The clang of the doorbell made her jump. For a moment, she waited for her aunt to answer it. With an ache of grief, and a few more tears, she padded along the wood floors to the doorway.
Grace rubbed her hands under her eyes, hoping she didn't look too much of a grief-stricken wreck. She wiped her hands on her skirt and sucked in a deep breath. She could do this.
A tall figure stood on the other side of the paneled glass window. At least whoever it was hadn't given up hope of her ever responding and left. She opened the door. “Hello?”
The same man from the church stood there. This time he wore a full length overcoat, hanging open over jeans and thick check shirt. The top three shirt buttons were undone, giving a hint of chest hair. He held out a hand, the other one holding something wrapped in a towel. “Hello again, Miss Chadwick.”
Grace took his hand, wondering what he was doing here. Had she left something else in the church? How did he know where she lived? “Mr. Wallac, hi.”
“I'm not stalking you, honestly. I live next door and brought a casserole over to say welcome to the neighborhood. I also figured it'd save you having to cook tonight.”
“Thank you. That's really kind of you. But how did you know I was moving in?”
Elliott let go of her hand and held out the towel wrapped dish. “You're welcome. And I was a good friend of your aunt. She took me with her when she drew up her will. She never did trust solicitors completely and wanted someone there to make sure he wrote down everything she wanted done. She even planned her own funeral down to the hymns and readings.”
“That sounds just like her. To each his own, everything in its place, with all
I's
dotted and
T's
crossed.” Grace took the dish and inhaled deeply. The casserole smelled wonderful. “Would you like some coffee? I have some in a box here somewhere.”
“If it's not too much trouble, I'd love some. Thank you.” He followed her into the house.
She once again pushed the door shut with her hip, because that was how Aunt Tilja had always done it, and carried the dish to the kitchen. Carefully unwrapping it, she took off the lid and peeked.
How could he know? The aroma of her aunt's chicken stew, complete with leeks, potatoes, carrots, and dumplings wafted to her. All too familiar tears filled her eyes. Her favorite meal provided by someone she didn't know. Grace blinked hard and turned to hide the tears. She flicked the gas on under the kettle and hit the ignition button.
It didn't light.
She sighed and reached for the matches. “Well, that's not working,” she said and narrowed her eyes as if she knew what she were doing.
“Let me have a look.” He crossed the small room. “I know a thing or three about ovens and so on.”
“Thank you.” She started unpacking the boxes in search of the coffee and sugar.
Elliott put the kettle on the table and bent to check the pilot light. He pulled the top off the gas stove. “Does anything else not work?”
She glanced at him. “Seems to be most things, unfortunately. The gas fire in the bedroom doesn't. The one in the lounge kind of works after a fashion. I'm beginning to think this was a bad move.”
“I'll take a look.” He checked over the hob. He made a sound as if he'd uncovered a great mystery. “There's your problem. Do you have a tool kit?”
“No.”
“I'll be right back with mine.”
“I don't want to put you out.”
His smile lit his eyes. “You're not. I'll be three minutes, tops.”
Before she could reply, he was gone. What was she thinking? She didn't know the bloke, and she was letting him into her house to fix things. She'd only been in Headley Cross a matter of hours, and the same man kept appearing. Rick would tell her to be careful. But she was, wasn't she? He seemed so genuine, but bitter experience told her things were not always what they seemed. Men were not to be trusted. What if he'd sabotaged the house so he could come over and help...Her shoulders drooped. That wasn't very likely.
Grace returned to the spare room and lifted a suitcase onto the bed. She couldn't sleep in her aunt's bedroom. Maybe she'd turned it into an office or something. Moving to the window she pulled the curtains, stepping back fast as both curtains and pole came off the wall in her hands.
“Oh!”
Plaster filled the air, turning the room into a fog of dust.
She coughed and waved a hand to try to clear the dust. When that failed, she opened the window to let some fresh air in. “Now I have to sleep in Aunt Tilja's room, after all.”
