It’s merely change of weather. We must expect change
Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son
In typical English holiday weekend style, the heavens opened on Saturday morning and it poured all day long.
‘No going outside for you today, Heathcliff.’ Anna stroked the young cat’s now groomed fur as they both sat on the window seat in the kitchen observing the sheets of rain falling from laden skies. He didn’t seem remotely bothered, curling up in a ball on the cushion, but Anna was. How could she accidentally bump into Alex again if confined to the house? Would he even come down into town in this weather, or stay up at the manor house with his family?
She sat at the table with a notepad and pen and opened the laptop. She would do some research for the bed and breakfast project. That way, if, no, when she saw Alex again, she’d have more questions and that would help her feel less vulnerable.
Anna pursed her lips. Did she feel vulnerable around him? Then she smiled sheepishly at the purring mound beside her.
‘My heart does, Heathcliff. That’s what feels at risk, even after such a short time.’
The cat raised his head briefly, but as Anna’s attention had returned to the screen in front of her, Heathcliff tucked it back down, no doubt returning to his mouse-hunting dreams.
An hour later, Anna straightened and stretched her arms. Her shoulders were aching, and her eyes felt scratchy from looking at the screen. She glanced at the notepad and flipped it closed. She’d found out all she could online. It looked like a phone call to the local council office would be in order on Tuesday, along with enquiries on how to gain a Food Hygiene Certificate.
She looked at her watch, got to her feet and wandered listlessly around the cottage, ending up outside Aunt Meg’s study. Perhaps now would be a good time to start sorting through all the boxes?
Ten minutes later, a mug of hot chocolate in hand and a Spotify playlist sounding out from her phone, Anna perched on a chair and surveyed the scene. There were several boxes stacked against the wall from when she and Jean had done the cleaning and a large bookshelf filled with books, many of which she’d enjoyed during her visits.
She turned around in the desk chair. Light poured in from the large window fronting on to the driveway at the back of the house, despite the grim weather, but then she noticed the trail of shells on the windowsill.
‘You really loved collecting your shells, Aunt Meg,’ she whispered as she got to her feet. What had she meant by ‘follow the shells’? Where might they lead, and why?
‘This is nothing but a line of shells,’ Anna muttered as she looked at the sill. There also wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about the solid cottage walls at either end.
One of Anna’s favourite tunes came on, and she put her mug down and danced a few steps over to the nearest box, flipping the lid open and peering inside. It appeared to be full of old books, which turned out to be diaries, some ranging back to when Aunt Meg would have been a young woman.
Ignoring the more recent ones, Anna dug deep and pulled out a diary dated 1962. She bit her lip and looked around. Diaries were usually private, the personal thoughts of the owner, and not meant for other’s eyes.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Aunt Meg,’ she said softly. ‘I’d love to read about your life back then.’
Pushing open the door to Karma, Anna threw back her rain-soaked hood and looked around. There were a few tourists huddled over the tables near the stylish log burner, which emitted a welcoming glow, and a young couple in one of the booths, but it wasn’t Phoenix behind the counter today, just a cheery young man.
Anna ordered a hot chocolate, selected a cookie and relaxed into one of the squashy sofas by the window. A definite improvement on being alone in Westerleigh Cottage; some background noise, the murmur of conversation, the hissing of the coffee machine, and the occasional tinkle of the bell as the door opened.
She pulled the diary out of her bag and became engrossed in Aunt Meg’s world when she was a woman in her twenties, not much younger than Anna was now. Her chocolate grew cold, but she barely noticed as she devoured the entries. They weren’t made every day, but on the occasions Aunt Meg had chosen to write, she usually covered several pages. Anna didn’t recognise any names, and it wasn’t clear where Meg was teaching – in a village school somewhere in Cornwall – but every now and then, some words were thickly crossed out, and several pages had been removed.
To her dismay, it was clear Aunt Meg still felt the loss of her little sister, even then. The latest entry read: Today would have been Sarah’s birthday. How the grief lingers. Saddened, Anna closed the diary, but then a sharp rap on the window made her start, and looking up, her heart did a double thump. Alex grinned at her, and she waved tentatively, quickly putting the diary down as the door opened and he came in.
Anna willed the easy colour not to flood her cheeks; she didn’t succeed.
