Page 30 of The Venice Murders (Flora Steele Mystery #11)

A few days later, on a Sunday morning, the blinds of the Nook remained down, a firm signal that for most of the village the café was closed. Inside, however, was a hive of activity. Tony had been baking most of the previous day as a welcome home to the honeymooners and now the friends, missing only Sally, were gathered around one of the Nook’s largest tables enjoying an afternoon tea: sandwiches of ham and mustard and cheese and pickle, and an army of cakes to satisfy even the greediest appetite. A fat Swiss roll filled one plate while cherry and almond tarts, maids of honour and fondant fancies spilled across others.

This was a working day for Alice and, later that afternoon, she was due back at the Priory to supervise the four-course dinner the hotel would be serving its guests. But for now, she was happily making her way through the cake selection.

‘Your fancies have come on a lot, Tony,’ she said bestowing her blessing on a lemon and lavender fondant. ‘You always had a bit of a problem with them, if I remember, but these are good.’

He accepted the praise with a smile. ‘Thank you, Alice, nice to know. Though they’re never likely to equal yours.’

‘True enough, but it’s good to keep tryin’,’ she said graciously, taking another large bite of fondant.

Jack, sitting beside his wife, gave her leg a surreptitious nudge. ‘We’re home, for sure,’ he said under his breath.

Flora’s response was a grin. They were home and no matter how wonderful Venice had been, she was happy to be back in Abbeymead. Tomorrow, she would walk into the All’s Well and once again take charge of her precious bookshop. Rose had done a sterling job in her absence – that had been universally agreed around the table – but nothing, Flora knew, was going to satisfy until she’d wandered through her shop, from latticed windows to the final bookcase, and personally checked that everything was just as it should be.

‘Did you know that Finch man is selling up?’ Alice asked, pouring them a second round of teas.

‘Really?’ Flora was surprised. ‘But he’s only been here a few years.’ And was still ‘that Finch man’ to the natives, she thought, amused.

Ambrose Finch had bought the old schoolhouse and its adjoining cottage from Miss Howden, who for many years had been housekeeper there. Minnie had inherited the large house and garden when her employer, a man Flora had liked enormously, had met a violent death. It had been a surprise legacy and, rather than keeping an expensive house going in Abbeymead, albeit one that had been beautifully modernised, Minnie had decided she’d prefer to move to a cottage in the neighbouring county. Her brother, with a permanent home in Surrey, had been keen that she joined him.

‘Village life is probably too quiet,’ Kate suggested. ‘Wasn’t Mr Finch in a high-powered job before he retired?’

Tony nodded. ‘He was, worked in the City – in finance,’ he said knowledgeably. ‘I had a long chat with him once, when he asked the Nook to cater for his sixtieth. You remember, Katie?’ he asked his wife. ‘Anyways, he said then that he missed the cut and thrust of the world he’d left behind. Maybe he’ll go back to it. He still looks pretty sprightly.’

There was a mutter from Alice. ‘He must be mad even to think of going back. What I wouldn’t give to retire!’

‘Nothing,’ Flora said, laughing. ‘You’d give nothing. You’d be so bored you’d become your own meals on wheels, cooking for the whole village.’

‘Do you know how much he’s asking for the house?’ Jack asked, his tone light.

‘Thinking of buying, then?’ Tony pulled a face. ‘Unless your books are being filmed by a Hollywood studio, Jack, I reckon it will be way too expensive.’

Flora gave her husband a sharp glance. The schoolhouse would certainly be expensive to buy, and why think of moving when they had a perfectly nice home in the cottage Aunt Violet had left her?

‘I expect he’ll want a fair sum,’ Jack said amicably. ‘I guess you have to pay for space.’

Which, of course, is what the cottage hasn’t, Flora added silently.

‘Mebbe you should find out from the Finch chap. You’ll be needing more room with all them babies to come!’

Tony was teasing and Alice laughing, but Jack wasn’t, Flora noticed, and felt her stomach flip. Though he was godfather to the Faradays’ baby daughter, Jack had never expressed any interest in becoming a father himself. She looked hard at him – had he changed his mind?

The possibility of a baby had never really been discussed. On the rare occasion the subject had hovered in the background, it had been brushed aside, passed over for a safer topic. As a small girl, Flora had been left an orphan, her mother’s pregnancy indirectly to blame for the loss of both her parents. If her father hadn’t urgently needed to get his wife and Flora’s unborn sibling to a hospital in what had been dreadful weather, dangerous weather, the car crash would never have happened and she would have grown up in a family of her own. She had never quite managed to lose the fear, the hurt, the sense of abandonment. And Jack knew it.