The paper next to the window with its fallen curtain was sagging from the wall. Unable to resist, Grace grabbed hold of it and tugged. Slowly, the whole sheet peeled away from the wall. Well, she did want to update the circa 1970 décor.
She paused and stared at the large fissure that ran from the ceiling almost all the way to the floor. It looked as if it had been filled in once already. In places, she could slide her finger in to the opening. Well, she needed to re-plaster where the curtain pole went anyway, so what was a bit more?
~*~
Elliott trotted up the path to his house, pulling the keys from his pocket. His mind wandered over the woman he'd met. Grace, she'd said her name was. He loved that name.
Amazing Grace
was his favorite hymn. And she certainly was amazingâ
Elliott,
y
ou don't know her. No, but you'd like to
.
“That was fast.” His twin brot
her's voice came from Elliott's second bedroom which doubled as an office since Joel had come to stay. “Didn't she want the casserole?”
“She took it. She's got problems with the gas, so I came back for my tools.”
Joel appeared in the doorway, leaning against it. He winked. “Oh, aye?”
Elliott sighed. “Give it a rest. I'm a church elder and a respectable pillar of society. I'm fixing the gas for our new neighbor, nothing more.”
Joel chuckled and whistled the first line from “T'was on a Monday Morning That the Gas Man Came to Call.”
“Very funny, Joel.”
“Brother's prerogative to wind you up.”
Elliott rolled his eyes. “Just remember whose house it is.”
“Always.” Joel had moved in after his divorce rendered him homeless and alone five years ago. And hadn't left. “Speaking of which, the money for my half of the bills is on the dresser in the kitchen.”
Elliott grabbed his tool box. “Thank you. See you in a bit.” He shut the front door, and vaulted the fence between the two houses. He rang the doorbell and cast an eye over the crumbling plaster and pebbles covering the brick work. He ran his finger over the exposed stone beneath it. Damp. Hmmm, he hadn't expected that.
Sure, it had been raining today, but this part of the house wasn't as exposed as the rest. He picked slightly at the plaster, alarmed by the way it crumbled. That shouldn't happen. This house was the same age as his and the plasterwork on those walls was sound.
He was about to ring the bell again, when the door opened. The smile died on his lips as he took in the dust covered woman. “Is everything all right? What happened? I was only gone a couple of minutes.”
“I opened the curtains in the bedroom and somehow managed to pull the curtain pole off the wall. A whole chunk of plaster came down with it.”
Concern filled him. Maybe it wasn't just the outside walls that had a problem. “Would you like me to put it back up again?”
“Thank you, but no. I'll redecorate before I do that. Come on in.”
The whole place smelled damp to him. He hadn't noticed it before. He knew the house had been empty since Tilja went into hospital, but that was only four weeks. Not long enough to cause this. He shed his jacket, hung it in the hall, and then went through to the kitchen. He turned his attention to the stove, whistling as he worked. Before long, the gas was lighting properly.
“Thank you. I'll make you that coffee now.” Grace put the kettle on and lit the gas.
“Sounds good. Mind if I check out the rest of the house for you? I'm a builder.” He picked up his tools.
“Thank you.”
“I assume the layout is the same as mine and the bedrooms are at the front?”
“Yes. I was planning on using the right hand one, but now it's covered in dust, I might have to change my mind.”
“Then I shall go fix the gas fire in there first, then the lounge one. Can't have you freezing tonight. Want me to leave them on for a bit, warm the place up?”
Her smile lit her eyes. “Thank you. That would be very kind of you.”
His cheeks burned at the sentiment. He was just being a good neighbor. What kind of person could leave a woman in a house with no heating in the middle of winter?
Ten minutes later, he sat in the kitchen drinking the coffee, all the fires now working. He'd also had a peek in the other bedroom, mainly to test that fire too, and had been dismayed at the sight of the huge crack in the wall. The plaster had crumbled where the curtain pole used to be. That, along with the condensation and peeling wallpaper set alarm bells ringing in his mind.
Grace sipped her coffee. “It seems strange Aunt Tilja not being here. This house was so much a part of her. I keep expecting to see her.”
