As Daisy prepared the sandwich, Keya asked, “How long have you had the bakery?”
“Less than a year. It was Theo’s idea to renovate the old blacksmith’s shop and use the bakery to showcase Stone Circle Flour. But we didn’t expect it to be so popular.”
“Theo is Sir Anthony’s nephew?” Keya clarified.
“Yes. His full name is Theodore Watson, and his mum is Sir Anthony’s sister. He knew absolutely nothing about milling when he arrived, but he’d been involved with several successful start-up businesses. One of them uses the waste bits of potatoes to make fibres. It’s what all the company’s T-shirts and aprons are made from. We sell them here, too.”
Daisy glanced over Keya’s shoulder and Keya turned round to view a display of Stone Circle merchandise occupying the space on the opposite side of the shop. More wooden shelves were attached to the front wall, holding packets of flour, and there were large flour sacks resting on the floor beneath them.
Keya turned back to the counter and said, “So you and Theo are business partners?”
“Oh, no. The mill pays me to run the bakery, but it’s fun. And I like working with Theo.”
Keya hesitated. Daisy seemed open and honest, but Keya thought it intrusive to ask if there was more to her relationship with Theo. Instead, she enquired, “Do you live in the village?”
“Yes, Theo and I have a house just past the mill. It’s always been the manager’s house, and Theo likes to be close to his work.”
“So you live together?” Keya was still intrigued by the couple’s relationship.
“Yes, ever since my dad kicked me out. He doesn’t approve of Theo.”
“Really?” Surely Daisy’s father would be delighted that she was with the manager of a successful local business.
“Yes, because Theo’s thirty-six and I’m twenty-four. My dad thought I should stick to boys my own age.” Daisy sighed as she added mixed lettuce leaves to the sandwich.
Behind her, Keya heard the shop bell tinkle.
“You’re not in any trouble, are you, Daisy?” asked a concerned young male voice.
“Don’t be daft, Ash. This is … oh, I don’t know your name,” Daisy looked apologetically at Keya.
Keya stepped to one side so she could address both Daisy and the new arrival, who was a skinny, shaven-headed young man dressed all in black apart from a grey Stone Circle T-shirt. “Sergeant Keya Varma, Rural Engagement Officer for the Cotswolds.”
Daisy explained to Ash, “Dr Reid’s worried about the summer solstice, so he’d arranged a meeting for us all, but I think we sorted everything out. Knights Farm Shop is going to let people park there, which should stop them from parking on the road.”
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Ash muttered.
“But you always go. And it’s such a wonderful, spiritual event. Watching the sunrise over the Cotswolds.”
“Do you have that delivery for The King’s Head?” asked Ash.
“Just give me a minute.” Daisy placed a brown paper bag on the counter which contained Keya’s sandwich.
As Keya reached for it, Daisy gave her a larger bag and said, “Pick a loaf to take back and try too.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. And we’d love to talk to you about supplying your cafe.”
As Keya considered the bread loaves, Ash said, “And your mother asked me to pick her up a sandwich and a loaf of bread.”
“I don’t suppose she gave you any money to pay for them,” Daisy responded. Her voice had an uncharacteristic edge of irritation to it.
“What do you think? But she did give me this bottle of her special hot sauce for you.”
Daisy’s voice softened. “That was thoughtful of her.”
Having chosen and bagged her loaf, Keya turned and smiled at Daisy as she picked up the bag containing her sandwich. “Thanks for these.”
“You’re welcome. And if you do change your mind about the summer solstice, you can join Theo and me at the standing stones.”
As she left the shop to the tinkling of the bell, Keya thought she heard Ash say, “I suppose I’ll come too.”
CHAPTER THREE
Keya left Lower Rollright and drove through the town of Chipping Norton before turning south and heading towards Coln Akeman.
Forty-five minutes later, she parked in a gravel area at the side of another flour mill. This was a disused one which had been converted into Akemans Antique Centre and at the rear, beside the mill’s renovated waterwheel, was Keya’s Waterwheel Cafe.
It was nearly a year since she’d opened it with the help of the manager of the antique centre, Gilly Wimsey.
Gilly was a motherly type with a ready smile who always had a kind or encouraging word. But as Keya collected her bag, sandwich, and the loaf of bread from her car, she wondered what her orange-haired friend was doing walking about barefoot on the grass above the bank which sloped down to the River Coln.
Keya walked down the flagstone path which had recently been laid to link the newly created gravel parking area with her delicatessen. Opened after the cafe, the small deli was located in a single-storey building adjacent to the cafe’s external seating area. Beyond it was the three-storey mill building and the patio doors leading into the cafe.
As she walked, Keya kept glancing at Gilly, who was standing on one leg in a wobbly yoga pose, until she toppled over and planted both feet firmly on the ground.
