“Well, as lovely as your auntie is—and she’s been a godsend these last few days—we all know she’s in your mother’s shadow. She likes to bask in whatever glow remains from Carolyn Swan’s glory days gracing the nation’s televisions at teatime.” Maggie winked at Ellie, her eyes crinkling with warmth. “I’m proud of you, dear, no matter where you work or what you do. A dream job is just that—a job. You don’t need to be defined by it.”
Ellie felt a lump form in her throat. “Likewise with you and the bookshop, Gran.”
“I won’t argue with that.” Maggie nodded, her grip on Ellie’s hand tightening. “Thank you for coming back. Really, thank you.” She paused, her voice softening. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to, or for as little as you want. If you need to go home back to Cardiff on the next train to continue the job search, you can.”
“No,” Ellie said firmly. “I’m staying, like I said. And I’m going to help. The bookshop needs me, but that’s for the morning.”
She stood up, giving Maggie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading into the kitchen to start dinner. As she moved about, gathering ingredients and pans, Ellie’s gaze drifted to the garden outside. The pergola stood silently in the growing darkness, and for a moment, Ellie saw the ghost that lingered all around Meadowfield.
A fleeting image of Luke on one knee under the cast-iron roof, proposing to her on a summer’s night just like this one, flashed before her eyes. Ellie turned away from the window, opening the fridge with more force than necessary.
Another thing to think about tomorrow.
Tonight, it was all about ham, egg, and chips, with a little ketchup on the side
Chapter 5The Plot Thickens
The next morning, Ellie stepped out onto the patio, greeted by the sight of a fully laid breakfast table under the pergola. Maggie sat there, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, her eyes twinkling with anticipation under the morning sun.
“Gran, you shouldn’t have,” Ellie protested, even as she sank into the wicker chair opposite her grandmother.
Maggie waved her off. “Nonsense. It’s the least I can do.”
Ellie’s eyes widened as she took in the spread before her. The wrought-iron table seemed to groan under the weight of a full English breakfast. Golden-yolked eggs nestled beside crispy bacon, a stack of buttered toast stood at attention next to jars of homemade jam, and two glasses of orange juice caught the morning light. A silver teapot, steam curling from its spout, completed the spread.
“This is perfect,” Ellie breathed, her stomach rumbling in anticipation. After months of microwaved porridge at Happy Bean, this feast was nothing short of miraculous.
Maggie beamed, pouring tea into Ellie’s waiting cup. “How did you sleep, dear?”
Ellie hesitated for a fraction of a second before plastering on a smile. “Great, thanks,” she lied, reaching for a piece of toast. In truth, she’d tossed and turned most of the night, her mind a whirlwind of anxieties. She’d sunk into her pillow, exhausted, only to find sleep elusive as her thoughts raced about her future. This wasn’t where she’d imagined herself at thirty, back where she’d started. But at least her gran was alive and well, she reminded herself, pushing away the gnawing worry.
As they ate in companionable silence, Ellie’s mind drifted to the burglary. Something about Maggie’s explanation yesterday didn’t quite add up. What had the burglar really been looking for? She wanted to press for more details, but the peaceful morning air and her grandmother’s contented smile held her back. There would be time for questions later.
As they finished their meal, Ellie set down her fork with determination. “I want you to stay home and rest today,” she insisted, meeting Maggie’s gaze. “I’ll handle the shop on my own.”
Maggie opened her mouth to argue, but Ellie’s resolute look silenced her. She nodded, resignation and pride mingling in her expression.
Ellie made sure Maggie was settled comfortably in the sitting room, a cosy space where the morning sun filtered through lace curtains, casting patterns on the floral wallpaper caked over the curving walls. She placed a fresh pot of tea on the small table beside her grandmother, alongside a well-thumbed copy of Persuasion, Maggie’s favorite Austen novel.
“Are you sure you won’t need anything else?” Ellie asked, hovering by the armchair.
