Margaret’s conservatory is probably the homeliest place in the world. I edge between a lemon tree and a yukka plant which looks as though it has seen better days and perch on a battered cane chair. It is more comfortable than it looks and I sink back into its cushions. Margaret sweeps a seed catalogue and a gardening magazine off the coffee table to make space for the tray she is carrying.
A teapot under a cosy shaped like a cat, two large mugs, a carton of milk and a packet of gingernuts. My mother would have thrown a fit but I love the easiness of it all and I smile at Margaret fondly.
“I haven’t had gingernuts for years.”
“You do like them, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, but Neil started watching his weight so I stopped buying biscuits.”
Margaret looks shocked. “Really, Alice – you could still have had them yourself.” She picks up the packet and shoves it under my nose. “Go on – take a couple and make up for lost time.”
I nibble the edge of one as she pours the tea and I am overtaken by a wave of nostalgia; a friend’s house, after school – gingernuts and orange squash – but that’s all I can remember. I balance the biscuit on the edge of the tray and delve into my handbag.
“I’ve got something here you might be interested in, but I’m not sure.”
“Alice,” she laughs, “I’m interested in everything. It’s what keeps me going in my old age.”
“You’re not old, Margaret,” I counter.
“Well, only in years, and they don’t matter so very much. Come on – what have you got?”
“I think it’s called a charm wand.” And I explain what little Richard told me about it – omitting the rubbish about Owen, of course.
Margaret holds it up to the light. “They look like wheat seeds to me. And it’s very old glass – it’s a wonder they haven’t gone mouldy. With respect, Alice, I don’t think of your barn as the driest of places.”
“The damp proofing man said it was, because of the amount of air coming through it.”
“Yorkshire air can be very wet – as you’ll no doubt find out once you’ve spent a winter here. But perhaps the seeds are too tightly packed in to rot. It’s quite a special thing, isn’t it? What are you going to do with it?”
“I thought I’d give it to you. If you’d like it that is, and if you can find a home for it.” I look at the clutter around me.
Margaret laughs. “Oh, I can always find space for another curio. I might even take it to the next antiques fair at Ripon – someone might know something about it. Folk history’s fascinating.”
“I remember you saying you were interested when you told me about Owen’s gran.”
Margaret fidgets with the wand. “Talking of Owen,” she starts, and then looks at me full square. “You can’t keep this relationship of yours quiet forever, you know. Best to go public with it soon if I were you, because people are beginning to talk.”
“Talk? What about?”
“Oh don’t look so horrified – it’s nothing bad. In fact everyone’s delighted you two have got together because you seem so well suited. Most of the old biddies around here have been scratching their heads about who to match Owen up with and you are the answer to their prayers.”
I hang my head. “But we’ve been so careful. We’ve…we’ve not really talked about it, but I guess we wanted to be sure of each other before we told anyone else.”
“That’s an admirable sentiment, but it won’t work in Great Fencote. You can’t have many secrets around here. It’s not that people gossip exactly, there’s just not much to talk about in the normal run of things.”
“Yes, and everyone seems so very fond of Owen. I hope I can measure up to their expectations.”
“Well I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him,” says Margaret firmly. “Except that you’re a bit too thin.”
“You can talk.”
She brandishes the gingernuts again. “Well then, we’d both better have another one,” and she dunks hers into her tea with relish.