‘So, this is where you hide away.’ Alex hung his dripping Barbour on the back of a nearby chair, running a hand through his hair and leaving it adorably tousled.
Anna smiled. ‘Only when the skies are weeping. What brings you into town in this?’
Alex rolled his eyes and flopped onto the sofa beside Anna, whose heart rate picked up again. His leg stretched precariously close to hers. ‘One gets rather stir-crazy at home. Mother can be quite suffocating.’
‘Perhaps if you came home more often, she’d be less attentive. She probably misses you and the chance to look after you.’
Alex raised a brow. He was so close, and he smelt delicious. ‘Perhaps I shall come home more often in future, if I can find someone else who’d be prepared to look after me.’
He held Anna’s gaze, and she swallowed hard. Was he flirting with her?
Anna grabbed her mug of cold chocolate and took a gulp, only to choke on it and endure the ignominy of Alex having to pat her on the back.
‘Looks like the depressing weather has drawn the equally depressing History Man out.’ Alex inclined his head towards the window, and Anna cleared her throat and turned to look.
Sure enough, Oliver opened the passenger door of his car, holding an umbrella as he helped Mrs Clegg out. She was carrying a wicker basket, and he passed the umbrella to her and walked back round to the driver’s side, seemingly heedless of the weather.
Anna looked back at Alex. ‘He’s not depressing. What makes you say that?’
Alex pulled a face. ‘Living in the past? Antisocial? Do-gooder?’ He shrugged. ‘Everything I’m not, thank god!’ He got to his feet. ‘Want a top-up?’ He indicated the empty mug, and although Anna didn’t really want another drink, she nodded. If he was willing to keep her company, she’d be a fool to say no.
Anna took in Alex’s lean frame as he lounged against the counter, waiting for their order. The boyish charm that had made her heart pound as a young teen had matured into overwhelming good looks. There was no other word for it: he was gorgeous.
Anna looked away as Alex turned his head suddenly and caught her staring. How embarrassing! She may as well be that gauche teenager again. She watched the few people braving the elements as they scurried along the pavement. Oliver’s car had gone, and she wondered fleetingly what he did with himself over this long weekend.
‘Are you too warm?’
Alex placed two mugs on the table and resumed his seat by her side.
‘Oh, no, not at all. I think perhaps I drank my hot chocolate too fast.’
Alex said nothing to this, but then he spotted Aunt Meg’s diary, leaning forward to pick it up.
‘Unusual reading matter.’
‘It’s one of Aunt Meg’s from years ago. It’s fascinating to read about her life back then.’
Alex grinned as he put it back on the table. ‘The Swinging Sixties? Sex, drugs and rock and roll?’
Anna shook her head. ‘If it was, that’s not what she’s writing about. She seems to enjoy documenting everyday life, everyday occurrences. Quite a few recipes I shall have to try out, books she has read, and so on. At least, so far as I’ve read. There are so many up at the cottage, it will take me all year to get through them.’
Alex lowered his cup. ‘So, when do they start?’
‘Not sure. I dug as deep as I could for this one.’ Anna pointed at the one on the table.
‘But they’re all old?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Anna paused. ‘I’m sure I remember her occasionally writing in a diary when I used to visit her.’ Then, she smiled at him. ‘You seem very interested in them. Do you enjoy reading life stories?’
‘Lord, no. Thought it might be worth publishing. Another possible income stream. Anything vintage sells these days.’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t. Besides, it really is only about everyday life. No scandal or intrigue.’
‘Shame.’ Alex glanced at his watch. ‘Damn. Have to leave, I’m afraid. Said I’d pick up some wine and they close at four on a Saturday.’
They both looked up as the bell tinkled.
‘Hello, Mrs Clegg,’ Anna called, giving a small wave as the lady entered with her basket. ‘What are you doing out in this awful weather?’
‘Alright, dearie?’ The old lady smiled and walked over, giving the umbrella a shake, but the smile faded when she saw Alex. ‘Just picking up a few bits for dinner. Master Oliver’s been working all day and didn’t stop for lunch. I want to do something a bit special for ’im.’
‘Don’t you get time off at the weekends?’
‘What would I do with time off?’ Mrs Clegg’s smile widened. ‘Best to keep busy. Besides, writers don’t get weekends. Master Oliver needs feeding today as much as any other.’
