern was glowing with happiness, a shawl around her shoulders, her velvet jacket buttoned tightly. The patio heater was pumping its warmth across her. She tucked into a slice of feather-light Victoria sponge with a gusto that belied her slim figure.

Sam, who’d been indulging heavily in a collection of chocolate éclairs, twisted to face the building behind him. ‘What did you think of the house, Tina?’

‘It’s breath-taking.’ She