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‘You can eat it how you want. It’s a free country.’ He paused. ‘But Belinda would tell you that it’s cream first because we’re not barbarians.’
Lettie grinned and Claude felt pleased that he’d amused her. Buster was a wonderful companion but he didn’t appreciate the odd flash of humour that Claude displayed. Esther had once told him his sense of humour was one reason why she liked him so much.
He took another sip of his coffee, which definitely tasted better than the instant he made at home. Why was he thinking of Esther so much these days, particularly since meeting Lettie? Raking up the past, as she was doing, wasn’t always a good thing. It was unsettling. He shuffled his feet under the table, suddenly wanting to get away.
‘You’d better eat up because I haven’t got all day,’ he said, and then felt awful when Lettie’s face fell. He should never have accepted her invitation. Belinda was right. He was an eccentric loner. Wasn’t that what she’d once called him, when she hadn’t realised he was listening? He took a huge gulp of his coffee and waved away a bluebottle that was buzzing nearby. ‘I apologise. I don’t mean to be ungracious.’
Lettie slightly raised her eyebrow, as though she would never have described him as gracious in the first place, but she smiled.
‘That’s all right.’
‘I’ve found some more newspaper clippings about the village in the war,’ he blurted out, before thinking it through. ‘They’d fallen to the back of the filing cabinet.’
‘Really? That sounds fascinating.’
‘Mmm. You can come and look at them if you’d like.’
Her face lit up. ‘Definitely. When’s good for you?’
‘It doesn’t matter. If I’m in, you can see them.’
‘OK. Thank you.’
‘Whatever.’
That was a stupid thing to say – Claude had heard youngsters saying it to each other outside his cottage, and heaven knew why he’d used it now. It made him sound even more rude.
He smiled at Lettie in a bid to soften the word, wondering why he’d invited her back round at all. Looking into the past was like opening a can of worms.
Lettie sat back and wiped a smudge of cream from her lips with a paper serviette. ‘That cream tea was epic, though my hips don’t approve. I’ll just go and pay.’
‘That’s all right. I can pay for myself,’ said Claude gruffly, but Lettie waved his words away.
‘No, it was my treat after you helped me with your archive. And you only had a coffee anyway.’
She was searching in her bag for her purse when Florence Allford walked past, then stopped and retraced her steps.
The elderly woman Claude had known since he was a boy marched towards them, looking overdressed in a long-sleeved dress and tights, her white hair glinting in the sunshine.
‘Afternoon, Claude. I’m surprised to see you sitting here.’ She nodded at him while he grunted a greeting. Then she turned to Lettie, who had stopped scrabbling for her purse. ‘I saw you, Miss Starcross, and wanted a word.’
‘Of course,’ said Lettie, her cheeks blazing pink in the heat.
‘My grandson says it might be a good idea for me to meet you. He tells me you have some things from the past that might be of interest to me.’
‘That’s right. I do,’ stuttered Lettie.
‘Then, you’d better come round to see me tomorrow morning at eleven. Is that acceptable?’
‘Absolutely acceptable. Yes. Thank you.’
Florence leaned closer. ‘Don’t thank me, Miss Starcross. Thank my grandson for persuading me against my better instincts.’
With that, she gave Claude a curt nod and strode off again.
Lettie swallowed hard. ‘Crikey. Is it just me or is Florence Allford a bit scary?’
Claude laughed out loud at that and several people turned to stare at him. ‘Florence has always been rather fierce and not great with people.’ He felt his cheeks redden, seeing as he was far less sociable than Florence. ‘I’d better get home, Miss Starcross… Lettie.’ He got to his feet and Buster ambled to his side with a wide yawn. ‘Thank you for the drink.’
‘No, thank you. I enjoyed your company.’
Had she really? Claude nodded self-consciously and mumbled, ‘Me too,’ before walking off.
‘Why did I invite her back round, Buster?’ he muttered, when he was far enough away not to be overheard. But in his heart of hearts he knew exactly why he wanted a private word with Miss Starcross. A plan had come into his head as he’d sipped his expensive coffee. ‘I’ll live to regret it… that is if I live long enough,’ he said out loud, with a mirthless laugh. He ran his calloused hands gently across his dog’s flank before sloping off home over the cobbles, ignoring the pull of a pint or three in The Smugglers Haunt on the way.
