It's Raining Men Part 19

'Well,' began Clare, making herself comfortable at the dining table. 'I overheard the old lady Raine talking to someone. Raine was saying she was a curse on the village and the other person was saying that she was a blessing actually and that she wouldn't have been born if Raine hadn't done what she'd done.'

'Which was what?' asked Lara.

'I don't know. Raine went on to say that the other woman might have had sisters had it not been for Raine, instead of brothers.'

May and Lara exchanged blatantly amused glances.

'Are you sure they weren't reading out a play script?' suggested May.

'Don't be daft. Of course they weren't.'

'Well, you go and enjoy deciphering all that creepy stuff,' Lara said jokingly. 'Meanwhile, I'll have a life.'

'And talking of creepy . . .' said May. 'We b.u.mped into mad Daisy in Jenny's cafe.'

'She was foul,' shuddered Lara. She didn't repeat what she had said about May's scar as she knew it would embarra.s.s her but it was still really annoying her. 'We all have to stay away from Frank, she said.'

'Oh, okay. I'll try very hard to resist his advances.' Clare laughed, but there wouldn't be any danger there. She had her eye on the Hathersage brother who was capable of shaking up her staid existence and exorcizing the ghost of nice, safe Lud.

Chapter 40.

Lara took a can of Diet c.o.ke from the fridge and went outside to the terrace. In the distance, where there were none of those ridiculous clouds overhead, the sea was dappled with sunlight. There was a light and warm breeze that made her shiver with delight as it touched her skin. Her parents had a lovely south-facing terrace at the back of their house. Her dad had built it because he and her mum liked to sit outside whenever there was a hint of sun. They'd all had many a happy tea sitting at the iron table on the terrace, a fire-pit warming them as the night grew chilly.

Was it really eight months ago when I last visited my parents? Lara retraced the year but no, she hadn't been up to Yorkshire since Christmas. And even then she had shot off on Boxing Day to get some prep done before she returned to work the following day. She felt a huge wave of shame wash over her. She was an only child and hadn't seen her mum and dad in all that time. Where the h.e.l.l had the year gone? In fact, where had the last few years gone? Had she done anything except rush from appointment to meeting to appointment? Even her relationship with James was shoehorned into their mad working lives. And when she did free up some rare couple time in the evenings he was still working. Well, she'd thought he had been working. He obviously had enough time to squeeze in Tianne frigging Lee. Literally.

She loved her parents and loved her friends and yet how much real time did she spend with them? She'd seen more of Keely and Garth than she had people she liked. Her priorities were all to c.o.c.k. A tear dropped on her jeans and she dabbed at her eye to poke back any others with intentions of following. She didn't want May or Clare to see that she had things on her mind.

Her mum and dad would love it here, she thought, listening to the silence broken now and again with the shrill squawk of the seagulls it sounded as if they were laughing at the offc.u.mdens as they flew overhead. Her parents had never had a lot of money but they had saved to put her through university and were so proud of her every achievement. They'd be gutted to find out that inside their successful, power-suit-wearing daughter was a lonely, unloved woman with nothing in her life but a job that she really didn't want to do any more.

Clare joined her. 'Wotcher,' she whispered. 'I've just heard a van outside so I've come out here to leave May alone in the house to answer the door. I think she has a bit of a soft spot for Frank and, from the way he looks at her, I think it's mutual.'

'Witch,' said Lara, smiling, glad of her company.

'Oh, don't you start. I heard a bit of gossip from . . . from the old lady, Raine.' She lied about the source.

'Go on,' said Lara, shifting round in her seat to face Clare.

'It appears that Frank caused the accident that crippled Daisy. A car accident. They hadn't been going out that long and, well, he's obviously so guilt-ridden that he's decided to do his duty and look after her.'

'Poor Frank,' said Lara. He appeared like an honest, decent man. Maybe if he hadn't been so much of a good man, he could have cut and run from Daisy and been happy. Sometimes, Lara thought, having a conscience could be a right old b.u.mmer.

