The weekend seemed to flash by like images from a horror film and a heavy block of anxiety fermented in her chest every time she walked into the hospital to visit her father. In fact, he seemed to be coping with his predicament better than she was. When he was told he could go home on Monday morning, she swore he almost skipped along the corridor towards the exit. Her love for him ballooned, but then switched back to fear as she contemplated the fact that she could have lost him.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine, just fine. You know me, I don’t do hospitals. They’re full of sick people! I can’t wait to get back home, back to normality.’
‘I want you to get some rest, Dad!’ chastised Gabbie, a curl of panic sweeping over her as she envisaged her father changing into his overalls and sliding underneath a BMW, or a Saab, or a Volvo. The problem was that he had always hated to sit still, always wanted to be in his garage surrounded by his beloved engines, tinkering with the nuts and bolts, polishing the chrome, oiling the axles.
‘I will, I will. How are you doing, sweetheart? I know all this has been a huge shock for you.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Dad. You just concentrate on getting well. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Gabbie settled her father on the sofa in the living room, handing him a coffee and the newspaper and a pile of car magazines to browse through. Within minutes there was a knock on the door.
‘Is the patient up to seeing visitors?’ asked Mike, carrying a huge bunch of sunflowers. ‘These are for you, Gabbie. Helen thought you might need something to cheer you up.’
‘Oh, thanks, Mike, they’re gorgeous. Dad’s in the lounge. Go on through, but please would you tell him to take it easy? Just for a few days? He might listen to you.’
‘I’ll try, but you know what he’s like,’ chuckled Mike, disappearing through the door to greet his friend and enjoy a chat about the world of archery and cars while Gabbie returned to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee.
‘Hi, Gabbie, are you making coffee?’ asked Wil, appearing at the door, wiping his hands on an oily rag, his face as pale as ivory, causing his freckles to become much more prominent.
‘I am. Do you and Max want a cafetière for the garage?’
‘Oh, Max rang me first thing this morning. He told me to tell you he’s not coming in today.’
‘He’s not…’ Shock reverberated around her brain. ‘Why?’
‘Didn’t say,’ replied Wil.
‘And you didn’t ask?’
‘Well, no. I told him I was definitely coming in because I just want to keep busy – and I promised Mrs Bartlett I’d have her Peugeot ready by lunchtime so she can get to see her grandkids in the swimming gala this afternoon. She’s already been on the phone to ask after Jeff and see whether she should take her car somewhere else, but then so have quite a lot of our customers. News travels fast in a small community, Gabbie.’
It was true. Word had spread around the village and beyond. All that day a constant stream of visitors dropped by to enquire after Jeff’s wellbeing and to reminisce with him and Mike about the cars they had owned and had serviced at Andrews Autos by either him or his father or grandfather before him. If he hadn’t been about to lose the garage, Gabbie knew her father would have thoroughly enjoyed gossiping with all the old customers, sharing anecdotes and discussing the quirks of individual makes of cars.
Unsurprisingly, there was a rush of bookings that morning and their appointment book was full of winter services, requests for new tyres, and small bodywork jobs that owners had been putting off but wanted to get sorted before their doors closed for good and they had to travel all the way to Honiton to have them seen to. She also noticed that Max must have anticipated the increased influx of business because he had moved his Jag out of the workshop. She wondered where he had stored his pride and joy.
But where was he? She hadn’t seen him since Saturday morning. She had tried to contact him several times to thank him for coming to her rescue, for offering his unquestioning support in her time of need, but he hadn’t returned her calls, which she thought was strange.
She thought about asking Wil to ring him to ask what he was doing and why he hadn’t come into the garage, but decided it was better not to involve him. Wil was clearly devastated about what had happened, too, wandering around the garage like a depressed sloth, asking what seemed like every hour whether the increase in bookings meant the garage could be saved, and becoming even more morose when the answer was negative. Gabbie tried to dress up her response in a cloak of positivity, suggesting it could be an opportunity for him to spread his wings into a larger establishment, but he simply looked at her with stark incredulity.
Everyone was devastated about the imminent demise of the garage, but none more so than Gabbie herself. After making what seemed like the tenth pot of coffee and opening the twentieth packet of biscuits for the constant stream of well-wishers, she had eventually escaped into the office for a few moments of calm.
But it wasn’t to be. When she moved a box of tissues from the desk she was shocked to find another pile of unopened envelopes that must have arrived on Saturday morning and been left there by either Max or Wil. She opened them with some trepidation, expecting there to be another final demand lurking among them. However, like a tiny consolation prize, there were two small cheques attached to invoices, but they were a drop in the ocean compared to what they needed to survive the monsoon of the tax bill.
She heaved a sigh and dropped her head in her hands, fighting off the threat of a headache. Throughout the weekend her mind had mulled over all the issues she had to deal with: her worries about her father’s health, how they were going to deal with the winding down of the garage without causing him any additional stress, and what she was going to do about the job offer at Carrington Cosmetics – which she still hadn’t told her father about, including the fact that, if she accepted it, she would be leaving to live and work in Paris.
