“Better than the castle, too,” said Cate drily. “Why anyone wants to pay good money to wander around a pile of old stones is beyond me. Go to Hampton Court or the Tower of London, now that’s proper history. Not an old ruin that claims to have had Elizabeth the First as a visitor.”
“Bah!” exclaimed the colonel from the corner. He folded his paper and stood up crossly. “Nothing good about the world these days.” The vicar and her two companions stopped talking and looked up at him in surprise. “Dirty hospitals, congestion, underpaid, overworked, ill-educated, foulmouthed, thugs, graffiti, gang warfare, exposed midriffs, skinny models, obesity, poverty, terrorism, war, murder, abduction, rape.” He snorted in fury. “I tell you, nothing good about the world. Bloody lucky my number’s nearly up. Can’t be doing with it all.” He moved stiffly across the room. Only the two old ladies continued chatting as if he wasn’t in the room. He threw some change on the counter and shuffled out, replaced by a gust of damp wind.
“Ah, so that’s why he hangs around after church,” said the Reverend Beeley, chuckling good-naturedly. “At his age, it’s hardly worth going home.”
Cate put the change in the till and returned to her chair, smoothing down her white apron.
“I wonder if he’ll come back,” sighed Henrietta. There were precious few attractive single men in Hartington.
“He’s in every morning. Takes the same table and grumbles about the same things. Negative people are so trying!” Cate complained, clamping her small mouth in displeasure.
“No, I mean the Frenchman. Do you think he’ll be back?” said Henrietta.
“Who can say? Just passing through, I should imagine. He was delicious, though. His eyes were the softest brown I’ve ever seen. He gave me quite a look when he left.” Cate always had to bring the conversation around to herself. “You know that lazy, bedroom look.”
“How old was he?”
“Early fifties,” said Cate. “He might come back.” She nodded knowingly. “A man like that appreciates good coffee.”
They all turned as the door opened, letting in another gust of cold air. “Told you,” said Cate triumphantly. “They always come back.” She stood up and greeted Miranda as if she were an old friend. “What can I get you?”
“A coffee with hot milk on the side, please,” said Miranda. She turned to the notice board and ripped off the piece of paper advertising the two job vacancies.
“Found someone, have you?” said Cate.
“Yes,” replied Miranda cagily. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
“A cook and a gardener? That’s quick,” said Troy.
“Not in this town. Everyone passes through my cake shop.”
Miranda didn’t have the heart to tell her that neither Mrs. Underwood nor Jean-Paul had seen her notice board.
She greeted Troy and Henrietta with a polite smile—she didn’t want to encourage them—and went to sit by the window beside the Reverend Beeley’s table. No sooner had her bottom touched the wood than the vicar leaned over, heaving her large bosom across the gap between their chairs. A pair of spectacles on a beaded chain swung over the ledge like a helpless mountaineer. “Hello,” she said in a fruity voice. “I’m Rev. Beeley, your vicar. I gather you’re new in town.”
“Yes.” Miranda realized that she had been stupid to think there was such a thing as a quiet coffee in Cate’s Cake Shop.
“As the vicar of Hartington I’d like to welcome you. I’d be delighted to welcome you to church, too, if you feel the desire to attend our services. You should have received the parish magazine. It lists all our services and special events. I do hope you’ll come.”
“Thank you,” Miranda replied, pulling a tight smile and wondering if she could claim to be Jewish. Admitting she was agnostic wouldn’t be good enough for the zealous Rev. Beeley.
“It is a pleasure. The Lightlys were very devout. They attended every Sunday. The church really came to life when Mrs. Lightly arranged the flowers. She had a magic touch. Her gardens were the most beautiful…”
“So I’ve been told,” Miranda interjected briskly. She was fed up hearing about the Lightlys’ beautiful gardens. If it weren’t for the miraculous arrival of Jean-Paul she would shout at them all to shut up. In fact, she felt quite smug, as if she were guarding a delicious secret. “If they had the most beautiful gardens in England, why did they move?”
“I suppose they didn’t want to rattle about in a big house. The children had grown up and moved away, except the youngest who inherited her mother’s green thumb. Then, what with Phillip’s illness…” The vicar broke off with a sigh and shook her head mournfully.