The Cosy Teashop in the Castle Page 10

  ‘Easter was busy. Sooo busy. That was good. Everything went well. No major disasters, even though I felt like I was very much finding my feet. But this week, well it’s totally different, it’s tailed right off.’ She couldn’t hold back the disappointment from her voice. Concern was niggling in her mind.

  ‘That’s to be expected this time of year, pet. It’s the same here with the flower shop, especially with such an early Easter. There’s always a lull.’

  ‘Really?’ Ellie perked up a little.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Wendy reassured. ‘It’ll be quiet for a couple of weeks, then steady until May Day and then it gets much busier for the summer season after that.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ She had a lot to learn, obviously.

  ‘Are you in for some more flowers today?’

  ‘Well, yes, but to be honest I can’t spend as much as last time.’ Ellie hated to disappoint her newfound friend, but needs must, ‘It might sound a bit cheeky but do you have anything going cheap? I’m sorry, it’s just so quiet this week I can’t justify spending a lot. But the flowers looked so pretty last time. In fact, you ought to pop in and see us there at the teashop sometime.’

  ‘Yes, I may well do that. Take a little run out for morning coffee one day. I could bring my mother across. She’d like that.’ She smiled, ‘Right, for your flowers, hmn – there’s two options, I’ve got some lovely lilies out the back that I can do fairly cheap as they are already open so won’t last that long. They’re a bit tall for the tables, but might look good on your counter or something. They’ll still give you a good week, though. Or, now then, there’s an idea. See here,’ she pointed to some lovely big daisy-looking things, ‘Gerberas – come in various shades, and they’ll last forever.’ Ellie gave her a curious look – Forever? ‘They’ll give instant cheer for your quiet weeks,’ Wendy continued, ‘And, you won’t have to keep shelling out on fresh flowers … I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’m doing myself out of business, aren’t I?’ She was smiling.

  ‘These? They look really lovely, but are they not real?’

  ‘No, not real at all, fake flowers, and just one in a vase will give you instant colour. They come in purple, pink, orange, yellow. Should be £1.50 each, but if you buy the dozen I’ll do them for a £1. What do you think? They’ll fit in the little posy vases you had the other week, if you just cut the plastic stems down a little. A sharp pair of kitchen scissors will do it, as there’s delicate wires through the middle.’

  ‘Wow, they’re really pretty. Thank you. It’s a deal!’ Ellie was ready to snap her hand off. They’d only cost her just over a tenner and they’d never die. ‘I will still come and get fresh flowers when things pick up again, though.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. They’ve sat here a couple of months, anyhow, they need moving on.’

  Ellie sensed this wasn’t quite true, but she was more than grateful for the friendly gesture. ‘Thanks, Wendy. I really appreciate it. And your morning-coffee trip with your mum will be on the house, okay?’

  ‘Hmn, sounds a good deal to me. Okay then. Thanks, petal.’

  ‘Oh, and please spread the word, won’t you. It’s not just tourists who can use the teashop, anyone local can call in, without having to do the whole castle tour.’

  Wendy began wrapping the fake gerberas in cerise-pink tissue paper, ‘I will do.’

  Ellie felt her mood shift: a gesture of friendship, a bouquet of colour, little happy moments to lift a long day.

  Thursday was depressingly quiet. Ellie took to reading a history book on the castle to fill in the time, learning that King Edward the First, ‘Hammer of the Scots’, had stayed there on his way to attack William Wallace (Brave Heart) at Falkirk. Braveheart, now that was a classic film she loved, with hunky Mel Gibson in his heyday. However, the real Brave Heart had apparently raided the castle in the prior year and burned all the women and children in a local abbey. Gruesome lot that they were. Thank God all they had to face in the twenty-first century was the tourists.

  Nicola and Doris were loitering in the tearooms, with few customers to serve. She sent them home an hour early, after checking with Deana and finding that only three people were touring the castle from two o’clock. The rain hadn’t stopped pouring all day. Ellie counted out £20.98 in takings for the day, as she sat there with a half-empty cup of tea in a truly empty tearoom at four o’clock. Now that amount wouldn’t cover even one of the waitress’s wages for the day.

