Welcome to My World (31 page)

Ten minutes later, sitting on the high, pine stools behind the counter, Auntie Rosemary opened a pack of French Fancies and passed it to Harri. ‘You see? A good auntie never forgets her niece’s favourite cakes.’

No matter how far away from her childhood the years took her, one glimpse at the brown-, pink- and yellow-iced cakes in their white, pleated cases brought the same childish thrill shimmering through Harri. Selecting her favourite (the pink one, of course), she inhaled its sugary, sweet aroma as she took a bite. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled stickily, laughing at her own reaction to the fondant treats.

‘You’re welcome, my darling.’ Auntie Rosemary’s smile faded slightly. ‘Actually, I was meaning to tell you something that I – I’m not altogether proud of.’

‘Wait, let me guess: you have a secret crush on Jeremy Clarkson?’

‘Certainly
not
. I cannot abide the man – arrogant and self-opinionated. Such a shame, when his mother was the one who invented those lovely Paddington Bear toys.’

‘She did? Wow. Um, OK then: you wore crazy flares in the seventies?’

Rosemary raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Darling,
everyone
wore crazy flares in the seventies.’

Harri laughed. ‘I know. I’ve seen photographic evidence of Mum and Dad. Oh! I’ve got it! You’re the latest recruit to the Birmingham mafia that Tom at work is always going on about?’

‘Harriet Langton, stop it. I’m trying to confess something here.’

‘Sorry, Auntie Ro. Confess away.’

Her aunt took a deep breath. ‘I told Alex about your Venice postcard.’

In all the madness of the past couple of days, Harri had forgotten Alex’s revelation about his conversation with Auntie Rosemary. While at the time she had been annoyed by her aunt’s uncharacteristic gossiping, today Harri couldn’t find it within herself to bear a grudge – especially in light of Rosemary’s contrite expression.

‘I know. Don’t worry, I’m not going to relieve you of your auntie duties.’

‘Oh, Harri, I really am sorry. We were talking about all the places he’d visited so I thought how lovely it would be if he’d been to Venice and could tell you all about it. But he hadn’t been and – and since then I’ve felt so awful, betraying your confidence like that.’

The mention of Alex sent a swell of nausea undulating inside Harri. ‘It’s fine, honestly.’

‘I’m so glad, sweetheart. He really is a smashing young man. I just hope all these young ladies you’re setting him up with are worthy.’

Harri stuffed the last of her French Fancy in her mouth and chewed quickly, trying her best to ignore the wagging finger of her conscience. ‘So how’s your week been?’

Auntie Rosemary picked up the teapot to top up their mugs. ‘Busy. As ever. There seems to be an inordinate amount of weddings this month. I reckon we’ve done twice the amount of bouquets and buttonholes than we did in July – and that’s supposed to be when everyone gets married. In fact, this weekend is the first for about six weeks when the girls and I haven’t had a church to dress. Mind you, I still have to deliver three sets of bridal party flowers in the morning, so I’ve not been let off the hook completely. Well, Barnie and I have to deliver them. Speaking of which,’ she pulled up her cardigan sleeve to look at her watch, ‘he should have been here half an hour ago. What on earth can be keeping him?’

‘Maybe it’s the traffic. George was saying there’s temporary lights on Lidgate Hill.’

Auntie Rosemary winced. ‘Ooh, nasty. Well, if he’s caught in that, heaven knows when he’ll get here . . .’

Just then, the door flew open and a flustered-looking man dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and jeans bustled into the shop. Barnie Davies was the owner of quite the most splendidly lustrous white hair in Stone Yardley. In fact, so flowing and full were his locks that he had been nicknamed ‘L’Oréal’ by the regulars at the Land Oak, who delighted in quipping, ‘Because you’re worth it!’ whenever they handed him a pint.

He held up his hands as he approached the counter. ‘I know, I know! Traffic was
horrendous
, Rosemary – backed up from the other side of Ellingsgate. Why on earth the council decided Friday rush hour was the best time to dig up the road is beyond me.’ He stopped and smiled a twinkly-eyed greeting. ‘Hello, Harri. Glad you’re here: she’s less likely to throttle me if you’re in the room.’

