The Chocolate Collection. Trisha Ashley

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СКАЧАТЬ you go, there is something I need your assistance with, Chloe. Here, take this compass and box of chalks and I will bring the maps and yardstick.’

      It appeared that he wanted me to help mark out a huge pentagram on the floor at the far end of the museum, which he obviously deemed to be of much more importance and urgency than my unpacking.

      But there was never any point in trying to deflect him from a course he was truly determined on, so I meekly took the chalk and did what he told me. Naturally, this involved a lot of measurements and constant references to a largescale map, on which he had drawn the conjunction of the two important ley lines.

      Well, that was fiddly, but eventually it was done to his satisfaction and I promised to buy a huge roll of masking tape and some hard-wearing paint later that morning and make the pentagram permanent.

      The windows, which were fortunately mostly at the back of the building, were to be hung with dark blue velvet, and a curtain of the same material would frame the pentagram end of the room, a bit like a stage, so that area could be shut off when the museum was closed.

      ‘The curtains are delayed. They should have been delivered today, but they have promised they will be finished by the end of the week – in good time for the full moon, you know.’

      ‘Oh? Well, I hope they do, because it’s a big job to complete so quickly, isn’t it?’

      ‘They will finish in time,’ he stated positively, then cast a satisfied eye around the room. ‘It will all work very well: the visitors will think the pentagram is part of the exhibition, since there will be an illustrated history of the Old Religion hung around the walls at that end.’

      ‘They have something similar in the hall at Winter’s End, Grumps – but mostly about Alys Blezzard, the family witch.’

      ‘She was little more than a herbalist, like Hebe Winter,’ he said dismissively. ‘But my history will be comprehensive and all-embracing.’

      ‘Do you know Hebe Winter, Grumps? I haven’t met her, though I have seen her about.’

      ‘Our paths have crossed once or twice in the past.’ He delved randomly into the nearest packing case and came up with a particularly scary-looking Balinese mask. ‘Now, why would that be in the Fetish box?’

      My reply was drowned out by a thunderous knocking at the museum door, which proved to be two workmen with the freshly repainted museum sign.

      We went out to see the board fixed into place over the entrance door, standing at the edge of the pavement out of the way of the ladders.

      Across the road old Mrs Snowball, who had evidently just finished her daily paving stone purge, called ‘Coo-ee!’ and flapped a hand at Grumps.

      He bowed in her direction, gracefully doffing his fez, before turning back to admire his sign:

      GREGORY WARLOCK’S MUSEUM OF WITCHCRAFT A CELEBRATION OF ALL THINGS PAGAN

      There was also a folding wooden billboard that would stand on the pavement outside the door when the museum was open, enticingly listing the delights to be obtained inside and also the charges for entry.

      I hadn’t had any hand in this, so I read with interest that the museum would open from two until four on five days a week, from Easter to September, and weekends only off-season.

      ADMISSION: FOUR POUNDS NO CONCESSIONS NO CHILDREN UNDER 12 YEARS OF AGE PARKING AT REAR OF BUILDING

      ‘We have plenty of time to get it ready if you mean to open in early April, Grumps.’

      ‘Yes, though all the exhibits need arranging, and a guidebook and perhaps some pamphlets must be produced. But I am sure it can be done in time, and then Zillah says she will be happy to take charge of the desk when I am otherwise engaged.’

      ‘I don’t suppose it’s that much different from reading fortunes at the end of a pier, so she will probably enjoy it. And I can help out too, of course, if you need me,’ I offered.

      ‘You have your own little business to run,’ he said graciously.

      ‘Yes, but I can still give you a hand if things are really busy in peak tourist season. I’ll set up the Chocolate Wishes equipment this afternoon and then Jake’s going to see if he can reconnect us to broadband when he gets back, so I can print off my new orders.’

      That had to be the first priority, and then getting the cottage sorted out. But after that, finally, I could get at my potentially lovely walled garden!

      ‘Jake will work at the museum in his university vacations, I have spoken to him about it. For one day,’ Grumps added, with a magnificently sweeping gesture at the Old Smithy, ‘all this will be his. Except the little cottage, of course – I am arranging to have that transferred into your name.’

      Stunned, I turned to stare at him. ‘In my name? You mean…I’ll own it? But Grumps—’

      ‘But me no buts,’ he said grandly.

      ‘It’s so kind of you, Grumps!’ I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, which he suffered me to do rather in Jake’s manner, though I know they both quite like it, really. Then an unwelcome and probably unworthy thought struck me. ‘But what if Mum comes back? Won’t she expect—’

      ‘Your mother has chosen her own path and deserves nothing more from any of us. If she returns after I’m gone, then I would strongly advise you to send her on her way again. Any share of my inheritance she might think she deserves has already gone to pay off her debts.’

      This was very true…and already I was feeling possessive about my little cottage! I was happy for it to be Jake’s home for as long as he needed it, but there was no way I could share living space with my mother ever again.

      Having finished their job the workmen packed up their tools and departed and Grumps fell back a bit, so that he could admire the sign again. The weak late February sunshine gilded his long, silver hair under the fez and shone off the bald patches on the seat and elbows of his quilted velvet robe. For the first time I noticed he had only thin, red leather Moroccan slippers on his feet and I was about to urge him to go back in, since the cold from the pavement would be striking upwards, when there was a screeching noise from the road behind us. A small white Mini had jarred to an abrupt stop and was quivering by the pavement.

      A tall, silver-haired, imposing woman unfolded herself from it and confronted Grumps: Hebe Winter, soon to be not the only witch in the village. Though actually, going by the way old Mrs Snowball had been carrying on, Hebe may have had company all along without realising it. Perhaps she was the only solitary witch in the village.

      ‘Hello, Hebe,’ Grumps said, doffing his fez again, as he had done to Mrs Snowball.

      ‘You?’

      ‘Yes, me,’ he agreed, quite mildly for him. ‘How are you, my dear? Still dabbling in the shallows of alchemy, turning herbs into money?’

      She didn’t appear to register what he had said, for she’d now spotted the museum sign and an expression of outrage appeared on her patrician features. ‘Can it be possible that it is you who have bought the Old Smithy – that you intend to live in Sticklepond?’

      ‘It СКАЧАТЬ