“Okay,” said Maggie. “I nominate you to go and ask Belinda. And now that I think about it, the church summer fete always has a marquee for the cake contest and largest vegetable competition. I wonder if it belongs to the church or if they rent it.” She tapped her pen on her chin. “Ask about that too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Star saluted.
“Next on the agenda is alcohol. Dad’s scrapbook is insistent on it being wassail, and he also says that the apple trees of Rowan Thorp make the best cider, as does Betty . . .”
“If Bossy Betty is insistent, we’d definitely better make it happen.” Star snickered.
“I heard that!” Betty called, mid–loading a cake stand.
“Ears like a bat,” whispered Simone.
“I heard that too!”
Maggie was struck by inspiration. She turned to the front of the shop and called, “Do you think if we held a village meeting, people would come?”
Betty rolled her eyes and settled her hands on her hips. “Try and stop ’em.”
“What about if we held a meeting tomorrow night? In the village hall? Is that too short notice?” Simone was thinking out loud. “I’m not sure how we’d get the word out.”
“You leave that to me, dear,” said Betty. “I’ll spread the word. Half the town would come just to see the spectacle of the North girls working as a team.”
“Rude!” said Star.
“Jebediah at the newsagent’s has been keeping a book on how long it’ll take the ‘North nemeses’ to throw in the towel.”
Some of the locals at nearby tables became flushed and began to concentrate on newspapers and slices of cake. Maggie guessed from their guilty faces that Jebediah’s under-the-counter bookmaking business was booming.
“The North nemeses! Is that what they call us?” Simone was offended, but Maggie only laughed.
“I don’t know why you’re so uptight about it—I live here! What are the odds that we don’t pull it off, Betty?”
“Twenty to one against.”
Maggie felt both her eyebrows rise.
“O ye of little faith!” Star retorted.
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Betty held her hands up.
“Have you placed a bet?” Simone asked.
“I have indeed. I’ve got money on you making a go of it, so you’d better not let me down. I expect to be picking up a tidy sum on the longest night of the year.”
Maggie grinned. “We’d better make sure we get it done, then.”
The sounds of chairs scraping against the wooden floor and the sudden mass exodus suggested that the people of Rowan Thorp might just be hedging their bets. Jebediah was about to have an influx of customers.
“What time do you want to hold this meeting?” Betty asked.
“Seven o’clock?” Maggie suggested.
Betty nodded. “Consider it done. Make sure you come with a plan and a list of things you need. People don’t like having their time wasted. They’ll give help when it’s asked, but they won’t do it all for you.” And with that warning ringing in the sisters’ ears, Betty went back to dolloping clotted cream onto the biggest scones Maggie had ever seen.
26
Later that afternoon, Maggie found herself alone in the flat. Patrick had taken Verity to a pantomime in Tunbridge Wells. Her son having never shown any inclination toward panto before, Maggie surmised it must have something to do with a certain young woman called Louella, who was playing the part of Princess Jasmine.
She was taking advantage of this rare peace and quiet to make some notes for the speech they would have to give at the village meeting tomorrow. Simone and Star had both agreed to take their turn to speak, but as usual, the planning had fallen to her.
She’d written out note cards of the things they should include in their appeal. She hoped Betty was right and that people were simply waiting for them to ask. If not, she had no idea how they were going to pull this thing off. She felt sure that if Augustus had had the faintest idea that she was about to be evicted, he would never have tasked her with this. It seemed cruel that she was putting so much energy into a celebration for a community to which she might no longer belong in a few short weeks. She sighed, sipped her tea, and continued to scribble words to rouse the village of Rowan Thorp to action.
The kitchen door opened, and she felt Joe behind her chair.
“Hello. How was your run?”
“Invigorating,” he replied with a smile in his voice. “What are you doing?”
“Writing speech notes.”
“Speech notes! Do you think you’ll need them?”
“I get tongue-tied when I’m nervous.”
“Relax,” he said, rubbing her shoulders. The cold of his fingers brushing the skin above her collar made her shiver in a good way. “Everyone wants to help you succeed. It isn’t a test, nobody’s judging you. Just be yourself.”
“Easy for you to say. Your self is all easy charm.”
“Okay, firstly, that’s not true. And secondly, you have no idea how beguiling you are. Don’t get me wrong, it’s sexy as hell that you don’t recognize it in yourself, but you really have nothing to worry about. From where I’m standing, the people in this community would do anything you asked. You want my advice?”
“Of course.”
“Speak from the heart and don’t overthink it.”
She let out a long breath. “Speak from the heart,” she parroted like a mantra.
“Are you finished with your note cards?” he asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Good. Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, secretly hoping he would lead her to her bedroom.
“You’ll see,” he said. He was smiling. “You’ll need a coat.”
Dammit!
The sky was sepia-tinged gray, and last night’s ice looked set to be joined by more tonight. All along the high street, chimneys pushed out curls of smoke, and in one of the back gardens someone was burning leaves. It was only three o’clock but already lamplight spilled out from windows and Christmas trees twinkled behind net curtains.
They hadn’t taken the van, so he wasn’t whisking her off to a motel somewhere for an afternoon of passion, more the pity. They crossed the road, and Joe led her to the side gate that led into Augustus’s garden. This was becoming less romantic by the minute. What was it that he had to show her? A new compost bin? When he took her hand and led her to the end of the garden and into the woods, her hopes rose again, although she would definitely be keeping her coat on if they were going to attempt sex in the wild.
Birds feasted on the tight clusters of ruby berries that clung to spindly branches. Voluminous ferns dotted the ground in clumps between the corpses of woody bluebell stems and tenacious frilly capped fungi. They wandered farther into the wood, until all the sounds of the street outside had been replaced by birdsong, the crunch of leaves, and the scurrying of busy woodland creatures in the thicket. Squirrels flashed past in a whirl of gray bottle-brush tails and disappeared up tree trunks.
They reached a clearing encircled by trees whose topmost branches arched over to form a vaulted ceiling and cast shade on the ground below. In the middle of the clearing a two-person tent had been erected. Maggie felt a stirring in her apple-catcher knickers and was pleased she’d shaved her bikini line this morning. Not a motel room but an improvement on being bent over sacks of potatoes in the storeroom, she mused, cheeks flushing at the remembrance.