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‘I agree, I thought—’
‘Great, then I have the perfect solution. Me, Dom, and Archie will pitch in and help.’
‘Count me in, too,’ added Nessa, her eyes lighting up with possibilities. ‘You’ve got to keep Gingerberry Yarns open whilst it’s on the market. After all, Gingerberry Yarns is the social hub of Somersby. Its faithful customers have lost not only a beloved friend, but a stalwart of the local community. Someone who swore she would protect the fabric of this village. I know I don’t have to remind you that some people’s lives revolve around their visits to this welcoming oasis of calm and acceptance – it’s better than a spa treatment any day, and much more affordable. Do you know how much a spa day is up at Somersby Manor?’
Nessa sighed and reached over to replenish her mug from the pot, wrapping her palms around its warmth. She pushed back her seat and strolled over to the window that looked out over the village green, staring at the row of houses and shops opposite the haberdashery, her back to Sophie and Seb, deep in thought. After a while she continued verbalising her thoughts.
‘Since Susan decided not to open the teashop for the summer season this year – apparently she’s flown off to visit her daughter and her family in New Zealand – there’s nowhere else to go.People can’t hang out at the garage, or the bakery, and since the library closed down last year there’s nowhere to grab a cappuccino or a latte or a good old pot of tea and have a chat. The nearest café is in Cranbury, now, and that’s three miles away. Hey! Yes, that’s it!’
Nessa swung round to stare at Sophie, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
‘What?’
‘This is your chance to create something truly fabulous!’
‘What?’ Sophie rolled her eyes at Nessa who, as always, was speeding along on a different tangent.
‘The “Gingerberry Emporium” – vendor of bespoke yarn creations and aromatic coffee concepts!’
‘What are you dribbling on about?’
Sophie collected their empty mugs and ditched them in the sink before resuming her curled-up position on the ancient rug surrounded by paperwork.
‘I’m talking about Gingerberry Yarns, international supplier of custom-made knitted garments to the connoisseur of sculptured yarn and modern creative art, and purveyor of the best cappuccinos, lattes, and espressos for a ten-mile radius!’
‘International? Now you’re being plain ridiculous, Ness…’
‘Set up a website – that’ll cover the international bit. Get busy researching a selection of designs worn by the trendy jet-set and TV celebrities – like those Danish Fair Isle sweaters from that detective series. You can get the WI’s knitting club involved – they love a good challenge. Hey, we could even run knitting sessions here in the shop, start teaching those who are interested to knit and crochet? Maybe market it as an opportunity tocontribute to a charity project in the form of a blanket or throw for the Cranbury hospice?’
‘Wow, I think Nessa might be onto something here, Soph.’ Seb had swivelled round in his seat to join in the discussions. ‘The shop downstairs is crammed with miles and miles of ribbon and lace. You could even coach the ladies to sew garments for your bridal boutique in London, such as garters and knickers. Maybe Gingerberry can become the first branch of Sophie-Louise Bridal Couture outside London.’
‘Great idea, Seb!’ Nessa exclaimed, her expression filled with gratitude for his support of her idea. ‘We could offer hand-embroidered silk lingerie for a bride’s wedding night and honeymoon as part of her trousseau. We could—’
‘Hang on, Nessa, hang on, who’s going to do all this? Teach people to knit and sew and...’
‘Youare, of course, you idiot! Have you forgotten you grew up with knitting needles protruding from the ends of your arms? You are your mother’s daughter, Sophie. And what better way to mark Seb’s mum’s passing than to design a blanket that everyone can contribute to in honour of Claire and everything she did for this village, then to present it to the hospice at their annual summer fayre!’
‘You are joking, Nessa. I can’t possibly—’
‘Well, not by yourself, no.’ Nessa placed her palm on her chin and drummed her fingernails on her glossy apricot lips. Sophie could almost see the cogs whirling behind those emerald eyes. ‘You’ll need some help.’
‘But who would come? No one is interested in—’
‘Wrong! In the last year alone St Hilda’s has had more interest in baking and crafts from the students than we can meet demand. All the girls want to get involved in making cupcakes,perfumed candles, fabric design and screen printing, sewing, embroidery… andknitting!’
Nessa’s eyes strayed to the untouched perfect swirls of the baby-pink buttercream icing atop the cupcakes on the table.
‘It’s the Great British Bake Off and Sewing Bee effect. You should see some of the girls’ fashion designs, Soph. They’d give Sophie-Louise Bridal Couture a run for its money! I’m sure they’d come up with some awesome designs for bras, knickers, bodies, and teddies if we asked them. Two of our girls were accepted at the Royal College of Art last year, the first students to attend since the person sitting glowering opposite me!’ Nessa smirked.
‘I can’t teach a bunch of teenagers to knit and crochet when all they want to do is party in the bright lights of Cheltenham and Gloucester. They don’t want to hang out at the village haberdashery shop chatting about threads, buttons, and ribbons and whether to use a cross-stich or blanket stick. Anyway, I do have my own social life, you know.’
‘What social life is that?’ Nessa said accusingly, certain of the reply.
‘Well, in London…’
‘It pains me to remind you, but you have not exactly been the life and soul of the party since you started work on Operation Lilac’s Wedding Gown of the Century. And when was the last time you went out on a date?’
‘Mmmm…’
