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Millie slammed the passenger door shut and watched Zach perform an elaborate a three-point turn before trundling off back down the driveway to his lodge. When he was out of sight, she stuck her hands in her pockets, raised her shoulders towards her ears and performed a perfect pirouette of delight.
The sharp ring of a hammer on iron interrupted her spontaneous celebration of Zach’s surprise dinner invitation and she decided to investigate what was going on in one of the old outhouses on the other side of the courtyard. Her spirits climbed another notch when a stream of choice profanities met her ears. She had stumbled on Tim’s workshop!
She approached the scarred wooden door with caution, unsure of her welcome, not to mention her safety after hearing Claudia’s numerous anecdotes about her husband’s penchant for blowing thing up – the last being an old washing machine he was trying to turn into a battery-powered go-kart.
‘Tim? It’s Millie. Is it okay to come in?’
‘Oh, hi Millie. Yes, fine. Just be careful of the bench saw over there, it’s still switched on. Oh, and you might like to avoid the Bunsen burner with that scarf dangling round your neck.’
Millie lingered for a few moments on the threshold, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gloom and when they did, her jaw dropped. The whole place looked like a batty old scientist’s Aladdin’s cave, in the middle of which stood the batty old scientist himself. Tim’s thick hair stood on end and he looked like he’d just electrocuted himself – a not inconceivable possibility, but more likely due to the fact he’d been running his fingers through his fringe in frustration. Smudges of engine oil were streaked across his cheeks like war paint – except the bulky navy-blue boiler suit, covered in splodges of plaster, made him look more like a benign, if scruffy, cousin of the Teletubbies.
He stood with a wrench in his hand staring at an upside-down, ride-on lawn mower, glaring at it as though it were the enemy and all he wanted to do was bash it into submission, but he was just too polite to do so.
‘I just don’t seem to be able to turn that final corner, Millie,’ he mused as if she had any inkling of what he was talking about. ‘Any ideas?’
A blast of mirth spluttered from Millie’s throat at the most unexpected question she had ever been asked. Tim must have realised what he had said and smiled at her. ‘Sorry.’
‘This is a fantastic workshop, Tim.’
‘It’s a palace, don’t care what Claudia calls it. She’s refused to set foot in here for over a year now, but I must admit I don’t blame her. Before she left me to my own devices though, she gave me a very boring lecture on the numerous Health and Safety rules the council insists on for the cookery school. She made me promise to sort out a sturdy padlock and as long as I remember to lock up at the end of the day, I should be okay.’
‘So what exactly are you working on?’ asked Millie, taking a few steps towards the machine whose wheels were spinning in the air like an up-ended tortoise.
Tim’s eyes lit up at her interest and her heart softened towards him. If she ever had the space, this was exactly the kind of sanctuary she wanted, albeit a little cleaner and filled to the rafters with culinary paraphernalia rather than rust-blistered old tools, myriad jars of nails and screws, and every electronic gadget a DIY enthusiast could ever dream of owning. She glanced upwards and took another speedy stride inside when she saw an old-fashioned scythe dangling above her head secured with only a tatty length of rope.
‘This, Millie, is a sit-on lawn mower, but it’s no ordinary sit-on lawn mower. One day, this machine will mow the lawns here at Stonelea by remote control – you know, like a cross between those robotic vacuum cleaners and a driverless car. I just need to iron out a few teething problems and then…. Oh, sorry, I recognise that glazed look. I can get a little over-zealous when it comes to engineering projects.’
‘It’s okay.’
Millie spotted a tattered old cardboard box abandoned on a tool-strewn workbench and went over to investigate. She rooted around inside and removed a beautifully illustrated piece of parchment. It was a hand-written recipe for a Christmas cake complete with drawings of the ingredients in the margins and a photograph of the final triumph at the bottom. It was a work of art which should have been framed and hung on the wall in the kitchen, not lurking in a damp decrepit box where the slightest lapse could send the place up in flames.
‘Why are these recipe cards here?’
‘Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me, Millie. I’d completely forgotten. I have to make sure that I get them FedExed to Claudia’s agent, Giles Morton, in tonight’s post otherwise I’ll go straight to the top of Claudia’s naughty list.’
‘Some of these are beautiful. Look at this white chocolate cheesecake recipe! It’s got honey and whisky in it – now that’s my kind of cheesecake. Oh, and this one for a Christmas pithivier. I add apricots and passionfruit to the mincemeat when I make mine, but Mum does hers with plums and cherries and a splash of vodka which is absolutely delicious. The illustrations are amazing.’
‘They’re the winning recipes the cookery school has showcased from each of the last ten years. Forty in total – all traditional bakes that the villagers rustled up for their families at Christmas. Claudie commissioned a local artist to sketch the ingredients and the finished products from the photographs of the students’ attempts. Her agent saw them when he was on a visit down here when Claudie was laid up after her riding accident and adored them. Giles took a selection back to London with him and he reckons he might have a publisher interested. The meeting is tomorrow, and I really should have sent them on Saturday, but never got round to it. It might be best if you didn’t mention that slip-up to Claudie. I’ll call Giles and tell him they’ll be with him in the morning.’
Tim grimaced at the inconvenience, dropping his wrench onto a bench where it joined several identical friends – as well as an assortment of spanners and a cascade of nuts and bolts – with a resounding clatter. Millie rolled her eyes – and Zach thoughtshehad a problem with the clutter gene! He grabbed the box, closed the lid, and deposited it in the doorway so that he would have to trip over it when he left.
‘Oooo, what’s this you’re working on?’
‘Ah, yes, it’s rather nice, isn’t it? It’s a piece of stained glass I’ve designed for Claudie’s Christmas present.’
‘Is that the view of the Pitons from the villa?’
‘Yes, it is. I’d forgotten you’ve been there. Thank you, Millie. You’ve done a great deal for us over the last couple of months. It’s a shame the manor is being sold, otherwise I think Claudie would have offered you a position here.’
Millie’s eyes widened with delight and her heart filled with gratitude until she remembered that it was a purely hypothetical career opportunity.
‘Wow, that would be my dream job!’
‘Well, you can join the queue to punch Rupert’s lights out when he shows his face on Thursday. You won’t be surprised to hear that yours are not the only dreams he’s trampled on. I’m sure you’re aware how upset Claudie is about what’s happened. But she refuses to talk about it, and I know it’s at the root of her current fatigue. She’s always been the life and soul of everything she sets her mind to, and I hate seeing her so downhearted.’
Tim stopped fiddling with one of the wheels on the lawn mower, shoved his fingers through his hair then ran his palm over his chin.
‘The problem is, she loves her cousin. They spent a carefree childhood together here at Stonelea Manor, running around the grounds like a pair of kids from Swallows and Amazons or the Famous Five or something. She wants to be angry with him, but she can’t so she’s just bottling up her emotions and it’s not good. I know Rupert is only asking for what’s rightfully hisandthat he’s waited over ten years for it, but if he had just given us more notice maybe we could have come up with the cash.’