‘Beware babies, whatever you do!’ Tony was still in joking mood. ‘Sarah might be over her colic but now she’s found her throwing arm. Nothing stays in the cot or the pram for more than five minutes and then she bawls because all her toys are gone. The bending I’ve had to do! I’ve joints creaking like an eighty-year-old’s. But thank the Lord for Ivy – she never seems to tire of the game.’

‘Perhaps the chap who’s renting Overlay House might be interested,’ Flora suggested. ‘In buying, I mean. The schoolhouse is right in the middle of the village and if he really is a spy…’ It was time for her to do some teasing.

‘That’s my niece talkin’, I suppose,’ Alice said crossly. ‘I never suggested to Sal that he was a spy, just that there was somethin’ odd about him.’

‘Because he doesn’t work?’ Jack helped himself to a second fairy cake.

‘Well, that, among other things. He can’t be more than fifty and there he is lyin’ about all day. By all accounts, he hardly ever comes into the village, has most of his groceries delivered, and does nothin’ to the garden either. I walked that way last weekend and I’m sorry to say, Jack, it looked one big mess.’

‘Who’s the spy now?’ Tony asked, then seeing Alice’s expression, must have wished he hadn’t. ‘Perhaps the man has money.’

‘That’s the point. If you’ve got money, why would you rent that rundown house?’

‘Please, Alice, you’re hurting my feelings,’ Jack protested.

‘You’ll see for yourself soon enough. As well as the garden, the house looks a lot worse now than it ever did when you lived there. If the man has money, why doesn’t he rent somewhere nicer? Buy a house even? And why come to Abbeymead in the first place? He knows no one in the village, doesn’t speak to anyone much, and never seems to have any visitors. He’s like you were, Jack, when you first came.’

‘And I was suspicious?’

‘Well, we all thought so,’ Alice said with certainty. There were hoots of laughter around the table.

‘But how’s that lass Sally was lookin’ after?’ Alice seemed keen to change the subject.

‘Bianca? She’s…’ He looked towards Flora for help.

‘She’s coping,’ Flora said.

Neither of them fancied explaining more, neither of them willing to reveal exactly how they’d spent their last days in Venice. It was better that way. What they would say to Sally when they saw her, they hadn’t decided. If she didn’t already know – and, as Bianca’s former employer, it was possible the Venice police had already contacted her – they would have to break the news that the girl she’d befriended had been arrested. Sally would be utterly shocked. Saddened, as well. Bianca’s was such an unnecessary crime: a violent push in extreme anger, and then a refusal to be truthful. The girl was almost certainly destined for prison, charged with involuntary manslaughter, or its Italian equivalent. Her father’s brand new boat would have to be sold, Flora imagined, to pay the debt the Benettis owed those horrible men; and when Bianca came out of prison, she would have nothing.

‘I’m glad the lass is OK,’ Alice said, happily oblivious. ‘And glad the pair of you made it home safe and sound. I had my doubts, but there, I was wrong and I don’t mind admittin’ it.’

Flora exchanged a guilty look with her co-conspirator. If anything, Alice had understated the danger when she’d prophesied likely disaster from a city built on canals. They had certainly met with disaster, though it was Franco Massi who had paid the ultimate price. But the theft of a valuable painting, a kidnapped housekeeper and their own watery imprisonment would remain a silent story, shared only between them. It was never a good idea to give Alice ammunition for her warnings of doom.

‘Any more tea?’ Tony had filled the kettle and returned with a newly refreshed pot. Four cups were pushed forward yet again.

‘So, when are you due back at the college, Jack?’ he asked.

‘Not just yet. I’ve another two months before term starts, a welcome chunk of writing time, and I certainly need it. I’ve a whole new novel to plan. But I’ll drive over to Cleve at the end of August, before the students return, and check what I’m doing in my final term.’

‘I was sorry to hear that you’re leaving the college,’ Kate said. ‘You seemed to be happy there.’

‘Flora isn’t sorry,’ he said drily. ‘She’ll be popping corks the day we lock the college flat for the last time.’

‘We’ll all be popping corks,’ Alice said. ‘Abbeymead is where you belong, both of you. I think we should have a toast – to the return of the Carringtons! – but it’ll have to be with teacups.’