Alex got to his feet. ‘I’ll be off.’ He picked up his coat from the nearby chair, but as he passed Mrs Clegg, she raised her chin.
‘Back then, are you?’
‘Like the legendary bad penny.’
Sensing some sort of tension, Anna looked between the two of them, but Mrs Clegg turned away.
‘I’ve some shopping to do. I’ll see you on Tuesday, dearie.’
‘Bye, Mrs Clegg. Enjoy the rest of the weekend.’
The elderly lady ambled over to the counter to place her order, and Alex rolled his eyes, then grinned.
‘Catch you later.’
Anna watched him stride down the street, then sank back into the sofa. All these years, then twice in as many days. What had fate got in store for her next?
It was only as she made her damp way home that she realised Alex still hadn’t given her any details about the dinner party.
Easter Sunday brought better weather, with no rain and some broken cloud, hurried on its way by a stiff and somewhat chilly breeze.
Anna didn’t linger when she went outside to get some logs from the store, and Heathcliff, having had his fur ruffled by the wind, soon took up his usual position on the window seat. She turned to another of Aunt Meg’s diaries: 1972. Soon engrossed, she barely noticed when lunchtime came and went until Heathcliff’s indignant mews alerted her to the hour. She put the diary aside with reluctance.
So, Aunt Meg had longed for love as much as Anna did, and although she had a home of her own – it was clear she now lived at Westerleigh Cottage – it was obvious her life felt empty at times.
‘I wonder how she managed to buy such a property on a teacher’s salary?’ Anna mused, but Heathcliff merely mewed again, totally disinterested in the answer.
Anna fed the kitten, her mind wrapped in thoughts of Aunt Meg as a woman in her thirties, living alone here in Westerleigh Cottage. No wonder she set so much store by Anna’s visits when she had retired. If only Aunt Meg had been her formal guardian, instead of Anna’s cold and unfeeling cousin and her feeble husband. How different might all their lives have been?
Eating a quick lunch, Anna eyed the diary warily. Was it sensible to read on, or would it disturb her more?
When her mobile rang, Anna pounced on it. Lauren, up in Harrogate.
‘Hey, how’s it going?’
A rush of homesickness caught Anna’s breath. ‘Oh, it’s fine. All I could ever hope for, but it’s a bit lonely.’
‘What about your frequent visits from the locals? Don’t they happen at weekends?’
‘Rarely, and it’s Easter. Everyone seems to have plans except me. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, honestly. It’s been such foul weather. I think I’m going a bit stir-crazy.’ Anna sank onto the sofa and curled her long legs up. ‘How are you? Has the newbie settled in?’
Lauren laughed. ‘Let’s say there’s a different dynamic now we have a man in the house.’
‘He did seem rather keen on sharing with women, didn’t he?’
‘I wouldn’t mind, but he keeps borrowing my mascara.’
‘And what about Georgia?’
‘She’s off visiting friends in Scotland – hardly seems to be here lately.’
‘What about her job on the mag?’
‘She gave it up. Seems the Mayor was pressing for a bit more personal attention to his column, if you get my drift.’
‘Ewww.’ Anna grimaced. ‘That’s awful. Did she report him?’
‘No. I told her she should, but she’s been a bit distracted. Her mother’s putting pressure on her to settle down. Apparently, there’s some bumptious cousin called Algernon or Aloysius or something similarly pompous they want her to marry, and Georgia’s not having any of it. “Utter bollocks” was her last comment on it before she hightailed it off to the Highlands.’
‘Poor Georgia. Perhaps she’ll meet some gorgeous laird and elope, like they did in the old days. And what about you? Still seeing Kit, or have you sent him to join all your other cast-offs?’
There was a pause. ‘Not yet.’
‘Wow. He is lasting well. Are you hooked at last?’ Anna’s eyes widened at Lauren’s uncharacteristic hesitation. ‘Lauren?’
‘Kit gets me. Like no one else ever did. We’re both focused on the same things, you know?’ A huff of breath. ‘Never mind me. What about the blond hunk? Seen any sign yet?’
‘I might have.’ Anna grinned.
‘Tell me now. I insist!’
Settling back into the sofa, Anna related her encounters with Alex in the past forty-eight hours. Barely had she ended her call when the doorbell pealed, and she hurried to answer it. The locals all used the boot room entrance, so who could it be?
‘Oh!’
Alex stood on the doorstep.