Elliott tilted his head in agreement. “She was a great lady. You must be proud of what she accomplished.”
“You mean the shop?”
“The shop, plus the flower rota at church, not to mention the seniors' lunches. I have no idea how she managed it all.”
“Me, either. I'm not sure I can manage simply the shop.” She took a long drink of the coffee. “This is meant to be a fresh start, butâ”
“But?” he probed.
“I don't know. The house seems to need a lot of love and attention. Perhaps more than I can give it. Decorating isn't my forte. I can put paint on walls, but that's about it. Anything else just goes zoom.” She moved her hand over the top of her head.
“I'm sure you can't be that bad, but if you want a hand, give me a shout.” He placed his empty cup on the table. “Thank you for the coffee. I'll make a move and let you get on with unpacking. Enjoy the casserole.”
“I will, thank you. And thank you for the offer of help.”
“Anytime. I mean it, just give me a shout.” He dearly wanted to check the condition of the remaining walls under that paper, because he had a horrible feeling about the condition of the house.
2
Despite leaving the heating on all night, Grace woke cold and in a damp house. The wind had picked up and howled through creaky window frames, which she discovered were rotten. As a temporary measure, she decided to nail heavy duty plastic over all the windows until spring. Just as soon as she got to a DIY store to pick some up. But first things first.
Carnation Street Florist stood in a row of shops, almost opposite the house. Grace ran across the road and let herself in, the quaint bell over the door tingling. Dust lay over the counters. Empty buckets and vases stood on the floor. She shut the door and dumped her bag on the side before heading out the back. The small work room was just as filthy, as was the office. In fact, the whole place needed a good cleaning before she could even think about re-opening.
No one had been in here since Aunt Tilja had gotten sick and had closed the shop.
She sighed. Emotionally and physically drained after the last month, during which she'd watched her aunt get frailer and die, Grace struggled to find any smidgen of enthusiasm for her new career.
And failed.
“Look, Gracie. This won't do. Aunt Tilja wouldn't want you to give up at the first hurdle. Clean it and take stock afterwards. One step at a time. You can do this. You know you can, so stop procrastinating and just do it.”
Rolling up her sleeves, she tied a scarf over her hair, not wanting to get dust in it againâpurely because she couldn't face another cold shower to wash it out. She pulled the cleaning supplies from the box and began to scrub the counters. Once she was sorted here, she'd think about staff.
The bell above the shop door tinkled. “Hello?” The voice was decidedly male and familiar, and to her horror, sent warm shivers down her spineâMr. Wallac.
She caught sight of her reflection in the glass counter. She was filthy. What would he think of her? And why did it matter what the bloke who lived next door thought of her anyway? “Hello.”
“And here I was, thinking that finding you covered in dust yesterday was a one off.” Elliott's tone was light and almost teasing, matching the twinkle in his intense blue eyes.
Instantly at ease with him, she returned the smile. “I happen to like the unkempt, dusty look.”
He extended his hand. “I come bearing giftsâ¦well, coffee. I wasn't sure what you liked, so got a regular.”
Taking the cup, she sipped it. “Thank you. I haven't yet met a coffee I don't like.”
“You got a smudge.” He reached out and wiped it away from her cheek, then looked embarrassed at having taken the liberty.
A blast of heat shot through her.
Don't be stupid, I've only just met him. Someone so handsome is bound to have suitors aplenty.
She inhaled deeply. “So, what brings you over here?”
“Coffee. To say hi, see how you are doing. You weren't at home and as your car is on the drive, I figured you'd be here.”
Grace nodded. “So long as you're not actually stalking me,” she said half seriously.
“Just being neighborly, I promise. How's it going?”
She sipped the coffee. “Well, I found the suppliers and employees list, so I'm going to give it a go. I can always fail spectacularly and return to being an accountant. The tricky bit, at least as far as I'm concerned, will be making bouquets. See, my idea of flower arranging is just to chuck them in a vase without even taking off the elastic band around them. But I guess even Aunt Tilja had to start somewhere. And right now, that is making this place sparkle.”