Jasmine flitted into her mind and she yearned to hear her cheerful voice. She reached into her handbag for her phone and dislodged the envelope containing the terms of her job offer at Carrington’s. She knew Jasmine would want to know every last detail, particularly where in Paris the offices of Carrington Cosmetics were located, so she unfolded the letter and took her time to read the small print.
Shock and disbelief rushed at her and caused her to gasp. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her? A case of wishful thinking?
Gabbie shook her head, screwed up her eyes and read the whole document again. But she hadn’t been mistaken, it was there in black and white and she couldn’t believe Rupert Carrington hadn’t mentioned it when he’d been discussing her terms of employment. Maybe it was something he gave every new employee and so hadn’t considered it worth mentioning.
She stared at the figure at the bottom of the page alongside what her salary would be if she accepted the position. A golden hello of ten thousand pounds! Ten thousand pounds! She couldn’t believe it! She leapt up from the desk, rushed out into the workshop, grabbed a very surprised Wil and hugged him.
‘Erm, what’s going on, Gabbie?’
‘I…’ she had been about to blurt out her news, to tell Wil that there might be a chink of light in the blanket of despondency that hovered over the garage’s future, but she didn’t want to raise his hopes until she knew for certain. ‘Will you tell Dad I’ve gone over to Honiton? See you later.’
She grabbed the keys to her father’s ancient Volvo and drove as fast as she could towards the bank. If she had to sit in the waiting room all day, she would spend it sending up a fervent prayer to the director of her destiny that Freya Williams would reconsider her decision to close them down when she saw that a deposit of ten thousand pounds was about to be paid into the Andrews Autos business account.
All indecision about her own future flew out of the window. She would take the job at Carrington’s, save the garage, work her socks off in Paris until she had proved herself and then put in a request for a transfer back to London. Her dream to run the Summerhouse of Happiness would have to be shelved for the time being. It was a small sacrifice to make if it meant her father could keep his beloved garage, and Max and Wil their jobs.
Max.
Why hadn’t he shown up at the garage that morning? Where was he?
She found a car parking space on the outskirts of the town and jogged the rest of the way to the bank. When she went inside, she was relieved to see a different person behind the counter than the woman who had looked at her with such disdain on Friday afternoon.
‘Hello. I wonder if I could see Miss Williams, please?’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
Gabbie sighed as a sense of déjà vu hit her. ‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t, but it’s really important I speak to her. If she’s not available, I’m happy to wait until she is, or maybe I could schedule a telephone call with her?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said the young man with the impressively sculptured quiff, smiling at her before disappearing into the back room.
Gabbie found a seat and settled in for a long wait, but was amazed when only minutes later Freya Williams herself was standing in front of her, a broad smile of welcome on her face, her palm extended.
‘Hello, Miss Andrews. What can I do for you?’
Gabbie didn’t know exactly what she had expected, but an effusive greeting wasn’t it. For a moment she floundered, unable to recall the opening gambit of her rehearsed speech.
‘Yes, hello, thank you for seeing me so quickly. I wanted to tell you about… Well, I hope that when I show you…’
‘Would you like to come through to the meeting room?’
‘Erm, yes, please.’
Gabbie gave herself a stern talking-to. This was her chance, especially as Freya Williams seemed to have mellowed over the weekend. She slid into the proffered seat and faced the bank’s small business manager, meeting her gaze with confidence and poise.
‘I would like to ask you to reconsider your refusal of my father’s application for a loan. I have just been advised that my new position with a London cosmetics firm offers its new employees a golden hello to the tune of…’
‘Miss Andrews, could I stop you there?’
‘But, please, I can show you the letter. I have it here.’ Gabbie extracted the now-crumpled envelope emblazoned with the Carrington Cosmetics logo from her handbag. She was gratified to see Freya Williams’ eyes widen, but the woman didn’t reach out to take the envelope from Gabbie. ‘I know ten thousand pounds isn’t enough to cover everything we owe, but with the lump sum I deposited in the account last week…’
‘Forgive me, Miss Andrews, I don’t think you understand.’
‘I do understand…’
‘Are you aware that the Andrews Autos overdraft was cleared this morning and the business account stands in profit?’
‘I… no… what?’
‘A banker’s draft was deposited, which is cleared funds, and I can assure you there’s sufficient money remaining to discharge the two invoices that are outstanding, which I recommend you do immediately to prevent any further court action.’
‘Yes, of course, I’ll…’
‘So, if there’s nothing else…?’
‘No, I… Yes, actually there is. Where did the money come from? I know my father hasn’t been here this morning…’ And then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, okay, now I understand. Well, I don’t, but…’
She was gabbling and needed to get out of that little glass cube of an office before Miss Williams realised she was dealing with a complete lunatic.
‘Thank you for seeing me.’
And she walked out of the bank with as much dignity as she could. When she reached the pavement, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but her overriding emotion was one of confusion. She had discovered where Max had been that morning, but where on earth had he got the money from?