The Chocolate Collection. Trisha Ashley
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thing, that’s why people buy them. They’re a novelty and an after-dinner treat.’
‘They’re magic,’ she insisted, and I abandoned trying to change her mind, since she gets these stubborn moments.
‘Speaking of magic, that brings us right back to Hebe and the meeting, doesn’t it? Did you say the temporary vicar intends coming to visit Grumps?’
‘Not just intends – we actually walked here together, because he said he would rather get it over with. He looked a bit nervous, poor man, though I tried to reassure him.’
‘What did you tell him? Come back later, armed with a large stick and a bottle of holy water?’ I was pouring the last little bit of tempered chocolate into lolly moulds, to use it up.
‘I told him he should forget what Hebe said and just welcome Mr Lyon to the village, shake his hand, and go away again.’
‘Very sensible.’
‘But I don’t think that he will take my advice, because he went all scared and stubborn and said if your grandfather was practising witchcraft, then he must try and persuade him to mend his ways, and also not open a museum likely to poison the holy tranquillity of the village.’
I stopped tapping the mould to release air bubbles and stared at her. ‘There’s never been much holy calm about Sticklepond, has there? Even I know that! Is he a complete idiot?’
‘Yes, but a nice one and he means well.’ She glanced quickly over her shoulder, as if the devil might be standing there – or Grumps. ‘You don’t think…?’
‘Grumps doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but he was in quite a good mood this morning when I collected the latest chapter of his book. He was looking forward to spending the day arranging things in the museum and labelling them, so he may not be too harsh with poor Mr Whatever-he’s-called.’
‘Merryman.’
At that moment a small, youngish, balding man wearing a clerical collar scurried past the glazed shop window, as if the devil himself were after him. He turned his head and gave us one terrified glance, then took to his heels and ran.
‘Not so Merryman,’ I commented and sighed. ‘Grumps must have had a change of mood.’
‘Oh, poor thing!’ Poppy said. ‘He’s so nice, too.’
‘Poppy, have you got your eye on him? He is single, isn’t he?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘No, and I’m pretty sure he’s gay, actually, because he keeps showing me pictures of his friend Gerry.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘But I phoned a man from the lonely hearts column last night – not one I showed you before – and he sounded lovely! I’m sure the first one I met was just beginner’s bad luck. We’re going to meet at the Green Man on the day after my birthday.’
‘Poppy, this is just like fishing through a hole in the ice – you don’t know what’s going to come up on the end of the hook! Felix will have fits.’
‘You may have given up on men, Chloe, but I’ve changed my mind because Mr Right has to be out there somewhere.’
‘But yours may not read The Times. Do Horse and Hound do a lonely hearts column?’ I suggested.
Chapter Eleven: Birthday Wishes
Poppy had to come into Sticklepond again on the Thursday for the regular Parish Council meeting and she seemed to be developing the habit of calling by on her way home so she could tell me all about them. This time Felix came too and immediately started dropping hints about hot chocolate, until I gave in and started grating cacao.
Personally, I think adding anything else other than a bit of honey or raw cane sugar to it ruins the whole, delicious experience, but Jake loved his loaded with whipped cream and even marshmallows (yuk!) and both Felix and Poppy liked hot, frothed milk with theirs.
‘The meeting wasn’t very exciting tonight,’ Poppy said, taking a cautious sip and emerging from her mug with a white moustache. ‘Probably because we’d already discussed everything at the emergency session!’
‘Is it ever?’
‘Well, I think it is, what with all the discussions about the witchcraft museum and speculating about the new vicar,’ she said, and then suddenly got a belated attack of conscience. ‘You know, I suppose we really shouldn’t be discussing Parish Council business with other people, Felix!’
‘Isn’t it a bit too late for that now? And I’m not “other people”,’ I said indignantly. ‘Haven’t we always told each other everything…or almost everything, because I suspect we all have one or two deep, dark secrets.’
‘I haven’t,’ Felix said. ‘I’m an open book.’
‘You’re a nice if slightly time-worn edition, attractively foxed,’ I said kindly. ‘And you both know I wouldn’t discuss Parish Council business with anyone else, though I’ll swear silence, if that helps?’
‘Of course we know you wouldn’t tell anyone else, don’t we, Felix? I was being silly,’ said Poppy. ‘Go on, tell Chloe what happened.’
‘OK, but not a lot did happen that I recall, except that Hebe Winter told poor Mr Merryman that he was a weak vessel who’d failed to avert a threat to all our mortal souls, or something like that.’
‘I thought he was going to cry!’ Poppy put in. ‘So I told her your grandfather wasn’t so bad, but then she said yes he was, he was the Antichrist!’
‘I think that might be going a little too far,’ I said. ‘I mean, Aleister Crowley he is not! And even if his magic practices do stray across the line sometimes, it’s never even bordering on satanic.’
Or I hoped not, anyway…No, on reflection, my guardian angel would definitely have had something to say about that!
‘Oh, no, I’m sure he’s not,’ Poppy agreed. ‘I think Miss Winter is now pinning her hopes on the new vicar taking a stronger line about it, when he finally arrives. Apparently, he intends moving into the kitchen wing of the vicarage where Mr Harris lived after he found the stairs too much, while the rest of the repairs are finished. That’s what the Minchins say, anyway. He’s keeping them on, which they’re very relieved about.’
‘Who are the Minchins?’ I asked.
‘They’re a brother and sister in their fifties, who looked after the vicarage for Mr Harris, and they have a sort of flat over the kitchen, with its own back stairs,’ she explained. ‘Salford Minchin has served time in prison for murder, so they were worried they might be out of a job.’
‘Yes, I imagine they might!’
‘It was more of an accident really, I think – Salford found his wife with another man and things got out of hand. Don’t they call that a crime passionnel in France?’
‘Yes, and I suppose if he doesn’t remarry, it’s unlikely he’ll do it again,’ I agreed.
‘Miss Winter found out that the vicar had paid a flying visit to Sticklepond last week to see how renovations were progressing, but he didn’t tell anyone except the Minchins that he was coming, so she was furious about that,’ said Felix.
‘When Effie Yatton asked Maria Minchin what he was like, all she could say was that he was younger than Mr Harris and not anything like any vicar she’d ever known,’ Poppy said, with a giggle.
‘Apart from Methuselah, it would be difficult to be older than Mr Harris,’ Felix said. ‘He looked transparent the last few years, as if he was