Auntie Rosemary tutted and winked at Harri. ‘The man is impossible. I’m afraid this basket’s got to go out, Barnie. It’s for an eightieth birthday party at the village hall tonight and I promised it would be there before seven.’

Barnie feigned frustration and jabbed his fists on his hips,

making his ample belly bobble over the top of his jeans. ‘You are a slave driver, Rosemary Duncan.’

‘And
you
are lucky to have a job here, remember?’ Rosemary replied, flushing a little as an irresistible smile danced across her lips.

‘Competition was stiff for this job, you know,’ Barnie grinned at Harri. ‘Apparently at the interview it was between me and a spotty, seventeen-year-old, six-stone weakling. Personally, I think it was my suave and debonair demeanour that won her over in the end.’

‘I still have his number. I could call him right now . . .’

‘All right, I get the hint!’ He picked up the basket arrangement and turned to leave. ‘Don’t let her phone anyone, Harri!’

‘You have my word. Nice to see you, Barnie.’ Harri watched her aunt carefully as Barnie left the shop. ‘He’s a lovely man, isn’t he?’

‘Hmm? Yes, yes, I suppose he is.’

‘There’s no “suppose” about it! He likes you – and I think the feeling might just be mutual.’

Horrified, Auntie Rosemary stared at her. ‘I – I – absolutely
not
! Barnie is an employee and a good friend.’

‘Oh, come off it, Auntie Ro, there was more chemistry between you two just now than in a mad professor’s lab!’

Rosemary’s hand shot up to the back of her hair, a subtle defence mechanism Harri had learned to spot over the years. ‘He’s a good man. But there’s nothing like . . .
that
going on.’

‘I think you’d both like it if there was, though. He’s not married, is he?’

‘No, but . . .’

Harri picked up a chocolate-iced French Fancy and slowly peeled off the white cake case. ‘Well, then . . .’

Now definitely in full flush, Auntie Rosemary crossed her arms. ‘I am going to change the subject, Harriet, because I’m guessing there’s a reason you decided to come and see me today.’

Harri’s mirth extinguished quicker than a lit match in an ice bucket. It occurred to her that, while she was aware of her need to chat with her aunt, she hadn’t really thought through exactly
what
she wanted to talk about. In lieu of anything resembling a plan, she just decided to start somewhere in the midst of the mess, hoping that the rest would form an orderly queue behind it. So, she began with the Alex and Jack conversation and, inevitably, ended up with the vision in Lycra known as Chelsea Buckden.

‘. . . Honestly, Auntie Ro, you have to see her to believe it. And that scent that she’d smothered her letter in? She
reeks
of it! She’s everything awful that she wrote in her letter and more.’

Auntie Rosemary dunked a HobNob in her tea, her expression grave. ‘I must say, sweetheart, I’m surprised at you.’

Harri’s face fell. ‘Why?’

‘This isn’t like you to be planning revenge. This isn’t who you are.’

‘But I told you what Alex said . . .’

Dismissing this with a wave of her hand, Rosemary fixed Harri with a stern look. ‘That doesn’t matter. The point is, you overheard a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear . . .’

‘Exactly!’

‘Wait – let me finish, Harriet. You heard
part
of a conversation, with no clue as to its context. It’s highly likely you misunderstood what Alex meant.’

‘He called me a charity case! He mocked the fact that I haven’t travelled. How,
exactly
, could I have missed the meaning of that?’

‘Well, I admit it doesn’t sound very nice.’

‘Nice? It’s the most horrible, hurtful thing anyone’s ever said to me! And he’s meant to be my friend, Auntie Ro. Besides, me setting him up with Chelsea will just make him squirm a bit.’ Harri let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘Anyway, it’s all arranged now. There’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Fair enough. Personally, I think you should just confront him about what you heard.’

‘He’d only deny it. If that’s the way he really feels about me I don’t want him to pretend otherwise.’

Auntie Rosemary tutted. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Harriet. That young man thinks the world of you – it’s blatantly obvious. My guess is that his friend put him on the spot so he simply resorted to the classic male tactic of joking his way out of the conversation.’

‘Auntie Ro, you didn’t hear what he said.’