Maggie shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Just put on Classic FM, will you? The music helps transport me back to the days of Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot.”
Ellie nodded and turned the radio on, the room soon filled with the gentle strains of a piano concerto. Satisfied that her grandmother was comfortable, she bent down and kissed Maggie’s forehead. “I’ll be back for lunch. Call me if you need anything before then.”
“I will, dear,” Maggie assured her, patting Ellie’s hand. “Don’t worry about me.”
With one last glance at her grandmother, now engrossed in her book with the radio as her soundtrack, Ellie grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door and stepped outside. Her grandmother’s cottage, with its weathered stone walls and lush wrap-around garden, stood nestled between an old stone bus shelter and the similiar cottage that housed Wagging Tails Pet Salon on a winding lane that snaked away from the centre of the village. After a short walk down the quiet road, the rest of the village huddled close, a patchwork of thatched roofs and narrow alleys. The crisp morning air greeted her as she locked the front door behind her. The quaint Cobbler’s Lane lay before her, quiet and still in the early hours of the day.
“Ellie, love!” Auntie Penny cried as she came barrelling down the lane on her bike, the basket filled with yellow daffodils, her voice cracking the silence. “I was hoping to catch you! You’ve been requested at your mother’s for dinner. She’s throwing a little party to celebrate...”
Penny’s voice stretched out into a hollow echo as she continued down the lane without stopping. She took the corner like she trusted her chances in a fight against a Land Rover and cut diagonal across the road towards the pond.
“Slow down for once, Thomas Blackwood!” Penny cried after the giant SUV, going just as face in the direction of the water.
Ellie braced, waiting for a splash. When it didn’t come, she continued down the lane, taking in the crisp morning air. A party at her mother’s cottage was the last thing she wanted to do after what was sure to be a gruelling day of putting the shop straight. Yet, she was curious about this new acting role. Carolyn Swan had promised a comeback before but never thrown a party to celebrate it.
As she rounded the corner, Meadowfield Manor came into view, its imposing silhouette stark against the sky at the end of a rigid straight driveway. The wrought-iron gates stood open, an unusual sight that made Ellie pause momentarily to peer in; she had no idea who lived there these days.
She continued on, passing the village pond where ducks glided serenely across the surface, sending ripples through the reflected clouds. Crossing the road, she approached the bookshop, its dilapidated state even more apparent in the harsh morning light.
Peeling paint flaked from the door frame, and the windows were grimy with neglect. The faded sign creaked in the gentle breeze, a far cry from the welcoming facade she remembered from her childhood.
Ellie squared her shoulders, fishing the key from her pocket. The task ahead was daunting, but she was ready to face it head-on. With a certain twist of her wrist, she unlocked the door.
Just then, a woman emerged from the cheese shop next door. Her voice, as posh as freshly polished silver, rang out across the quiet street. “Good morning! You’ll be Ellie, I take it?”
Ellie turned, knowing from the accent alone this must be the woman who’d moved from Windsor, as Auntie Penny had mentioned. She wore stiff tweed that seemed to crackle with each movement, and with her back-combed bouffant hairdo, she looked rather like Princess Anne—if Princess Anne’s two front teeth were just long enough to always be poking out of her top lip.
“I am,” Ellie replied, watching as Sylvia extended a perfectly manicured hand.
"Sylvia Fortescue," she introduced herself, with all the seriousness of a drill sergeant. "Proprietor of Bramble & Brie, next door to your grandmother’s bookshop. Delighted to make your acquaintance. I don’t believe you’ve been in the village since my move here?”
“Not since the Christmas before last.” Ellie shook the cheese shop owner’s soft hand, curiosity getting the better of her. “I have to ask, how do you know about me?”
Sylvia’s laugh tinkled like fine china. “Oh, you funny little thing. It’s all anyone’s been talking about since Taxi Tony mentioned it in The Old Bell last night. It’s not every day a Meadowling comes back.”
“Most never leave.”
