‘
Competition
?’ I said quickly. ‘You mean you’re opening a bridal shoe business in the area?’
She looked at me pityingly. ‘In a way. Haven’t you heard? There’s going to be a new out-of-town retail business park on the site of the old Hemlock cotton mill between Sticklepond and Ormskirk.’
‘What, you mean a big shopping mall place?’ I asked, stunned. ‘I hadn’t heard a thing about it, so no one else locally must know, either!’
‘It’s a retail park, rather than a mall, but it
will
include a big branch of the One Stop Bridal Shop chain – and
I’m
being parachuted in to get it up and running. Have you heard of it? We’ve the best selection of bride and bridesmaid’s shoes in the country.’
I nodded, numbly.
‘Still, never mind, you can always diversify as a gift shop.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, getting my voice back. ‘What else is going to be on this retail park?’
‘A giant supermarket, Grocergo, and one or two chain stores.’ She shrugged. ‘The usual kind of thing. Fast-food outlets too, I expect. Our bride shop will be the biggest one in the North.’
She cast another slightly scathing look around the shop and said, ‘Well, nice to meet you. You must come and say hello when we open the new store.’ Then she left on her teetery-tottery stiletto court shoes. I hoped they were as painful to wear as they looked. In fact, I hoped she had hammer toes and bunions.
Bella and I immediately flipped over the Closed sign and locked the door, as if she might try and burst back in again and steal the stock. Then we looked at each other.
‘The One Stop Bridal Shop is super-cheap and they provide everything you could possibly need, but it’s all very tacky,’ Bella offered consolingly. ‘I mean, they’re right the other end of the bridal market to us and they only do a limited range of footwear.’
‘You’ve been in one?’
‘Yes, just once, in the days when I believed Robert was going to divorce his wife any minute and marry me,’ she said slightly bitterly. ‘I wouldn’t have been seen dead in any of their dresses, though, let alone walk down the aisle in one.’
‘They must have kept the whole scheme under wraps, or we’d have heard about it by now.’
‘That mill site is nearer to Ormskirk than here, so I expect that’s why no one knows about it locally,’ she suggested. ‘But I wouldn’t have thought the traders in Ormskirk would be that keen on the scheme, either.’
‘Grocergo stock everything, don’t they? Food, drink, books, toys, furnishings, gifts, hardware,’ I said. ‘So that will hit all the other little shops here in Sticklepond. And those that were thinking of moving in will think better of it.’
‘I don’t suppose anything can be done to stop it,’ Bella said. ‘Happy April Fool’s Day!’
‘I expect it depends on whether planning permission has already been passed or not.’
I mused for a minute and then said, ‘Since it’s Good Friday tomorrow and the shop is shut, I’d already decided to go up to Winter’s End to see how the garden restoration is looking, so I’ll try and spot Hebe Winter and tell her about it. If anything can be done,
she’s
the one to organise it!’
The curate was a quiet, serious kind of man, a bit older than me. Although I didn’t fall in love with him, I liked him very well and, had things been otherwise, might well have settled for marriage and a family with him and been happy enough.
Middlemoss Living Archive
Recordings: Nancy Bright.
It was only with a huge effort of willpower that I stopped myself from carrying on listening to Aunt Nan’s recordings late into last night, since once she’d finally returned to the subject of her clerical admirer I was riveted. I mean, I knew she’d never married, but not that she had turned down a second chance. Clearly something had happened to throw a spanner in the works and I was dying to find out what it was.
What with that, and the threatened opening of the One Stop Bride Shop, I had a largely sleepless night. When I did finally fall asleep I plummeted straight into a strangely muddled version of my Cinderella dream, in which Prince Justin turned into Ivo, who seemed intent on cramming my foot into a meat and potato pie instead of a glass slipper.
No wonder I woke up next morning feeling like death warmed up and served with wan relish!
I was really looking forward to visiting Winter’s End for the first open day of the season, to see how the gardens were getting on since I’d visited them the previous year. And now I had an extra incentive to go, because I hoped to run into Hebe.