  There was a knock on the door and Derek and Malcolm popped in.

  ‘Quiet today?’ Malcom asked.

  Ellie just looked around her, and it said it all.

  ‘Hmn, thought so. We haven’t seen a soul since the last tour at two-thirty.’ Derek added.

  ‘Oh, I bet the tours are great. I’d love to know more about the castle. I’ve been checking out a local history book earlier in fact.’

  ‘No need for history books, young lady, we’re the walking-talking history guides. We could give you a tour right now, couldn’t we, Malc?’

  ‘Absolutely, there’s no visitors left today.’

  ‘Are you sure it’d be alright? I’d have to shut up early.’

  ‘Ellie, there’s no one here to serve, flower.’

  ‘Well, I suppose so. I would love to know more about the place.’

  ‘Well, we’d love to tell you. And it is our job, after all.’

  ‘Okay, then. As long as I can repay the favour in tea and cake at the end.’

  ‘Deal.’ They both grinned.

  ‘Come on then, Ellie, for our whistle-stop tour of Claverham Castle. Lead the way, Derek.’

  They started in the great hall. It was an impressive chamber with leaded-glass windows and French doors that overlooked the large back gardens. Did they call them back gardens in a castle, Ellie mused? Probably not!

  ‘The great hall was used as a location in several films. The last one being The Elizabethans.’ Derek set off in polished tour guide tones. ‘They set a huge banquet here. It was a-mazing. Even had to build two whole new fireplaces to set the scene right. The ones there were the wrong period. Do you remember it, Malc?’

  ‘Oh, yes, and that famous actress, whatever-her-name-was, what a nightmare she was! Talk about diva.’

  ‘This hall looked phenomenal for the film. All set out with pewter plates and cups and a full medieval-style banquet. Roasted a whole pig, didn’t they, and the table was laden with fruit, breads, the works. Plenty of red wine flowing – meant to be mead, I think. And dancing. Somebody was playing a lute, and there were other instruments. It was all very much in keeping. I suppose they have researchers for those kinds of things.’

  ‘Brought the place to life, didn’t it, Derek? Like we’d all been whisked back to the Middle Ages. Anyway, we’ve kept the table layout similar.’

  ‘With a bit of plastic fruit and fake bread!’

  ‘Yes, they left us the whole dinner set as a gesture. Some visitors still recognise this room from the film. Half expect to see the lead actress waltzing in, and all they get is us pair.’

  Ellie smiled along with them. They were good fun.

  ‘Right, onwards and upwards … to the drawing room.’

  The drawing room looked as though it had been in use more recently. Georgian furniture, maybe? A little threadbare by the looks of it, including a damask-covered chaise longue. Boy, that must have been the life. As long as you weren’t one of the servants, Ellie mused. Most of the room was secured behind thick gold ropes that looped from metre-high brass stands.

  Ellie spotted some portraits; a row of tall gentleman, dressed in black, with stern faces.

  ‘The Hogarths,’ Malcolm announced. ‘These are their family portraits. None of that iPhone photo business that we have nowadays, a much more artful way of recording themselves in my opinion. But just imagine having to pose for all those hours. Anyway, there they are all lined up, father, son and so on, on to the next inheritor.’

  ‘That one’s Lord Henry’s father, another Lo
rd Henry.’ Derek added, ‘Nice chap, my father always said, though he could be a bit frosty at times. Yes, they used to pass on the family name to the first-born son. There are about fifteen Henrys in all, I think. Well, my father was the butler here, so I’ve virtually been brought up about the place. We lived in a cottage by the front gates. It was a great childhood, having a castle as a playground. You can imagine.’

  ‘Certainly unusual,’ Ellie commented. She could hardly begin to imagine, to be honest, after her childhood in a brick terrace in Newcastle.

  Then they headed on up the far spiral staircase to a chamber up near the roof. Derek announced it as ‘The Edward I Room’, where the king himself was meant to have stayed with his guards back in 1298. Odd to think that she might really be standing in the same room that a king had. It was all mind-boggling. History really came to life standing there within those cool stone walls, with the relics of hunting horns and swords.