‘Teacups it is.’ Jack raised his to clink with Flora’s, the others following suit.

‘Oh-oh. I hear trouble!’ Tony quickly put his cup down, ready to jump to his feet. A small snuffling noise from the rear of the café had gradually been growing louder and now broke into a full-throated yell.

‘You sit down. I’ll go.’ Alice pushed back her chair. ‘That child has got a pair of lungs on her, that’s for sure!’

* * *

Strolling home along Greenway Lane, Flora reached for Jack’s hand. ‘Are you happy to be back in the village?’

He smiled down at her. ‘Very happy. More than I thought. It’s good to go travelling but even better to come home to the friends you love.’

‘And a cottage you love?’ She sounded wistful.

He’d wondered when the sale of the schoolhouse would surface, but hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon. When, in the week, he’d met Ambrose Finch in the village bakery and learned the man was seriously thinking of selling up, he’d been interested. Very interested. Percy Milburn’s old house was a beauty: large, airy and with every modern convenience Percy could have thought of. It was a house in which a couple could weave a history for themselves, in which over the years a new family could grow. He’d said nothing to Flora at the time and, aware of how very sensitive she could be where children and families were concerned, had tried not to think too much of it. And it was only an idea, after all.

‘The schoolhouse was only an idea,’ he said aloud.

‘But one you’ve been considering.’

‘Not seriously. As Tony reminded us, it would be an expensive purchase.’

Still holding his hand, she walked on in silence and Jack felt unable to break it.

‘With my inheritance, we could afford it,’ she said suddenly.

‘Possibly. I’m not sure.’ He was deliberately casual. ‘I’ve no real idea of the price – Ambrose Finch might be hoping to make a very large profit. But, in any case, the money is yours and should stay yours.’ He stroked her hand as confirmation. ‘And there’s no reason to move,’ he went on. ‘We have a perfectly comfortable cottage, one that you and your aunt have lived in for years. And one that you love.’

‘But you don’t. No!’ She held up her hand to stop him from speaking. ‘Don’t pretend you do, Jack. I know you feel cramped. I know that you’re uncomfortable with how little space we have. You’ve said so. And lately you’ve been saying it more often.’

‘Just because I’m a moaner?—’

‘That’s something you aren’t. After living at Overlay for years, I can see that it’s been difficult for you to adjust.’

‘Overlay House was so much bigger, that’s all. A great deal scruffier, but bigger!’

They walked on, Jack noticing that in the short time they’d been away, the hedgerows had grown a little dustier, the foxgloves taller and the buttercups spread more widely. It wasn’t until he pushed open the cottage gate and they were walking up its red brick path, that Flora spoke again.

‘If we were to make a move,’ she said carefully, ‘what would happen to the cottage? I couldn’t bear to think of it left alone and unloved.’

He tried not to look surprised. Was this moment a turning point for them both? ‘There are always tenants to be had,’ he said, trying to sound detached.

‘They would be people we don’t know. Strangers. I’d hate that. And so would the cottage.’

‘They might not be.’ He opened the front door and stood back for her to pass. ‘I can think of two people who might want to rent here and they’re hardly strangers.’

‘Really?’ She seemed surprised at the idea.

‘Hector and Rose? They’re getting married this autumn and they’ll need somewhere to live. Rose can’t share his room at the Priory and Mrs Waterford is unlikely to welcome Hector at Larkspur Cottage.’

Flora had begun to walk to the kitchen but, at this, she came to an abrupt stop, whirling around to look directly into his eyes. ‘You have been thinking about the schoolhouse, haven’t you?’ she demanded. ‘Seriously thinking about it.’

‘It’s just an idea, like I said.’

‘Jack!’

‘OK, I’ve been thinking about it, ever since I met Finch and heard what he was planning. But I know how precious the cottage is to you, and that’s where we’ll stay for as long as you want.’

‘Is that the truth?’

‘It is.’ He put his arms around her.

‘We have a pact?’

‘We have a pact,’ he agreed. ‘And honestly, does it matter that much where we live, as long as we’re together? Now, stop worrying and give me a kiss.’

For once, Flora did as she was told. Then did it again.

* * *

If you loved The Venice Murders and can't wait for more from Flora and Jack, don't miss their next fiery adventure in Murder by Firelight . In their most gripping case yet, will everything they've worked for go up in flames...?