Page 97 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
‘What do thee want?’ she demanded.
‘I wondered if I could see Emily Rhymer, please? It’s a private matter.’
She regarded me with disfavour. ‘She’s bekkin.’
‘Bekkin?’ I repeated, puzzled.
‘Apple pie. In t’ kitchen.’
A male head of a similar vintage, topped with a jade-green knitted bobble hat, popped up behind her. ‘Hello!’ he said, with a charming smile. ‘I’m Walter and I’ve got no eyebrows.’
‘I can see that,’ I responded automatically.
‘Go away, our Walter, you’re shedding sawdust all over the runner,’ the woman said, then turned to me and added reluctantly, ‘And Isupposeyoucan come in.’ Then she slammed the door before I’d barely stepped on to the mat.
‘You’d better not be one of them journalists,’ she warned me.
‘Why would I be?’
‘Because of that lah-di-dah actor our Charlie married,’ she said. ‘Great streak of nowt that he is.’
‘Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves,’ said an attractive male voice. ‘But I take exception to being called lah-di-dah!’
An oddly familiar dark-haired man ran lightly downstairs as if his every move was being tracked by cameras, and suddenly I remembered what Eleri had said about one of the Rhymers marrying an actor/producer. He was not young – there were streaks of silver in his dark hair and laughter creases round his eyes – but he was still stunningly attractive in an unusual kind of way.
‘You’re Mace North!’ I exclaimed.
‘That’s me,’ he said cheerfully. ‘And you?’
‘Alice Rose. I’m hoping to talk to Emily Rhymer.’
‘My sister-in-law – or one of them. She’s in the kitchen cooking up a storm, as usual. Gloria, take her through.’
‘I thought I’d stick her in the front parlour till I see if Emwantsto talk to her,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Maybe the poltergeist thing will come out for a look. We haven’t seen so much of her recently.’
I was just thinking that, on the whole, I’d rathernotbe shut into a room with a poltergeist thing, when he said, ‘Just take her through – she looks harmless enough to me.’
‘On your own head be it!’
Then she turned to me. ‘But I’m warning you, flower, if you waste our Em’s time she’ll let you know about it.’
Mace North gave me an encouraging smile, unhooked a coat from the hallstand and went out, and Gloria led me down a dark passage and into an enormous kitchen, where a tall woman with a lot of greying hair was stirring a huge cast-iron pot with one hand, while holding a book with the other.
‘Visitor for you, blossom,’ announced Gloria.
She turned and for a moment I was startled by eyes as light in colouras my own, but palest blue, rather than green, and darkly ringed around the iris.
She gazed back at me without seeming surprised, or even very much interested.
‘I wasn’t expecting any effing visitors,’ she said to Gloria accusingly.
Gloria shrugged. ‘She wants to talk to you and that Mace said to bring her through.’
‘She’d better not be an effing journalist then,’ she said, letting the spoon sink into the pot and tossing the book aside. ‘I thought they’d got over all the “famous actor’s sister-in-law is a witch married to a vicar” stuff.’
‘I’m not a journalist, and I had no idea …’ I stammered, disconcerted.
‘Then whatdoyou want?’