They heard a knock on the outside door and Clare giggled. 'He's here, with his big meaty package.'

'Shhh,' said Lara, giggling too.

'Can you get the door, May?' Clare called. 'We're a bit busy.'

'Er . . . can you get it? I'm busy too.'

'No, we're busier. Sorry.' Lara clamped her hands over her mouth to stop the laughter exploding out.

May started flapping. She shot to the long mirror on the wall to check her face and brush her hair forward on the left over the silvery line of scar. Then, after arranging herself, she took a steadying breath and opened the door to Frank, looking the picture of calm.

'Hi, Frank, come in.'

Frank had to bend to come through the door and even when he was inside, his head wasn't that far off the ceiling beams. He looked like a giant visiting a child's Wendy house. May tried not to think about those big arms closing around her.

He was holding a couple of bags. 'There's some bacon in here for you, some fillet steaks and chicken b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I've also put in a couple of my pies I'm told they would be award-winning if I ever entered any of the butchery compet.i.tions.' He put it all down on the table next to the teapot.

'Oh, that's wonderful, Frank, thank you,' said May, aware that she was wiping her hands on her dress, something she always did when she was nervous. 'How much do we owe you?'

He waved away the suggestion that he wanted any money. 'Call it an apology after Daisy's behaviour. Wouldn't mind a cup of tea, though. Haven't had a chance to stop for one all day.'

'No, we can't let you-'

'I insist. My charge is a cup of tea. And that's the end to it.'

'Thank you, then. That's awfully kind of you. Please sit down.' May turned the kettle on, hoping that he wasn't looking at her b.u.m. The kettle seemed to take hours to boil.

'I think it's on a go-slow,' she said, turning to Frank.

'I'm in no rush now. I've nearly finished for the day,' he said.

'There're some biscuits in the cupboard.'

Clare's voice drifted in from outside. 'Hi, Frank.'

'h.e.l.lo, there,' he replied.

Why are you two sods staying out there? 'Do you want a drink?' May called to them.

'No, we're okay, thanks,' replied Lara.

May was going to slap them both later.

'So . . .' she said eventually, putting the fresh pot of tea on the table and then taking the packet of biscuits and a small plate out of the cupboard. She hadn't a clue what she was going to say next. Being in the presence of Frank made her tongue tie itself in knots.

'So, are you enjoying yourself here, in Ren Dullem?' asked Frank, rescuing her as he spooned one sugar and a small splash of milk into his cup.

'Yes,' said May, sitting down at the table. G.o.d, this man and his lovely heavily lashed eyes absorbed all her conscious thought and struck her silent. She forced herself to get a grip and make an effort at conversation. 'We don't have much time off work and we decided on a whim to book a holiday and spend some time with each other. We should have been at the spa at Wellem but there was a coc- an error in the reservation.'

'Some error,' said Frank. 'Though I'm a great believer in things happening for a reason.' He looked straight into her brown eyes with an intensity that had her bones vibrating. She knew he felt the connection between them too, because of the way he quickly turned his head away and scanned the kitchen.

'Gene's done it up well,' he said. 'It wasn't lived in for a lot of years. It was our grandmother's cottage. In fact, it's been in the family for generations. Gene bought our shares, mine and our younger brother's.'

'There's a lagoon downstairs,' blurted May, 'though you'll know about that.'

'You found it?' He looked surprised.

'Clare found it.'

'Your friend with the . . .' He pointed to his eyes, one then the other.

'Clare with the witch eyes,' May said loud enough for her friend outside to hear. 'Yep. That's her.'

Frank smiled as if a private joke was going on in his head. 'Yes, of course.' Then he shook himself out of his reverie. 'How long are you staying?'

'We leave next Friday. We've got a full week left,' said May, tipping the biscuits onto a plate and offering them to Frank. Both of them noticed how much her hand was shaking. He took the plate from her and put it back down on the table.

