Authors: Cathy Bramley
‘Nice.’ She nodded distractedly.
Nice? Surely she could do better than that.
Nice?
My hackles were well and truly up. And to think I used to come to her defence when Lizzie moaned about her.
Think of the publicity, Freya. That’s all that matters. Grin and bear it.
‘Thank you for those kind words,’ I said gaily. ‘Now do you think you have everything you need for your feature? I notice you haven’t written anything down?’
‘No need,’ she said, getting to her feet. She tapped her temple. ‘I have amazing recall for detail; it’s all stored up here.’
I stood too. It looked like she was leaving, thank goodness. ‘Right. Good. I’ll show you to your car.’
‘I thought I might see Harry today, working on the farm. Sad face,’ said Victoria, with a little pout when we reached the door.
I shook my head. ‘His work is finished here for the moment. He won’t need to come back until mid-August for the next mow.’
‘Oh, silly me,’ she trilled, rolling her eyes, ‘he did mention that last night at the restaurant. It must have slipped my mind.’
She shot me a sideways look and I mustered up a smile in return. If she was trying to make me jealous, it didn’t work. I was intrigued, that’s all, and maybe a little disappointed. I thought Harry would go for someone less shallow, someone more deep. Deeper, I mean. Anyway. I sniffed mentally. His choice. None of my business. Whatsoever. Although I’m sure I remembered him saying that she’d eat him alive …
‘Freya? Wakey wakey.’ Victoria snapped her fingers. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
She marched off into the yard and I let out a sigh of relief. She turned and did a little wave.
‘And be sure to tune in tomorrow, won’t you?’
‘Will do!’ I called, raising my hand in goodbye.
‘Well done, you!’ said Tilly, wrapping an arm round my waist. ‘Although I must say, she seemed a bit passive-aggressive.’
‘Huh, welcome to Family Moon!’ grunted Lizzie, joining us. ‘You’re a threat to her, I’m afraid, Freya.’
‘But why?’ I frowned.
Lizzie and Tilly exchanged looks. ‘Harry,’ they said in unison.
‘It’s obvious. Even to me and I barely know him,’ said Tilly.
‘Harry and I are just old friends,’ I said, reddening under their scrutiny.
‘Anyone for freshly baked scones?’ called Auntie Sue, plonking the makings of afternoon tea for an army on a table in the middle of the room. ‘I don’t want them to go to waste after all that palaver.’
‘Yes, please!’ I answered with relief. ‘And I’ll shout the builders down to join us. That’s assuming they’ll eat carbs after one o’clock,’ I sniggered.
We finished the lot. No surprises there.
Extra-wide ribbon to tie across doors – check.
Big fancy gold scissors from Auntie Sue’s sewing box – check.
‘Wish you were here at Appleby Farm’ postcards to hand out to visitors – check.
My old Freya keyring in my pocket for good luck – check.
I had done everything I could; I’d thought of everything, or at least tried to. I crept out of the tea rooms and closed the door as quietly as possible. I was quivering with nervous energy and didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I inhaled the dewy air deeply and closed my eyes, letting my ribcage rise and fall as I gradually found peace.
The farmyard was silent: the hens were still cooped up in their house, the calves asleep in their pens; there were a few soft snorts coming from the field beyond the orchard where Skye was standing up, probably still asleep, and I felt like the morning belonged only to me.
I consulted my watch: five a.m.
I really should go back to bed …
By nine o’clock I had showered and dressed in our agreed uniform of jeans and a white vest top under my special polka-dot apron, and I’d eaten a banana for breakfast. I stood in the kitchen armed with a battle plan for our grand opening.
‘Right, everyone, listen up.’
I looked around at my team of Lizzie, Tilly, Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur, and felt my throat constrict with love. Everyone was at the kitchen table except Uncle Arthur, who was buried under the newspaper in his armchair.
They were all so kind, hard-working and supportive. I couldn’t have done any of it without them and I really, really wanted to tell them, but my emotions were so close to the surface right now that if someone as much as touched me, let alone said something kind, I would dissolve like a sugar lump before their very eyes.
And I couldn’t afford for that to happen.
I exhaled sharply, blinked and cleared my throat.
Keep it together, Freya.
