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Chapter Thirty-Two
Always Look for the Helpers
The news cameras left Clove Lore soon after Christmas, and the tourists stayed away, but the thing about a place like Clove Lore is, it lives on in people’s memories.
Those who had spent happy childhood holidays, or honeymoons, or Christmases in the village and remembered it fondly certainly didn’t forget the images on their screens of the place in peril, and while the diggers and bricklayers, glaziers and plasterers moved in and every cottage ran dehumidifiers night and day and skips arrived to take away everyone’s wrecked furniture and spoiled possessions, the envelopes began to arrive.
Almost all of them were addressed ‘Care of the Clove Lore Estate’, which meant Minty had the pleasure of opening them. Some contained cash, others cheques, all sent in sympathy and solidarity to the people of Clove Lore to help them rebuild their lives.
A delegation was formed, headed by Minty, of course, aided by her right-hand man and most important person, Jowan. The money was to be split between residents and businesses Down-along and there was to be no delay in divvying it up.
Still the envelopes arrived all through the winter, prompting Minty to ask around the village if there wasn’t an easier way of doing all this.
Alex had been the one to suggest the donations website and as soon as it was up and running (and Minty had given yet another of her rousing, stoical interviews to the press – she was becoming quite the poster girl for the entire project), the money poured in from across the world, and everyone in Clove Lore wiped away happy tears and remarked with wonder about the astounding generosity of strangers.
The Siren’s Tail, just like the bookshop and Mrs C.’s ice-cream shop, needed a complete refit of its ground floor. The stable got underfloor heating, much to Moira, Bon Jovi and Mushy Peas’ eternal delight. The cellars of the Big House had to be dredged and relined and Mrs Crocombe had to claim for two hundred litres of spoiled ice cream on her insurance policy.
On one very solemn Sunday the site where the chapel had once stood was cleared away entirely, leaving only the tiled floor, the font and the front pews. Leonid replanted the whole area with camellias with the intention of extending the once-famed camellia grove all the way up to the back of the Big House. The whole operation was undertaken with the plodding slowness that local red tape and petty bureaucracy brought with it but there were signs of progress everywhere.
The works would take many more months to complete, but when the first hint of summer reached Clove Lore, the village’s mood and fortunes had improved enough for a very special event to take place.
Elliot was the first down the aisle, handsomer than ever in his dark suit, and nervously sweeping back his long, sleek hair.
Leonid and Izaak, with matching frothy blooms in their lapels, and Mrs Crocombe with Bovis by her side, filled the front pews.
Bella and Finan stood behind them, a little flustered after all the work that had gone into readying their inn for its first paying guests in months. The freshly decorated bridal suite was ready and waiting for the happy couple, and the wedding breakfast all prepared and waiting for the whole party.
Tom Bickleigh took his spot at the back with the newspaper reporter, Lou, who’d become a familiar face around Clove Lore in the days after the disaster and even more so now the pair were officially dating.
His brother Monty stood alone beside them, uncomfortable in his suit. Weddings weren’t for him. He’d far rather be back in his chef’s whites down at the pub’s gleaming new chrome kitchen, where he had everything to a professional standard and shipshape. Yet, he still had the look of a man wishing he had a date by his side.
All of the builders and engineers, landscapers and decorators arrived (Minty had persuaded them to down tools for the afternoon in return for the buffet at the Siren’s Tail) and the whole party stood in their rows looking up in wonder at the clear blue sky.
‘Quietest Clove Lore’s been in months,’ someone said, and another agreed that without the noise of the machinery you could really hear the birds singing.
It really was a fine June day. The waves shushed gently against the sea wall far below the estate gardens, and the music of the shore mixed in the cool early-summer breeze with the music of the violin quartet stationed on the parterre above the camellia grove.
Magnús and Alex arrived last, having waited as long as they could for the first delivery of stock to arrive at the bookshop and, concluding the driver must be stuck on some narrow B-road above the village, they’d set off running in their smartest clothes, not easy for Alex in her high heels – the sight of which had made Magnús want to take her straight to bed and miss the wedding altogether.
The freshly stripped and varnished shelves stood ready to be stocked down at the Borrow-A-Bookshop, almost the last stage in the refurbishment, and the signal that it was coming close to the time for the pair to leave the bookshop they’d lovingly restored. They took their positions at the back of the crowd, Alex holding Magnús’s hand tightly and leaning in to kiss him.
The vicar made his way down the aisle towards Elliot, giving him a friendly nod. ‘They’re on their way down now,’ he said, clutching his order of service.
Everyone fell silent and listened to the music, the whole congregation taking a deep breath of summer and thinking how it seemed like forever since they’d last stood still with the sun on their faces with nothing whatsoever to do for a whole day but celebrate and unwind.
Emerging from the open doors and onto the parterre came Jude in a long floaty dress in sweet shades of peach. Even from this distance Elliot’s heart swelled at the sight of the woman he loved. Jude had been so frantically busy all of the previous day putting the finishing touches to the wedding cake, but that was forgotten now. The fiancés smiled and waved to one another across the gardens.
Jowan was the next to step out of the house and into the sunshine. Mrs Crocombe, turning in her pew, told everyone, ‘Here’s the groom now!’
All heads turned to watch Jowan walk across the lawns, groomed and tailored into the very vision of a handsome husband. At his feet skipped Aldous in a bowtie to match his master’s, only just having forgiven him for this morning’s bath and brush because of the Double Gloucester chunks Elliot had fed to him throughout his ordeal. Elliot had taken his duties as best man very seriously indeed.
The two men shook hands at the altar and turned to face the Big House with expectant eyes. Aldous watched for his mistress too, his tail whipping against the old tiled floor.
Jowan was already smiling, his heart full, when Minty stepped carefully out over the threshold ready to receive her bouquet from Jude, her maid of honour.
Everyone heard Jowan’s shaky breath as the quartet struck up a breezy wedding march and the congregation turned to watch.
Even though the chapel walls and roof were gone, it didn’t matter. What better ceiling than a blue sky, and for stained glass, the glittering blue Atlantic?