'I think they were too heavy; you were going to drop them,' he said.

'Thank you.' Her eyes locked onto his again. And they wouldn't unlock.

'I should go,' said Frank, standing up and only just clearing the ceiling. He hadn't even taken a sip of tea.

'Of course,' said May, totally fl.u.s.tered now. She hadn't a clue what chemical reactions were making her insides fizz. 'You'll have things to do.'

'I haven't got anything to do,' said Frank, so quietly that no one else could overhear, 'but if I stay for that tea I'll end up kissing you and that would be wrong. See you later, May.'

'Urggghhh,' was May's strange, unintelligible noise in response to that. She didn't get up to show him out. She wasn't sure her legs would support her.

Clare wasn't certain she had made the right call when she and Lara casually walked back in after hearing Frank's van leave. May looked as if someone had taken out her brain and replaced it with a Bird's Trifle.

'You okay?' said Lara. 'May, talk to me.'

'I'm fine,' May replied. 'I'm just a bit astounded by his generosity. He left us loads of meat and wouldn't take any money for it. Wasn't that nice?'

'Yes, it was,' Clare and Lara chorused, not believing a word of May's explanation as to why she was a whiter shade of white.

Chapter 41.

At seven o'clock precisely Lord Carlton knocked on Joan's cottage door. She opened it wearing the dress she had 'borrowed' from Mary's wardrobe. Navy-blue with a white trim, it was fitted around the bust and waist and had a flared skirt. It was far too frumpy for Joan's taste but perfect for the purpose for which she needed it. She had sprayed herself and the room liberally with the bottle of perfume that she had found in Mary's dressing-table drawer. It had gone off a bit after all those years, but when Carlton crossed the threshold she saw his nose lift in the air and she watched the effect of the perfume snake to his brain. His face softened and his eyes twinkled as the memories sparkled behind them. Even his snow-white toupee seemed to sigh with delight.

'Come right in and sit down,' said Joan, smiling at him with her red-lipsticked mouth. 'It's nearly ready.'

The lounge, dining room and kitchen were all one room in the bijou dwelling place. She had scrubbed at it this afternoon, making it shine. Joan didn't like housework. Upstairs her bedroom was a mess of clothes not hung up and general undusted, uncleaned grime that had built up over the months she had been here. She hadn't bothered to clean it because Edwin would not be going in there. At least not tonight. After old Stanley Hawk she'd had enough of old men fumbling her. She'd let Stanley paw her, fall in love with her and marry her because he had a fortune. He hadn't told her it was tied up in trust funds for his children. Luckily he had died not too long after she learned that. In his will he had left her ten thousand pounds for every completed year they had been married, but his family let her have twelve on the proviso that she b.u.g.g.e.red off immediately, carrying only the things she came with. She agreed, although the bags she came with ended up being stuffed with treasures from around the house; disappointingly they turned out to be mostly reproductions and nigh-on worthless. At least Edwin Carlton had no children and he had a t.i.tle. She quite fancied herself as Lady Joan or would she be Lady Anne or Lady Jo or Lady Joanna? Maybe she would double-barrel Carlton with her maiden name: Lady Joanna MacLean-Carlton it had a wonderfully genteel ring to it.

'I know you don't drink,' said Joan, 'so I've made some elderflower cordial. Granny's recipe. There is some fermentation that takes place in the process, but I can a.s.sure you it's minimal.'

She poured him a tall gla.s.s of cordial bought from Tesco in Whitby and laced rather heavily with vodka.

'Thank you,' said Edwin, reaching out to take the gla.s.s. Joan noticed that on his middle finger he was wearing a ring with the family crest on it. She shivered with delight at having her own coat of arms as well as a t.i.tle.

For starter she had made a prawn c.o.c.ktail, the Marie-Rose sauce featuring a hearty splash of vodka too. 'Every little helps,' she had trilled to herself with a chortle because these were Tesco prawns. She was serving them up in some large seash.e.l.ls she had found in the kitchen cupboard. She brought them out and set one in front of Edwin.