‘You’re right. I didn’t,’ Auntie Rosemary replied, picking up the empty mugs to return them to the kitchen. ‘All the same, I think it’s a daft thing to lose a friendship over.’

As Rosemary disappeared through the bead curtain, Harri stared through the steamed-up windows at the darkening sky over Stone Yardley. Whatever her aunt said, Harri knew that setting Alex up with Chelsea was a mild comeback compared with how much he had upset her. Besides, after his date from hell she would probably find someone nice to take away some of the sting – and it would be back to business as usual for the ‘Free to a Good Home’ dates. Satisfied with her reasoning, Harri hopped off the stool and went to find her aunt.

To placate the tenaciously disapproving voice of her conscience, when she returned home that afternoon Harri threw herself into the task of finding Alex’s ‘date after Chelsea’. After an hour of sorting through the remaining letters in the contenders pile later that afternoon, Harri decided to take a break, grabbing her new
Hidden Venice
book to lose herself in its pages for a while.

The shrill ring of her phone brought her careering back to the damp autumn afternoon in her tiny cottage, and she hastily dug around underneath the letters and magazines strewn across the sofa to find it.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, Red. How’s my favourite travel agent?’

The sound of Rob’s voice sent a shiver of delight through her. ‘Hey, you. I didn’t know if I’d hear from you today – how’s Preston going?’

‘Ah, not so good, I’m afraid.’

Harri could hear the disappointment in his voice and it made her want to hug him. Jovial voices were murmuring in the background and she thought she heard somebody call his name. ‘Seems busy there.’

He laughed, the sound warming her ear. ‘Yeah, we’ve been flat out. We’re just – you know – taking a breather before we start again.’

‘So I’m guessing you’re there all weekend, then?’

‘Yeah. I’m sorry, baby. I don’t think I’ll be home till Wednesday.’

Disappointment dropped like a medicine ball in her heart. ‘Right. Well, just try not to work too hard, OK?’

‘Will do. And, hey, just keep thinking about that Scottish castle at Christmas, yeah? You know you’re my favourite girl, right?’

Harri stared out of the front window to the damp fields shrouded in grey autumnal mist. ‘Of course I do. You take care and text me when you get home.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘How come you didn’t call me on my mobile?’

Rob’s answer was singularly damning in its simplicity. ‘I knew you’d be at home.’

As Harri hung up she sighed and looked over at Ron Howard, who was hinting he might just be sociable if she gave him a cat treat. ‘Great, Ron. So I’m not only on my own this weekend but thoroughly predictable as well.’

It was going to be a long weekend.

On Monday morning, Alex called Harri at work to run over the details of his date for the evening.

‘So, what’s she like?’ he asked.

Harri stifled a grin. ‘Different. She’s unlike anyone you’ve met before.’

‘Unique, huh? Excellent. And her name is . . . ?’

‘Chelsea.’

‘Right. Haven’t dated a Chelsea before, so this should be interesting.’

Oh yes, Harri thought to herself, it will definitely be interesting, Alex.

That evening, Harri was surprised to find that she had developed butterflies about the possible events unfolding at the Star and Highwayman. Odd, she thought. She decided that distraction was the best course of action: the last thing she wanted was to start obsessing over what might be happening. When tidying her house didn’t succeed in removing the frustrating fluttering within, she drove over to Rob’s house to pick up his post, then slowly drove home.

The traffic lights turned red as she reached the crossroads where High Street met Market Street, bringing her car to a standstill outside Wātea. Casting a glance at the darkened windows of the coffee shop and the flat above, her curiosity grew. Alex had said earlier that he would only be able to spend an hour with Chelsea, due to the fact that he had an early delivery in the morning. So why wasn’t he home yet? Perhaps he had gone to see Jack, or Steve, or one of his other mates, after his terrible date . . . Or maybe Chelsea had imprisoned him in her acrylic-taloned clutches and it was impossible for him to escape . . . Worse still, the experience may have been so awful that he was now wandering the streets of Stone Yardley, a wild-eyed, gibbering wreck . . .

The sharp honk of a car horn behind her made Harri realise that the lights had changed to green and she quickly drove off, smiling at her own melodramatics.