But my visit was a bit like another nightmare really, because I kept catching distant glimpses of her elusive figure, clad in full Elizabethan dress and accompanied by Friends of Winter’s End attired as courtiers and ladies, but every time I got to where I’d last seen them, they’d vanished again.
I spotted Shakespeare twice, too, scurrying about furtively like the white rabbit in
Alice in Wonderland
, his chin tucked well down into his ruff and clutching a quill pen and a roll of parchment.
I gave up on Hebe, deciding to ring her later instead, and started a more leisurely tour of the gardens. While I had enough to puzzle me at the moment without trying to find my way through the extensive yew maze, I loved the earthy-smelling darkness of the fern grotto and enjoyed wandering round the new rose garden with its central sculpture of
The Spirit of the Garden
. This had been created by Ottie Winter, Hebe’s twin sister, who is a noted artist, and, although very modern, somehow fitted wonderfully into its setting. I supposed that showed her genius.
In the little tearoom, I had coffee and one of those delicious vanilla slices full of confectioner’s custard and stickily iced on top, and bought a postcard of Ottie’s sculpture. Then, fortified, I visited the terraces at the back of the house. Seth Greenwood had only recently finished recreating them to the original plans the previous year, and he’d added one or two little extra flourishes, like the Shakespeare garden and the wall with the quotes from the Bard carved on the stones.
I was standing on the middle terrace looking down over the stone balustrade at the box-edged true lovers’ knot below me, and marvelling at the way it had already grown together so that it looked as if it had always been there, when a familiar, deeply resonant voice said in my ear, ‘Excuse me, miss, but are these the famous hanging gardens of Sticklepond, eighth wonder of the world?’
I might have gone straight over the balustrade, like a too-eager Juliet, had not Ivo grabbed my arm and apologised for startling me.
‘Not at all – I just didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘I wanted to see these knot gardens you’d told me about and get inspiration for mine.’ He looked down and added, ‘The flowers look nice in the different segments, especially the primroses, but I think I’d prefer herbs in mine, like yours. ‘“Have nothing that is not beautiful and useful,”’ he added.
‘That’s not Shakespeare, is it?’
‘No, I think it’s a paraphrase of William Morris.’
‘That makes a change! Have you seen the Shakespeare quotes cut into the wall holding this terrace up?’
‘No,’ he said interested, ‘but I’d like to. I
have
just seen the alleged Shakespeare manuscript – behind reinforced glass about three inches thick, in a wall safe – though I understand the jury is still out on the authenticity, and probably always will be.’
‘At least they’re not about to argue over whether he carved his own quotes in the terrace wall,’ I said, and Ivo laughed.
‘Nothing would surprise me in the world of Shakespeare!’
It was the first time I’d seen anything other than the faintest Banquo’s ghost of a smile on his face, so it was a bit unnerving. He might be the Prince of Darkness to Justin’s Sun King, but the smile was none the less fascinating.
His face soon returned to its usual sombre expression again and he said, ‘Come on, show me this wall.’
It was there that Hebe finally found me
,
rather than the other way round, and there was no escaping introducing her to Ivo. In fact, I suspect someone had recognised him and told her where he was, for however reclusive you are, you can’t entirely escape being noticed in a village.
‘At last!’ she exclaimed, not so much shaking his hand as seizing it in a bejewelled claw. ‘I have tried to call on you more than once.’
‘I’m so sorry to have missed you, but I expect I was out, Your Majesty,’ he lied, sounding terribly sincere – but then he
is
an actor. Then he gave her a courtly bow, which softened even her up a bit.
‘Since we share this great bond of Shakespeare, I thought perhaps you might like to join the Friends of Winter’s End,’ she said.
‘They’re an Elizabethan re-enactment society,’ I explained, seeing his puzzled expression. ‘They also help out up here as volunteers when the house and gardens are open, wearing Elizabethan dress. You must have noticed them?’
He nodded. ‘It would be hard not to.’
‘It would be a huge draw to visitors if we had a genuine Shakespearian actor reciting from one of the plays – perhaps even a special performance …’ mused Hebe.
‘I’m afraid I’m on a six-months sabbatical, for some peace and quiet,’ Ivo said quickly.