  It felt slightly creepy up there, in fact. It seemed chillier than the rest of the castle.

  ‘Is it just me or is it really cool up here?’ She pulled her cardigan tighter.

  ‘No, I always feel it’s colder here. It is the oldest part of the castle, mind. The original tower.’

  ‘Hmn, is there any history of ghosts about the place?’ As she said it, she wished she hadn’t asked; that’d be bound to keep her awake at night, for sure.

  ‘Well, there are stories about the Grey Lady. A shifty shadow seen about the place in long grey skirts, with long white hair. But we’ve never seen anything of her have we, Malc?’

  ‘No, the only thing we’ve had is the odd thing move about. Like in the drawing room at night all the alarms are on, but still things seem to shift on the coffee table and at the bureau. Bit weird. We’ve named the mystery mover Trevor. Never seen anything spectre-like at all, though. Just that it seems to move stuff about.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Ellie. I think it’s Malc, myself. Has a short memory and has been shifting things when he dusts!’

  Malcom shook his head. ‘Not at all. I even left a cup out once as a test, a Wedgewood one from the dresser display, and that had moved from the bureau across to the coffee table. So, there must be something in it.’

  ‘You’ve just got a bad memory … and a vivid imagination. I’ve been here all my life, remember, and I’ve never seen a thing.’

  Their banter was amusing and took the chill out of the conversation.

  ‘Right, well, we’ll head back down to the tearooms, via the old chapel and the minstrel’s gallery. We won’t show you the dungeon or that really might scare you.’

  ‘No, we’ll leave it at that, guys. But thanks so much. Now I’ve really got a feel of the old place.’

  And they were soon back down at the teashop, drinking tea, chatting away and having slices of her latest lemon drizzle.

  On Friday morning Joe dropped by to see how things were going. There was only one couple in the tearooms, the takings were way down, and it was hard to come across positively. Yes, it was nice of him pop in, but then she supposed it was his job, after all, and having him see how quiet it was in there only made Ellie feel worse. She was meant to be attracting customers to the castle with her fabulous food, but she wasn’t drawing any crowds, was she? And it felt as if she was letting Joe and the castle down, especially after he’d persuaded Lord Henry to put his faith in her.

  Things really needed to pick up. She’d saved most of the Easter takings, but there were still food supplies to buy in for next week, and this week’s wages to pay. And there were no guarantees that next week would get any better. They had the rest of April to get through before the May Day uplift, if Wendy’s predictions were true (and by the looks of last year’s visitors’ figures, they were). She supposed she could take drastic measures and lay off one of the waitresses or cut their hours, but she didn’t want to upset them so soon – they might not be inclined to come back when she needed them.

  Well, she’d certainly not be drawing a wage herself. At least she could eat the leftovers.

  But once Nanna’s savings were gone, that was it. What if she really couldn’t afford the wages for Doris and Nicola in the coming weeks? They were relying on her salary, no doubt. And then she might have nothing left for the lease payments a couple of months down the line. She’d have wasted all Nanna’s hard-earned cash – and she’d put in all those hours working at that care home, bless her. Never complained, even when the arthritis nipped at her fingers; liked looking after the old folks, always baking them extra cakes and taking them in for tea time to cheer them up.

  And Ellie’s mother, she was already concerned that Ellie had leaped into something out of her depth and it would all go wrong, that she couldn’t do it – run a business, be independent. But she yearned to spread her wings and fly a little on her own. God, she’d love to bloody soar, but a tentative flutter and swoop would be nice.

  She couldn’t let them all down, as well as herself.

  Well, there was a roof over her head – a turreted one at that. She’d just have to ride the storm, but the worry was there, nipping at her insides whenever it got the chance.

  What had made her think she could make this work? Too bloody naïve, that was her problem: head in the clouds, clutching at dreams. Lord Henry and her mother were probably right. Had she sat and worked out all the figures, studied the costs, the patterns of last year’s takings? No. She just thought she was good at baking cakes and that that would be enough. Or, had she just been running away? What had happened six months ago had been pretty heart-wrenching, after all.