'It won't be up to Gladys's standards, I'm afraid, but hopefully I won't poison you. I bought these fresh from the fish market in Wellem.'

'We have a small market on Sat.u.r.days in Ren Dullem, you know,' said Edwin. 'Gladys gets ours from there.'

'Ah, I didn't know that,' replied Joan. Not that it would have made any difference if she had known. Who wanted to shop in Dullem? It was a creepy little place, full of staring people who obviously hadn't seen an attractive woman before, if their own were anything to go by. It was like walking through a James Herbert novel, with those odd foggy clouds. Wellem was far more buzzing and no one's eyes bored into her back when she pa.s.sed them. She still had nightmares about that fat little woman in a wheelchair who scowled at her because she'd dared to stir up the waters and say a very flirty h.e.l.lo to the tall, dark, handsome man who was pushing her. He reminded her of someone she was going to marry once: Adam. A strong, gentle and kind Scottish man from South Yorkshire, with red hair and a heart as soft as a marshmallow. She still thought about him, and regretted that she hadn't managed to hang onto him.

'This is lovely,' said Edwin, tucking in as if he hadn't eaten for a fortnight. 'I've starved all day for this. I didn't even eat the lunch that Gladys prepared for me.'

Just what I want to hear, thought Joan. The alcohol will get into your bloodstream so much more quickly.

'I've been thinking, Joan, maybe you and Gladys ought to go to the pictures or something together. I'm sure she'd appreciate the company. Should I ask her for you?'

G.o.d forbid, thought Joan. 'No, don't ask. I'll do it. I wouldn't want her to feel obliged. I'm quite happy with my books in the evenings.'

Joan refilled Edwin's gla.s.s. The fire in the grate had been heaped up high so that it would engender a thirst which would be beautifully quenched by her 'granny's iced cordial'.

Next, Joan delivered her chicken ca.s.serole to the table, the meat saturated in red wine. She hoped all the alcohol hadn't been boiled off, but she would keep his gla.s.s topped up if so.

'Chicken ca.s.serole,' she announced. She heard his stomach rumble with pleasure as the aroma of the rich sauce drifted up his nostrils.

'Do excuse me,' Edwin apologized. 'My goodness, I feel like a king.'

'I made the bread myself, on the range,' Joan said with a t.i.tter, pushing towards him a plate of Tes...o...b..ps just warmed in the oven. 'I'm a proper little housewife, aren't I?'

'Gladys forbids me to eat white,' said Edwin, pulling at his red silk cravat to loosen the top b.u.t.ton on his shirt. Beads of sweat were appearing on his forehead. He took a long glug of the cordial.

'But Gladys isn't here, and I shan't tell if you don't,' Joan promised, winking then watching as he tucked into the soft white bread with the eagerness of a child diving into his first Easter egg.

Edwin spooned a heap of potatoes onto his plate. Joan speared a chunk of chicken and thought that it didn't taste half bad for a packet mix and most of a bottle of cheap red wine.

'It's nice to have your company,' said Joan, lifting her gla.s.s and holding it aloft in a toast. Edwin hurriedly picked his up and c.h.i.n.ked it against hers.

'Cheers, my dear. Although if you're looking to me for good company, I fear you are going to be sadly disappointed.'

'Nonsense,' said Joan. 'My late husband was seventy-eight when we married. I've always found the company of older people much richer than that of people my own age. I think it's because I was brought up by my grandparents.'

'Oh?' asked Edwin. 'Were you? Why was that?'

'I never knew my father. My poor mother, alas, had a lot of problems.' She tapped her temple, indicating that her mother's problems were mental ones. 'It's only in the last few years I've actually gotten to know her properly.'

Sometimes she used this story, sometimes she said that both parents died in a car crash, sometimes in a boating accident. Sometimes they were still alive and living in Australia.