Ava put her hand over her mouth while she attempted to swallow her coffee before she sprayed it across the room. ‘I am aware of that. Thank you.’
Mary grinned and continued, ‘And talking of studs. I left you at the Italian night, all rosy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes, with Gino, and then, the next thing I know I find you in your cottage entangled with Lord Hotlington. About which I have oh so many questions I don’t know where to begin, so I am going to stop talking and you can start!’ Mary pretended to zip up her mouth and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Ava shook her head and moved the donation bags left on the floor from the previous day into the appropriate pens. She needed to move the conversation away from the subject of Gino before she gave anything away, but equally, she didn’t want to discuss her relationship with Henry. ‘Don’t you have work to do? Aren’t there sick and injured animals just crying out for your attention? I, for one, have a shop to open!’ Ava took out her keys and rattled them. ‘You know if I don’t open on time, it will encourage fly-tipping. And we all know nobody leaves their best donations on the doorstep, especially not on a day when the local tip is closed. The dump it and run brigade will rejoice at the opportunity to leave their tat unseen.’ Ava went to the safe and took out the float; on top of it was a note from Flo saying all was well when she closed up, and that the man from the antique shop had dropped an envelope off for her.
‘That’s a brilliant excuse but neither Myrtle nor I are going to let this go. We need answers.’
Ignoring Mary, Ava pulled the envelope out from underneath the money, turning it over in her hands.
‘You all right?’
‘Yes . . . I’m fine. Just intrigued.’ Ava began to open the envelope. ‘I took some frames to the antique dealer, and he’s dropped this round.’
‘Is that unusual? Don’t they normally correspond by letter? I rather hoped they still used ink and a quill pen?’ Mary laughed before looking at Ava and adjusting her tone. ‘How do they normally get back to you?’
‘Normally I just pop back and they tell me an evaluation. This must be—’
Ava pulled a note and photograph from the envelope and did a double take as she tried to process what she was seeing. Recognising the smiling faces of the two women pictured, each with a child in their arms, her heart skipped a beat and she felt a flurry of palpitations in her chest. ‘It’s . . .’ Her words trailed off, her mind still attempting to make sense of the image in her hand.
It wasn’t who was in the picture she had trouble comprehending; it was why they were being pictured together. She recognised her mum and, of course, herself — not only from her mop of red curls but also from the toy in her dimpled hands.Raspberry Rabbit. With a cheeky grin showing four milk teeth, she imagined her age to be about one, while the dark-haired baby, wrapped in a blue crocheted blanket, in Lady Bramlington’s arms, must surely be Henry. Both women looked relaxed, their heads tilted together, their expressions happy.
Mary put down her coffee. ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense. You’re stringing it out longer than one of those talent show hosts.It’s . . . ?’ Mary added dramatic emphasis to the final word as she spoke.
‘Confusing,’ Ava muttered as she scanned the note: “This was behind the mount in one of the frames. Thought you would want it. Exquisite pieces by the way. I suggest you go for auction, rather than via the shop. Let me know”.
‘Ava, seriously, what is it?’ Mary went to Ava’s side and looked at the picture. ‘Is that you and your—’
‘Mum. Yes.’
‘And is that—’
‘Lady Bramlington.’ Ava attempted to gather her thoughts. ‘And Henry. But I don’t understand. This picture was in a frame donated by Ted. Why would Ted have it?’
‘Look, there’s something written on the back.’ Mary took the picture from Ava, turning it over.
‘Best friends and babies,’ they read aloud in unison.
‘What?’ Ava took the picture back from Mary. ‘What do you think it means?’
Mary looked at Ava. ‘Well I’m no detective, but I’d say it means your mum and Lady Bramlington were best friends. Either that or you and Henry were, but that seems less likely as you both look tiny.’
Ava felt heat rise in her cheeks. She knew she and Henry became best friends, but as babies? No. Theirs was a friendship formed in secret in the woods. The picture was perplexing. ‘But my mum never mentioned . . . You know what she was like about even going on their land. And the only time I ever recall meeting Lady Bramlington she was cross, no, bloody furious at . . .’ Realising she was going to reveal too much about her past with Henry, Ava corrected herself. ‘Bloody furious at me trespassing.’
She looked back at the picture. Her mum and Lady Bramlington were clearly content in each other’s company as they held their babies on their laps. Her mum had never mentioned knowing Lady Bramlington, and yet the photograph was discovered in a frame, the fading of the picture suggesting it had once been on display.So it had once been a treasured memory to someone. But who, Ted?‘If they were once best friends, then something happened to alter that, but what?’
‘Oh my God, you’re his love child!’ Mary gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
‘Ted’s?’ Ava looked at her incredulous.
‘No, not Ted’s, Lord Bramlington’s. Lady Bramlington found out and’ — Mary’s eyes went wide as if a sudden realisation dawned upon her — ‘which would make you and Henry—’
‘No! It definitely doesn’t.’ Ava pushed away an image of her straddling Henry on her mum’s floral sofa. ‘Have you seen my hair? My complexion?’
‘Yes!’ Mary dropped her shoulders, the deflation of her fanciful idea reflected in her demeanour.
‘All very much from my dad!’ Ava pulled at one of her curls that sprung back into place as she released it. ‘Connor Flynn might have died when I was two, but his genes very much live on in me. Believe me, I’ve seen the pictures.’
Mary looked at the photograph. ‘Ah bugger, so you’re not the secret heir to the late Lord Bramlington then? You’re not going to step up, claim your inheritance and save the village.’