  She helped herself to a slice of Victoria sponge that was sitting there waiting for customers who weren’t coming, took a big bite, and wondered what the hell she’d got herself into.

  12

  Ellie

  Today should have been her wedding day.

  She lay in bed, reluctant to get out into the cold. She didn’t really miss him, it had gone way beyond that. She had moved through the gut-wrenching anger, the betrayal, the hurt, to a kind of settled-but-sore sad ground … the bastard. Well, perhaps the anger was still there a tad, after all.

  Five years of her life she had wasted on that loser Gavin. She’d bought the dress, the shoes, booked the reception, even chosen the bloody reception menu. They’d been engaged for three years, but he hadn’t been in a rush to book anything; she’d been the one to organise it all – maybe that should have told her something. In hindsight, it had started to feel too comfy, too settled, too sofa-ready, a boxed set of Top Gear, or Idiot Abroad. Well, she was the bloody idiot in the end, wasn’t she?

  Maybe he’d done her a favour, or she’d be swamped in a life of sloth and takeaway dinners by now, working in the same office in the same city for the next twenty years, drowning in a mundane reality. But she had loved him – his cheeky grin had swung it, all those years before, at the end of sixth form party. That’s why it had hurt so much, still did, she admitted to herself. You couldn’t just switch off those feelings, however badly someone betrayed you. She missed having someone to cuddle, to chat with late at night. She missed the feeling of fingertips stroking her back, like butterfly wings, and the contrast of his tense muscled grip that held her to him as they had sex.

  But she didn’t miss the lies, the betrayal, she reminded herself – the promise of their years to come, all their dreams shattered by an open door, and a broken heart. Her dreams were now embedded here at Claverham Castle, running these tearooms. She couldn’t let it all go wrong.

  So, she’d get up right now, go and make today’s batch of scones, maybe even create some new brownie recipes. Yes, a batch of raspberry and white chocolate would be nice, and she could try out some dark-chocolate-and- orange ones. She’d bake a choffee too, to go with the Victoria sponge and fruitcake that were left from yesterday, in honour of the wedding cake she never got. She wondered briefly what it might have been like; she’d fancied something chocolatey instead of traditional, but hadn’t had chance to order it. She’d
never know now. There was no way she was going down that route again, oh no. No weddings. No full-on relationships. She hadn’t ruled out sex, just the odd fling here and there to keep things oiled, so to speak, but she was not going to get emotionally involved. But even the occasional no-strings sex she’d envisaged, had dabbled with once and failed miserably at, had dwindled to nothing these past months. Her friends back in Newcastle had tried to persuade her to get out more, just let herself go and have a one-night stand, but that had lost its appeal. The reality wasn’t like Sex in the City or Desperate Housewives; there were no hunky gardeners lurking about with their pecs on show. Nights out in the Bigg Market began to feel more like a cattle market, and being on her own seemed a better option.

  But she’d started to make things change, hadn’t she? She was here now in a different life, in her chilly room in Claverham Castle. She was trying to make a go of running her own business. That was something to be proud of, surely? And it was early days. She’d never imagined it would be an overnight success. But it still could be a success, couldn’t it?

  Right, that was it, no more wallowing in self-pity. There was a long day ahead, hopefully a busier one than the last few. There were brownies to bake, customers to serve. Plenty to keep her mind off the ache in her heart and the what-might-have-beens.

  * * *

  Joe

  The castle would be closing in half an hour. It had been another bloody quiet day; Deana had recorded twelve admissions all day – dire. The hours had dragged. Joe had done some business plans, was working on an idea for getting the castle licensed for weddings, wishing himself luck in persuading Lord Henry to get involved with that, but he was building a strong case … and would only present it to his boss once he had all the facts. It seemed pretty straightforward getting a wedding license, but Joe was trying to tie in a full wedding service, the catering, marquees, flowers, the works. If they had everything in place in the next couple of months then they could start taking bookings for next year. They desperately needed to come up with something, the visitor takings hadn’t been the same in the past couple of years of recession. ‘Another bloody invasion’ he could already hear Lord H’s grumblings. He held the tourists in the same light as the Vikings or the Border Reivers.