‘And then I expect you’ll be off back to the Royal Shakespeare Company and we’ll hardly see you again after that,’ I suggested and his face went all shuttered.
‘Perhaps. We’ll see. But I certainly don’t want to join anything – and today I just want to enjoy the gardens like any other tourist,’ he said, with that sudden and unexpectedly sweet smile.
She’d started to look affronted but now melted slightly, though I was pretty sure she’d still try to change his mind, so I said quickly,
‘Hebe, I’d hoped to have a word with you today, if you have time.’
‘No time like the present,’ she said, so I explained about the woman coming to the shop and what she’d said about a retail park on the old Hemlock cotton mill site.
As I’d thought, Hebe was flabbergasted. She’d heard nothing about it either but quickly appreciated how it could hit local businesses.
‘Grocergo? That kind of large chain isn’t needed in the area, for everything you could possibly want you can get in this village or in Ormskirk. It will hit local traders hard!’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’
‘But maybe it could be a good thing, bringing in jobs and providing some competition?’ Ivo suggested. I’d forgotten he was there, listening in.
‘On the contrary, it has the potential to wreck the community,’ Hebe told him scathingly, so he had clearly quickly plummeted from favour. Then she turned her aristocratic, hawk-nosed face back to me.
‘I’ll find out about it. We need a plan of action! It’s a nuisance we should only have heard of it over Easter weekend, when it will be hard to get hold of anyone.’
‘If they’ve already passed the planning permission, I don’t suppose there’s much we can
do about it.’
‘Oh, there is always
something
that can be done!’ she assured me, then rearranged her ruff, took a martial grip on her sceptre and strode off, shouting, ‘Shakespeare!’
Mr Glover, who had been scuttling furtively along the top terrace clutching his rolled parchment, gave a great start and then shot into the tearoom. Hebe set off in hot pursuit.
‘I wonder what she’s going to do with him when she’s got him?’ Ivo mused thoughtfully. ‘I feel I’ve had a lucky escape.’
Ivo and I wandered around the terraces and I showed him the fernery and maze, then we went in search of Seth, whom we discovered replenishing the plant stall outside the shop and tearoom.
‘“I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,”’ I said, and he straightened and turned with a smile.
‘Hi, Tansy.’
Once I’d introduced him to Ivo and told him that he was interested in creating a knot garden, I knew there would be no stopping him for hours, so I left them to it and sloped off home.
But it was not to be. Violet and I may not have always got on well, but she was still my sister, and when trouble came she sent an urgent message saying she was ill and asking for me to go down and stay with her. But I knew that whatever story we put about to cover for my absence, I would be gone so long that malicious rumours about the reason for such an extended stay would be circulated and my good name lost.
Middlemoss Living Archive
Recordings: Nancy Bright.
Well, Aunt Nan’s revelations last night were a bit of a stunner! And now, of course, I suspect what her secret is … and it’s the last thing I would have expected of her! But she
was
still very young, so I can only think she was friendlier with that American airman than she let on …
I was hugely tempted to skip to the last recording and find out what
really
happened, of course, but forced myself to carry on and let her tell me in her own time, rambling diversions and all.
I didn’t have much opportunity for brooding anyway, since Easter Saturday turned out to be our busiest day since opening, with lots of brides-to-be in serious shoe-buying mode, early guests for that day’s crop of weddings at All Angels in all their finery popping in for silver shoe-shaped confetti, and a steady stream of tourists following the sign up Salubrious Passage to our door.
Many of the latter loitered in the courtyard, taking photographs on their phones (it is quite quaint, especially if you get the ancient sundial in the picture), drinking from bottles of water or even, in the case of one family, picnicking. There was still quite a chill in the air despite the sunshine, but the courtyard was sheltered.
I had a sprinkling of complaints from them about my ‘No Children’ sign, but it is a wedding shop, after all, full of pale, expensive, easily marked shoes, so when I explained most people were all right about it. Many left their children to run riot around the paved courtyard instead, their yells echoing off the walls, though that was much better than them running riot in the shop.