Page 47 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
‘Oh, no, because you’ll be paying us with all your help in planning our little café,’ she insisted.
‘Not to mention roping you in to help with the house renovations,’ Bel put in with a grin.
‘I’d be more than happy to do that,’ I said.
‘I’m outnumbered by women anyway, so one more sister around the place doesn’t make any difference,’ Teddy said gloomily and then he yelped, so I think Geeta had kicked him under the table.
‘You’re all very kind and I’d love to stay this weekend, though I think I’ll have to spend tomorrow night at the flat. I had a text saying my fridge and cooker were being delivered in an evening slot, so it might be a bit late to come out after that.’
‘Well, you’ve got your key and can let yourself in on Saturday if we’re not around,’ Sheila said, and Nile raised his eyebrows.
‘You really have got your feet under the table remarkably quickly,’ he drawled.
‘He wouldn’t be so rude if he didn’t like you,’ Bel explained. ‘And anyway, it’s open house here, we’re always having visitors and some of Mum’s arty friends stay formonths.’
‘Yes, and it’s a pity they’re not the paying kind,’ Nile said.
‘I get lots of those in season,’ Sheila said mildly. ‘But it’s lovely to have other artists around to bounce ideas off sometimes.’
‘Dad was a painter and quite well known,’ I told her. ‘Alexander Rose – I don’t know if you’ve heard of him?’
‘Of course,’ said Sheila, interested. ‘I adore his work and I remember meeting him once, years ago, at one of the Royal Academy Summer Exhibitions. Such a nice man.’
‘Yes, he was,’ I agreed, thinking how much he would have loved the Giddings family and wishing he could have been there, too, though of course, if he hadn’t died then I probably would never have ended up there myself. ‘I have a portrait he painted of me and I’ll show it to you when I’ve unpacked it. I paint a bit, but it’s only for fun: the writing is more important to me.’
Nile gave an unsettling smile. ‘Ah, yes, the writing … I assumed you’d be spending next weekend chained to that desk you just bought, knocking out a bestseller.’ Then he told everyone about my novels and that he’d downloaded one on to his e-book reader and read the first couple of chapters. He didn’t say what he thought of it.
‘Oh, you told me you wrote, but I assumed it was a hobby!’ Bel exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know you were a real, genuine novelist.’
Geeta, who had been quietly and efficiently spooning food into Casper’s mouth, which opened and shut like that of a hungry baby bird, said she enjoyed a good love story.
‘They’re not reallylovestories as such,’ I said. ‘Well, not in the traditional sense, like Eleri Groves, for instance.’
‘Oh, I adore her books,’ Geeta agreed. ‘She lives nearby, you know – over towards Upvale.’
‘I did know and actually, her agent has taken me on,’ I said. ‘She emailed me today about my new book, which I’ve barely started, so Nile took me to the antiques barn to buy a proper desk I can work at. I got a couple of other pieces of furniture too, so when my bed arrives tomorrow morning I’ll have everything I need to move in.’
‘And then you can start work on your teashop,’ Nile said. ‘That and writing a book should keep you quiet for a while.’
‘Not until she’s had a nice rest over this weekend and recharged her batteries,’ Sheila told him.
Bel, who had been abstractedly frowning and staring into space for the last few minutes, suddenly looked up and exclaimed: ‘Eureka! All this talk about writing has made me remember why the name of thatwoman who was on the scene when you were found, Emily Rhymer, sounds so familiar!’
‘What are you talking about, darling?’ asked Sheila, puzzled, so then we had to explain about the newspaper searches we’d done and what we’d found out, though of course Nile already knew.
‘Anyway,’ finished Bel, ‘I’ve just realized that Emily Rhymer is one of the daughters of Ranulf Rhymer, the biographer. There was a feature in a Sunday magazine about him ages ago – he called his children after the Brontës, so there’s an Emily, Anne, Charlotte and Branwell.’
‘I’ve heard of Ranulf Rhymer – but that’s pretty odd,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’d want to call my children after such a doomed family, however brilliant they were.’
‘I’ve read a few of his biographies and he’s an odd kind of man,’ Sheila said. ‘His driving force seems to be to prove that all the great works of literature written by women were actually penned by their male relatives.’
‘If the Rhymers are still living in Upvale, that should make finding Emily easy,’ I said. ‘As soon as I’ve got a little bit of free time, I’d like to talk to her and that farmer who rescued me.’
‘Didn’t you say he was one of the Godets?’ asked Teddy. ‘He should be easy to track down.’
‘Are you sure about it?’ Nile asked me. ‘I don’t suppose they can add anything to the newspaper reports.’
‘I don’t expect them to, but they were actuallythere– at the moment, they’re the only links to my past I have.’
