Page 23 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
‘She probably overlooked them, because they were in this dark corner, covered in spider webs.’
‘I’d still like to know where the rest of my stuff is.’ He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and a slim and expensive-looking pen.
‘This is a complete list of everything she had and their value – and there are five things missing.’ He circled them and handed me the paper.
‘But it’s nothing to do withme,’ I protested, looking in alarm at the prices of the missing items – a small watercolour, three Dresden plates and an eighteenth-century sampler. ‘I bought the property, but I didn’t buy her debts with it!’
‘Someoneowes me,’ he said, his jaw jutting.
‘Well, it isn’t me,’ I said indignantly. ‘AndI’llhave to replace all the kitchen equipment she’s taken and furnish the flat, so I’ll need every penny I’ve got left.’
‘Got left from what?’
‘Mindyourown business,’ I told him.
‘You’re not going to make your fortune selling Brontëburgers at the Branwell Café,’ he pointed out with, I thought, unnecessary sarcasm.
‘Yes – thanks for that,’ I said, then added bitterly, ‘It was bad enough that Mrs Muswell conned me over the state of the flat and café, but now I expect I’ll get a whole stream of people like you turning up and demanding to be paid.’
I tried to run a distracted hand through my hair and only then realized I was still wearing that ridiculous mobcap. Snatching it off, I threw it with some force across the room, while my hair, released from bondage, exploded out in a cascade of tight, coppery curls.
The man stared at me narrowly from a pair of surprisingly light grey eyes. Then a sudden and unexpected grin softened the angles of his face and he said, ‘I might have known you were a redhead.’
‘I can’t imagine why!’
‘And you remind me of someone …’ he added, thoughtfully.
‘Someone local?’ I asked quickly. My colouring was so distinctive, with my dark eyebrows, red hair and light green eyes, that I’d wondered if I might come face to face in the street with a woman so similar that I would know immediately she was my mother.
‘No, I’ve got it now. You look like that woman in all the Pre- Raphaelite paintings, Lizzie something.’
‘Lizzie Siddal. I get that a lot,’ I said resignedly. ‘I can’t see it myself, apart from the hair, and I can hardly help that.’
‘It wasn’t a criticism,’ he said mildly. ‘She was very beautiful, in a sulky sort of way.’
‘I amnotsulky!’
‘Who said you were?’ he asked, with an air of innocent surprise. Then he seemed to lose interest in winding me up and said, with a sigh, ‘I suppose I can’t really expect you to pay me back for the stuff she’s stolen, so I can kiss my money goodbye.’
‘You could try her solicitor. You might have more luck than I had in getting contact details for her.’
‘I suspect that would be pointless, though I’ll report what’s happenedto the police, so maybe they can nab her for theft if she should come back over here – her signature is on the list of items and Tilda was there when we came to the agreement, so I have a witness. I’ll take the plates she’s left away with me now, though.’ He suited his actions to the words, unhooking them and laying them on the nearest table.
‘You’d better brace yourself, because if she left owing money to any of her suppliers, you might have to pay them off before they’ll agree to deliver to you,’ he suggested helpfully.
‘I’m not liable for any of her debts and I’m not going to pay them,’ I insisted stubbornly. ‘I’m as much a victim of Mrs Muswell as anyone else.’
‘I doubt they’ll see it that way, so you’ll just have to make a speedy success of running the place, won’t you? I’m Nile Giddings, by the way.’
‘Alice,’ I said. ‘Alice Rose.’
‘A rose by any other name,’ he said flippantly. ‘And shouldn’t you be in Wonderland, not Brontëland?’
I ignored that sally. ‘I’ve got plans for the café and I won’t need any of the suppliers Mrs Muswell used, because I intend reopening as an upmarket afternoon tea emporium.’
‘Really?’ His face expressed mild disbelief. ‘Good luck with that, then.’
‘I’ll do it, you’ll see!’ I insisted.
