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Chapter 29
Abigail stretched her arms high in the air, releasing a crick in her neck. She’d been sitting in front of the computer for too long. So far, it looked as though Lili had been doing a surprisingly good job with the books, despite what she said. Abigail thought she probably wouldn’t want to hear that. It meant there would be no surprise tax rebate. However, it also meant that wouldn’t be any nasty surprises either, in the shape of a large tax bill.
Abigail hadn’t quite finished doing the accounts, but she needed a break. She thought she’d step outside for some air and then have a little browse around the other shops in Cobblers Yard. Standing up, she tucked the chair under the desk and reached for her handbag. So far, she hadn’t taken the opportunity to explore the little cobbled yard. She thought she might look for something for the cottage, which she knew was a stupid idea, considering she was meant to be selling the place.
Even so, she walked down the stairs, taking her handbag with her. Lili’s part-timer, Zoe, was serving in the shop downstairs.
‘Hi, Zoe – I’m just taking a break. If Lili comes back before I return, just tell her I’ve nipped out for a while.’
Zoe nodded and smiled. ‘Sure.’
Abigail glanced at the dog-eared paperback, a romance by the looks of the cover, and thought,oh to be eighteen againas she stepped out of the shop.
Abigail took a wander around Cobblers Yard, with its independent stores behind old-fashioned bow windows that reminded Abigail of Dickensian village scenes she’d seen on jigsaw puzzles or Christmas cards. She paused in front of the antique shop, one of the longest-running stores in Aldeburgh, apparently, and glanced in the window.The shop was still stocked, the window displaying its wares, but the owner, Nate’s grandfather, Joseph, had died. Abigail knew from what Lili had told her that her oldest friend, Hannah, was moving into the flat above the shop and taking over running the store soon, although it sounded as though the antique side of the business would be wound down in favour of selling amber jewellery.
Abigail walked over to the art and craft shop. Not that long ago, Ray had run the shop before his heir-hunting business took off. She glanced at the sign in the window. The shop was up for lease. She turned and looked straight across the yard at The Potting Shed. She smiled at the thought of Sarah and Ray. It appeared they might be tearing up those divorce papers they hadn’t got around to signing. At least, that was what Abigail thought, judging by the effort he’d gone to with preparing the meal he and Sarah had been about to share when Abigail had visited his houseboat.
Abigail frowned. She didn’t want to spend her break thinking about the cottage. But Toby’s unexpected ownership of it was never far from her mind. She was intending to visit the charity shop where she knew two sisters, Mabel and Marjorie, worked.
Abigail walked past the window display of guitars and violins in the music shop and then past a bookshop, which Lili had mentioned had been closed for almost two decades. Abigail noticed that the window display showed yesteryear’s best-sellers, all full of dust and cobwebs. It surprised her there was no sign in the window advertising the shop for lease or sale. Next door was the charity shop. Abigail smiled at the window display. There were old-fashioned mannequins in the window that she guessed had been donated to the shop. The ladies had dressed them in their charity shop finest. As well as the outfits, they even had shoes on, handbags hung from their shoulders, and hats and scarves. Abigail thought they might have done better dressing the mannequins in clothes reflecting the season, rather than winter, which was still a couple of months away.
Through the window, Abigail noticed two ladies, one sitting behind an old cash register on a counter at the back of the shop, and another hanging some clothes on an empty rack. Unsure whether she should just come out and ask if they knew the late owner of the cottage, Daphne, Abigail suddenly had a thought as she stepped inside the shop. She knew they wouldn’t be called The Gossip Girls for nothing. Although that might be to her advantage, it certainly wouldn’t be helpful if they knew who she was – not if she didn’t want word to get back to the Somervilles.
Abigail already had a foot in the door when she decided to introduce herself as Lili’s friend from London. Perhaps they’d assume she was staying with Lili in The Summerhouse down the road in Thorpeness.
Both sisters looked up when the little bell above the door tinkled as Abigail entered. She smiled. ‘Hello.’
For two women who were meant to be gossips, they didn’t exactly greet her with a warm, friendly smile as she walked in. It made Abigail wonder if they already knew where she lived and why she was there.
Abigail did her best to break the ice. She pointed across the yard. ‘I’m Lili’s friend. I grew up round here.’ Abigail frowned. She hadn’t meant to say that – that she’d grown up in Suffolk. Although the look on the old ladies’ faces said she might just have broken the ice.
‘Come to have a little browse around?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Abigail enjoyed visiting charity shops. It wasn’t just about bargain-hunting, but the thrill of unearthing something unique that would be hard to find for sale in an ordinary shop. She smiled at them. It was hard to gauge which sister was the eldest. Lili had told her they were both widows.
Browsing through the racks of clothes, Abigail was wondering how she could get them on to the subject of Daphne and the cottage without giving the game away, when one of the sisters said, ‘Why do you look familiar?’
Abigail could feel her face go crimson – they already knew.
‘What are you talking about, Mabel?’ asked the elderly lady sitting behind the cash register. ‘I don’t recognise her.’
Abigail found it odd being spoken about as though she wasn’t right there in the shop.
Mabel’s sister was suddenly by Abigail’s side, peering at her intently.
‘You said you were from around these parts?’
‘Yes, I grew up in Shingle Cove. My parents – well, my mum and stepdad – run the guesthouse there.’
‘Now, I remember. Didn’t you lose your daddy the night of the Great Storm – when was that?’
Surprised that Marjorie remembered, Abigail reeled off the date.
‘Marjorie, why are you bringing that up?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Dunno.’ She continued arranging some clothes on hangers.
Abigail saw her opportunity. ‘Do you remember anything else about that night – the night of the Great Storm?’ Oh, how she wanted to ask them about the cottage.