Tilly, Lizzie and Auntie Sue would be helping in the tea rooms all day. Uncle Arthur, once he’d cut the ribbon, would retreat to the house and man the phone in case we had any press enquiries. The
Gazette
was invited, as was the local TV station (well, why not – if you don’t ask you don’t get!) and our glossy monthly magazine
Cumbrian Homes
had hinted that they might come, too. Besides which, Uncle Arthur had been doing a bit too much recently and the community nurse who’d popped round had told him off. A day sitting in the office would do him good.
I began to run through the arrangements for the day but before I’d got past the ribbon-cutting ceremony, Madge jumped to her feet and started barking. There was a knock at the door and I opened it to see the wiry little man from Lakeland Flowers who’d delivered a bouquet to me back in the spring. At least I think it was the same man; the bouquet of exotic blooms was so huge I could only see the top of his head.
‘Miss Moorcroft?’
‘That’s me!’ I beamed. ‘Who would be sending me flowers?’
‘Charlie?’ suggested Lizzie, clutching her hands to chest.
‘Or Harry?’ Tilly speculated breathily.
‘Read the card!’ cried Auntie Sue, getting into the swing of it.
Tilly, Lizzie and Auntie Sue stuck their faces into the flowers while I signed for them.
‘There’s no card,’ said Auntie Sue, disappointed.
‘Isn’t there?’ The little man frowned. ‘Wait a tick, I’ll check the van.’
‘You’ve got a secret admirer, lass,’ chuckled Uncle Arthur.
Which was a bit worrying, seeing as the only men I saw these days were Eddy and the vet. Neither of whom you could call ‘a catch’.
The delivery man dashed outside, hotly pursued by Madge, and trawled through a stack of paperwork on his front seat. He returned two minutes later looking apologetic.
‘Sorry,’ he said, pressing his lips together. ‘There isn’t always a card, especially if they’re from a secret admirer. Call the shop; they’ll have a record of it.’ He winked, handed me a business card and jogged off.
‘Told you. Secret admirer. Any more tea in that pot?’ Uncle Arthur held up his mug hopefully.
Lizzie got up, slid the kettle on to the Aga hotplate and made him a fresh cup.
‘Never mind,’ I said, tucking the card in my apron pocket, planning to deal with it later. ‘They will look gorgeous on top of the counter next to the cash register. Auntie Sue, you’re good at flowers,’ I said, handing them over. ‘Can I leave them with you?’
‘Yes, love.’ She immediately started unwrapping the cellophane and separating out the stems.
‘I have to say, Freya, you’re very good at delegating these days,’ Uncle Arthur pointed out, slurping his tea.
‘Hmm, well, I’ve learned from the master.’ I grinned, catching Auntie Sue rolling her eyes. ‘Right. Where were we?’
‘Ribbon-cutting ceremony,’ Tilly reminded me.
‘Thanks, Tills.’ I reached out and squeezed her hand.
Tilly had been a boon and I would be very sad to see her leave this evening. But leave she must, because Aidan was whisking her off to Venice to some swanky hotel in the morning. And I’d offered to give her a lift to the station as soon as we’d cleared up for the day.
‘OK, so I’m expecting my friendly planning officer to turn up and someone from Cumbria Tourism, too, so—’
Just then Madge skittered across the floor to the door and whined to be let out.
‘Madge, for goodness’ sake! I’m never going to get through the agenda,’ I said testily, stomping over to let her out.
‘She’ll be after her morning egg, Freya, you know what’s she’s like,’ chuckled Auntie Sue.
I glanced at the clock. Sure enough it was half past nine. A wave of fear washed over me. We opened at eleven.
Tilly giggled. ‘I can’t wait to tell Aidan about this.’ She shook her head. ‘A dog that knows exactly when it’s nine thirty and trots off to—’
‘Oh my life, Freya!’ shrieked Lizzie. ‘The radio. Victoria’s show. She said it’ll be on at nine thirty.’
It took us four and a half minutes to locate the radio and tune it in to Radio Lakeland, by which time I had beads of sweat the size of golf balls popping out on my forehead and it took all my self-control not to wail with frustration, convinced that the ‘Victoria’s Secret Cafés’ feature would have been and gone by now.
We gathered around Uncle Arthur’s radio, which he called a ‘wireless’, and listened in silence while the weather man informed us in an overly jaunty voice that we were in for some light showers later on. Then, finally, Victoria came back on air.
