Trisha Ashley 3 Book Bundle. Trisha Ashley
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‘You look lovely, Chloe – and not a day older than when I last saw you.’
‘You don’t look much older either, David,’ I said, feeling flattered, though my attention was slightly distracted just then by catching sight of Mrs Snowball’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She had presumably completed her magic trick with the machine and now removed something from her pinny pocket and sprinkled it over the top of one of the cups. It seemed an odd place to keep the chocolate, or cinnamon, or whatever it was…
‘I feel older, though,’ David was saying ruefully. ‘Lately I’ve realised that the time has come to settle down – and finally move out of the city too. It’s better for bringing up children, for a start.’
‘I – I didn’t think – I mean, you didn’t say you’d got married, David!’ I said, startled, though I don’t know why I was so surprised.
‘I haven’t. There hasn’t been anyone serious since we broke up, Chloe, though it took me quite a while to accept what a big mistake I’d made in letting you go.’
‘Oh, no, I think in retrospect it was a good thing,’ I assured him cheerfully. ‘We just weren’t right for each other and it wouldn’t have worked out.’
I wonder if all single men, when they get to a certain age, start to think of settling down? If so, maybe it’s more a practical impulse than a romantic one and what they really want is someone on tap to look after them as they get older. I certainly didn’t believe he had been living a bachelor existence for the last six years!
He gave me another warm smile, his teeth so unnaturally white they probably glowed in the dark and saved him a fortune in light bulbs. ‘Somehow, I seem to have been thinking about you a lot lately, Chloe, so it was a wonderful surprise to run into you again.’
‘Yes, it’s lovely to see you again, too,’ I replied, though actually from Zillah’s readings I should have guessed it might happen.
Clive brought the coffee and David’s brandy just then, on an old battered tin tray painted with the Guinness toucan. His mother hovered anxiously at his elbow.
‘This looks lovely!’ I said, though I could see mine had missed the sprinkle treatment entirely, while David’s seemed to have got a double dose.
‘Enjoy! That’s what they say on American telly, isn’t it?’ she cackled, then shuffled off back to whatever she’d been doing before Clive summoned her, and he went back through into the public lounge.
‘Strange people,’ David commented, one eyebrow raised quizzically, then took a sip of his coffee and pulled a face. ‘Strange cappuccino, too!’
‘Mine is fine, so I expect she just overdid the sprinkle on yours,’ I suggested, though now I came to look at his coffee, it was speckled with greenish stuff that looked more like powdered herbs than anything. ‘You’ll hurt her feelings if you don’t drink it. Here, let me scrape some of it off with my spoon.’
‘You’re too soft-hearted, Chloe,’ he said, but even after I’d skimmed the top off it he still emptied the cup into a jaded aspidistra behind him after a couple of sips. It would probably perk it up no end.
David removed the aftertaste with a good gulp of brandy. ‘I wonder if I could ask you a favour, Chloe.’
‘A favour?’
‘Yes, I’m looking for a house around here and I thought you might come and see some of the possible ones with me. I’d appreciate another viewpoint.’
‘Poppy’s the one who could be really helpful, because her cousin Conrad works in an estate agents and so she—’
He leaned forward and laid his warm hand over mine. ‘No, it’s your opinion I value.’
‘You could have both,’ I said as the door to the snug opened. ‘And here are Felix and Poppy now!’
‘So what, exactly, made you two decide to meet up here more than an hour earlier than our usual time?’ I demanded when David had gone. He’d seemed disgruntled, as though I had arranged for my friends to arrive, even though it must have been plain that I was as surprised as he was.
‘Felix phoned me up and suggested it: we were a bit worried you might fall for him all over again,’ Poppy confessed, ‘so we thought we would come and see.’
‘Yes, and it looks as though we were right. He was holding your hand when we came in,’ Felix said pointedly.
‘He wasn’t, it was only a casual gesture. He’d just asked me to help him look for a country house, because he wants a woman’s viewpoint.’
‘You’re not really going to take up with him again, are you?’ Poppy asked anxiously. ‘Only we never thought he was right for you the first time round.’
‘No, and actually I was quite glad when you came in, because although it was lovely to see him again, we seemed to have even less in common than we had before, and I was getting bored. I expect he has some other candidate in mind for the country house and really does just want a bit of feminine viewpoint when he’s looking round them.’
‘I think you’re naïve, and it’s a ploy to get back together with you again,’ Felix insisted.
‘You’re daft. I’m sure neither of us is interested in starting the romance up again.’
‘Is that a coffee cup?’ asked Poppy, tactfully changing the subject. ‘Since when did the Star start serving hot drinks?’
‘Just today. They’ve got a machine behind the counter, but Mrs Snowball is the only one who knows how to use it so far. I’m not sure she’s entirely got the hang of it, though, because although mine was fine, David said his was horrible.’
When I got back home, Jake was in the garden practising with the firesticks that Grumps had paid for. The effect in the darkness was very pretty and he seemed quite expert, so I hoped he wouldn’t set himself, or anything else, alight.
David rang me while I was watching (we had exchanged mobile numbers) to say that he was sorry he’d had to rush off earlier, but he was feeling quite peculiar, and was positive it was the coffee he’d had at the pub.
‘I’m sure it can’t have been because I feel fine, and Poppy and Felix had some later too. What sort of peculiar?’ I asked curiously, but he wouldn’t say.
I’d noticed that Mrs Snowball didn’t sprinkle anything onto our coffees, so I suspected that whatever ingredient she’d added to David’s had been at Grumps’ instigation. But I’m sure it can’t have been harmful, just something discouraging.
Poppy turned up the following Thursday just as I was pouring hot cream onto grated chocolate to make truffles – one part cream to two parts grated chocolate.
She was still wearing jodhpurs and a quilted gilet, but must have been to a Parish Council meeting, since she had changed her usual T-shirt for a fairly disastrous spotted blouse in mustard with a bow at the neck.
‘Oh good,’ I said, ‘I need an extra pair of hands. I’m dividing this mixture in half and I need you to keep stirring the other bowl until I tell you to stop.’
She took the spoon and obediently started to stir. ‘This smells lovely! What are you making?’
‘Truffles. I thought I might try combining two of my favourite flavours, vanilla and cinnamon, and see what happened. Yours will just have natural vanilla flavouring and I’ll roll them in powdered cinnamon, but I’ll add both ingredients to my batch and dust with powdered chocolate.’
When they were blended I transferred them to two labelled plastic boxes ready to be put in the fridge to firm