1

      Cathedral café

      Libby Forest and the enormous sheepdog, Bear, climbed the steep street to Wells Cathedral. With no cats to chase, Bear turned his attention to the human passers-by and tried to plant a slobbery, doggy kiss on each face. Libby’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she steered the animal through Penniless Porch, the archway leading to the green lawn in front of the cathedral. ‘I almost wish I hadn’t agreed to look after you. The sooner Max gets home and takes you back, the better.’ No need to tell Bear how much she loved having him with her as she visited the beauty spots of Somerset.

      The duo of walkers paused at last, Libby’s eyes drawn to the statues carved on the building’s stunning West Front. She raised a warning finger at the wriggling dog. ‘You’re on your best behaviour.’ The last thing she needed was a spat with Louis, the cathedral cat, and there was nothing Bear enjoyed more than chasing cats. He made an exception only for Fuzzy, Libby’s aloof marmalade cat, who’d turned out to be Bear’s soulmate. The pair liked curling up together in as small a space as possible and dozing the hours away.

      They navigated the spiral stairs to the café without incident and Libby poked her head round the door. Conversations buzzed amid enticing smells of cake and spice, but Libby was immune to food. Cakes and chocolates were her business, and she spent most days mixing and tasting, surrounded by sugar. On a rare free morning she stuck to coffee.

      She spotted Angela Miles at once. Immaculate grey locks teased into a neat French Pleat, pearl earrings dangling from tiny ears, her friend raised a leather-gloved hand in welcome. Libby tugged at her thatch of damp brown hair. She should have visited the hairdresser weeks ago.

      Pulling a dog treat from the jumble in a pocket of her parka, she bribed Bear to lie down under the table. Angela stirred a steaming cup of coffee. ‘So, your son’s getting married in the cathedral? How wonderful.’

      ‘Isn’t it? His fiancée, Sarah, has family connections; her mother grew up two streets away. Even so, they were lucky to find a vacant date for the wedding. The cathedral gets booked up in the summer, but there’s a cancellation in June. At least the weather will be warmer. I’m tired of winter…’

      Angela’s attention had drifted. Libby, intrigued, followed the direction of her friend’s gaze. A familiar figure occupied a table in the corner with her back to the room. Even at a distance, the back-combed haystack of black hair was unmistakable. Libby would recognise Mandy, her lodger and apprentice, anywhere.

      She rose to wave. ‘Hey, Mandy…’

      Angela tugged her arm. ‘Shh. Don’t interrupt. Mandy hasn’t seen us and she’s having a row with Steve.’

      That young man, Angela’s nephew and Mandy’s boyfriend, sported spiky, dyed-black hair and a tight t-shirt. He banged a fork on the table. ‘Suit yourself,’ he snapped, face red and angry.

      Libby’s eyes met Angela’s. ‘We shouldn’t eavesdrop.’ They turned away, full of good intentions, trying to carry on a conversation, but the fight proved irresistible. At last, they gave themselves up to unashamed eavesdropping.

      Steve’s romance with Mandy had lasted almost a year, even surviving his move from Wells Cathedral School to study music at the Royal College of Music in London, but the relationship looked under strain, today.

      Libby caught fragments of angry whispers. ‘You could if you wanted to,’ Steve hissed.

      Mandy wailed, ‘You don’t even try to understand…’

      To Libby’s disappointment, she missed the rest and, succumbing to guilt, dragged her attention back to the reason she and Angela had arranged to meet. From the depths of her bag she retrieved sketches for the bride’s wedding dress, samples of lace, and lists of guests. ‘She hasn’t made her mind up yet, so people can see the sketches – apart from Robert, of course. Sarah tells me it’s unlucky for the groom to see the dress before the wedding.’

      Angela settled a pair of reading glasses on her nose, leaned both elbows on the table and examined the plans, cooing with approval. ‘What a gorgeous dress. I love a fishtail, don’t you? Sarah will look stunning.’

      She sat back. ‘Now, tell me about the cake. That’s your department, isn’t it? What are you going to make? Sponge cake? Fruit? How many tiers? I bet you can’t wait to start.’

      Libby avoided her friend’s eye. ‘They want cheese.’

      ‘Cheesecake? That’s unusual, but I suppose you could make it look good―’

      ‘Not cheesecake. Cheese. Three different varieties, all produced in Somerset. Cheddar, Brie and – er – Buffalo. One for each layer of the cake. Sarah’s father's a dairy farmer.’

      Angela’s eyes opened wide. ‘So, you won’t be icing the biggest and best wedding cake in Somerset, after all?’

      ‘No; and I had such plans…’

      Their laughter died as Mandy’s voice rose. ‘Don't you dare call me a stupid child. I've got, like, a job, you know. I can’t come running down to London every time you snap your fingers. Why don’t you ask your friend, Alice. She’ll be there in a second.’

      A hush fell throughout the café, half embarrassed and half expectant. Mandy threw a handful of coins on the table and stamped out. Steve scrambled to his feet as if to give chase, but stopped, hesitated as though making his mind up, and flopped back into the chair.

      Angela peered over the rim of her reading glasses, muttering under her breath, ‘Follow her, Steve, you idiot,’ but the young man sipped coffee, as though quite unaware he was the centre of attention. Only a spot of pink on each cheek gave the game away.

      Angela sighed. ‘That’ll teach me to eavesdrop. I was hoping they’d stay together for good and maybe even get married. I know they’re young, but they seemed so happy.’

      Libby sorted the wedding plans into a pile. ‘D’you think that’s the end of the relationship? Perhaps they’re not as well suited as we thought.’ Mandy had seemed to be on cloud nine recently. ‘It's a shame, but they’re still young. Living so far from each other must be a strain.’

      She put her papers back in the bag. ‘I remember Alice. I met her one day at your house. Very glamorous and a musician, like Steve.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe she’s a better match for him, but I’m sorry for Mandy. It seems her heart’s about to be broken.’

      Angela rearranged packets of sugar in the flower-painted china container. ‘Look at us, worrying about Steve and Mandy as if they’re our children.’

      ‘Mandy’s almost a third child to me, now Ali and Robert have grown up and left home. She’s tidier around the house than they ever were, though.’

      Angela looked thoughtful. ‘I never had children of my own. Didn’t think I had maternal instincts until Steve’s motorbike accident. That hit me for six.’

      ‘You were like a tiger with her cub,’ Libby recalled, ‘and you spent every day at the hospital until you were certain he’d recover.’

      Angela laughed. ‘I suppose you never stop wanting to look after them, do you? No matter how old they are.’

      The excitement died away, the café returned to its normal state of soporific calm, and Bear rested his head on Libby’s lap, eyes pleading for treats. As she tickled his favourite spot, just behind a front leg, Angela’s phone rang.

      She made an apologetic face. ‘Sorry, do you mind if I take it? It’s the