And the time is nine forty a.m. and you’re listening to Victoria Moon. Now all my regular listeners will know that I love nothing more than getting out and about, and talking to local people in my series called ‘Victoria’s Secrets’, uncovering some of the most secret locations in The Lakes and bringing them to your attention.
‘Brillo pads!’ squealed Lizzie. ‘We didn’t miss it after all!’
‘Shush!’ I shushed.
And today in the first of a new series, ‘Victoria’s Secret Cafés’, I visit a rather unusual venue in an old farmyard barn in Lovedale.
A shiver ran down my back and I glanced up at Lizzie.
Call it a sixth sense, but there was something in the way Victoria lingered on the word ‘unusual’ that made me fear for what was coming next.
And by the look on Lizzie’s face, she was sensing it too.
‘We’re on, Artie. Are you listening?’ Auntie Sue hissed.
‘Yes, love.’ He leaned across and took her hand. A look passed between them and I guessed that he’d just squeezed her hand three times. ‘It’s exciting, isn’t it?’ he said, hunching up his shoulders.
I dragged my eyes back to the radio, a smile on my lips.
Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms is, as the name suggests, situated on a farm, and guess what? They open to the public today. Yes, that’s right, lucky little me was able to get an exclusive preview of what owner Freya Moorcroft claims will serve the widest range of teas in The Lakes! Although I must say
, she gave a tinkling laugh,
when I was there all they offered me was boring old English Breakfast tea. Hardly very imaginative.
‘The cheeky moo!’ gasped Lizzie, flaring her nostrils.
I placed a calming hand on her arm. ‘Let’s hear her out,’ I murmured. Although to be honest my spirits were taking a bit of a nosedive.
So my verdict? I wasn’t able to sample any of their advertised homemade cakes, unfortunately.
She sighed. I caught Tilly’s eye and shook my head. This woman was unbelievable. She had turned down Auntie Sue’s homemade scones …
However, I can tell you that the interior is more rustic than vintage at the moment, but who knows, things may improve once the tea rooms are finally finished. The builders were very much in evidence when I was there.
That grating tinkly laugh again.
I looked at the rest of my team. Lizzie had her head on the table, Tilly looked very pale, while my aunt and uncle were staring at each other in a state of confusion.
I reached across to turn the radio off. I’d heard enough, but Victoria piped up again before I had chance.
Oh, one teensy word of warning, peeps.
A
little bird told me that poor Appleby Farm has recently suffered an outbreak of a terrifying contagious disease, so if you’re in any way concerned – my advice? Leave it a month or two before popping in for a cuppa. Now, let’s play some music …
A rush of nausea surged from my stomach to my throat and I swallowed hard.
I lowered the volume of the radio and looked round the table at the stunned faces of my dear friends and family.
‘We’re ruined,’ whispered Auntie Sue, two channels of tears forming down her cheeks. ‘Who’s going to come now?’
Uncle Arthur put his arm around her shoulder and she sobbed into his neck.
‘We keep having bad luck, Artie. When’s it going to end? Let’s just sell up. Start our retirement before it’s too late.’
Lizzie clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘Oh, Freya, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have seen this coming. I blame myself.’
Tilly stood up to try to comfort me, but I shook my head, unable to speak. I strode from the kitchen and stumbled out into the yard, gasping for air. How could she? Why would she? And … and … what was I supposed to do now?
I pushed open the farmhouse gate and dropped to the floor, perching my bottom on the step. I’d worked non-stop all summer towards today. Overcome all sorts of little problems. But nothing like this … attack from Victoria. I suddenly felt drained and heavy-limbed.
Brushing tears of frustration from my eyes, I spotted a small white envelope on the cobbled ground. I blinked and stared at it.
Freya.
I could definitely read the name ‘Freya’ on the front of it.
I reached forward and grabbed it. It must have fallen out of the bouquet of flowers and fluttered under the van. I slipped my finger under the edge of the envelope and tweaked the card out, wondering and hoping …
I held my breath.
Congratulations on the opening of your tea rooms. I’m sure you’ll make a success of it. Sorry I can’t be there.
Your proud Dad xxx
A bubble of laughter fizzed up inside me. I hadn’t expected that.
Oh, Dad. I held the card to my chest. He was proud of me. And here I was whimpering on the doorstep like a sad puppy.
Thank you, Dad
, I thought,
your timing was absolutely perfect
.
I jumped to my feet, bursting with energy. He was right. I
would
make a success of it.