The Chic Boutique On Baker Street. Rachel Dove

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СКАЧАТЬ the little confectioner’s that used to be here on this very street. Molly had long since died, and the shop now changed hands, but the feel and look of the shops were still the same. She looked at the newest shop—A New Lease of Life. Rumour was—and Agatha always knew the truth—that the new owner was a city dweller, a quiet pale girl, who had recently upped sticks and moved to Westfield alone. The type of shop she had opened perturbed Agatha, and had since she had heard the new business application from the council meeting. Westfield was very much a make do and mend type of village, and an upcycling shop, whilst being a trendy fad to the city folk in today’s austere times, was less of a new concept to the villagers. The villagers here never threw out anything without revamping it or repairing it as much as possible, and not many people didn’t know how to sew, knit or bake. She did wonder how long this newcomer would stay, as she couldn’t see the shop being much of a success, even with the tourist trade. She made a mental note to investigate further. She would pay this girl a visit tomorrow and see what was what. Maybe she could help her integrate into the village, and boost her trade. She was just about to tell Taylor he could open the door to get the dogs out, when something caught her eye in the new shop window. Or rather, someone did. Ben Evans, town vet and owner of the dog groomer’s next door, was outside watering the planters at the front of the shop. Or, more accurately, he was drowning them. His arm was holding the green watering can over the poor spluttering plants, but his gaze was firmly on the shop window next door. More accurately, he was focused on the woman within, who was bent over the large wooden table in the centre of the shop, cutting and measuring fabric. She was a pretty thing, Agatha noted, with long brown hair tied in a loose, messy plait, her thin frame covered in a pretty floral dress and matching pastel pink bolero cardigan. Agatha watched as Ben’s eyes never left her back. She was the polar opposite of his ex-wife, Tanya, that was evident. Agatha’s brow furrowed at the memory of the Day-Glo orange Mrs Evans as was. All labelled clothes, designer perfume, which choked everybody in a one-mile radius, and gaudy talon-like fake nails. Everyone in Westfield had been scandalised when Ben, a native of the village, had returned fresh from university with his new love in tow. She was at such odds to Ben and his quiet, kind ways. Agatha had never taken to the woman, and was not sad when she had left for the bright lights and temptations of city life. She had felt for Ben though; the evil witch had decimated the poor young Evans lad, and he had not been the same since. Agatha’s romantic side kicked in immediately, and she was just thinking how wonderful it would be for the two to get together, when the moment was abruptly broken. The nearest plant, bearing the brunt, was half dead, gurgling with the sheer weight of the water, and the terracotta pot, now full, began to overflow and splashed on Ben’s denim-clad feet. Startled, Ben jumped back, tripping over the A-board that Tracy always had too close to the shop, and promptly fell over, his legs in the air. Quick as a flash, he jumped up, swinging his limbs widely. Grabbing the A-board for support, he straightened himself up, now damp, and cast a furtive glance at the window to see if the girl had seen. The girl in the shop, however, simply worked on, unaware of the drama outside.

      Ben dusted himself down quickly and Taylor took this as his cue to get out of the car, coming round to Agatha’s door. Ben looked horrified, obviously realising that his little trip to the pavement had not gone completely unnoticed. He nodded sheepishly at Taylor and, looking into the car, beamed at Agatha, his grey eyes shining with embarrassment. Agatha grinned back at him before she could stop herself. She had always had a soft spot for the Evans boy, and he had grown into a fine young man.

      The dogs loved him too and, as Taylor opened the door, they both made a break for it, Ben only just catching their leads before they barrelled into the shop.

      ‘Good morning, Mrs Mayweather, how are you and your fine charges doing today?’

      Agatha smiled. ‘Fine, Benjamin, fine, as muddy as always, I am afraid. Buster here still thinks he is a spring chicken. I am afraid he was chasing rabbits again in the far paddock, poor Archibald had to dig him out of the warren!’

      Ben chuckled, thinking of the surly gardener, Archie, who had been the Mayweathers’ gardener for many years. He had been great friends with Ben’s father, Edward, and the only time anyone had ever heard him talk, let alone laugh, was in the Four Feathers on a Saturday evening, whilst thrashing Ben’s dad at the weekly darts and dominoes night. Ben’s parents had both since passed away, and thinking of Archie gave Ben a pang of loss for his dearly departed mother and father.

      Tracy came to the door of the shop and smiled tightly at Agatha.

      ‘Good morning, Mrs Mayweather.’

      Agatha smiled tightly in return, trying not to stare at the girl’s shocking pink hair, which today was piled on top of her head like a solid structure of candy floss. The youth of today, she thought to herself. Tracy moved closer to Ben, taking the dog leads, attached to the very bouncy Maisie and Buster, from his grasp. Agatha caught a flash of colour from the shop window next door, and discreetly turned her gaze. The girl from the shop was now furtively staring at Ben as he chatted to Taylor, and her gaze flitted from Ben to Tracy, and back again. Did she think these two were together? Agatha’s interest was peaked. The look on the girl’s face was one she had seen before. It was how her husband used to look at her during their courting days, and how the young Evans lad had been looking at the girl only minutes before. The cogs started turning in Agatha’s quick mind, and a seed of a plan began to form.

      As Taylor said their goodbyes, closing the door near Agatha and moving to his own, he looked at his long-term employer and suppressed a smile. I know that look, he thought to himself, that woman is plotting again …

      Had Agatha noticed Taylor watching her through the rear-view mirror as she straightened her already immaculate suit on the leather upholstery of the back seat, she would have seen his amused look, and another, very different look in his eyes. But Mrs Mayweather was lost in thought, planning her strategy on her next pet project, and, as everyone knew, what Agatha Mayweather wanted, she generally got, sooner rather than later.

       Four

       Four months earlier

       London

      Stepping down onto the platform, Amanda juggled her leather briefcase, black wool coat and Grande Caramel Macchiato. She felt grotty, despite the flesh-grating power shower she had subjected her skin to only hours before. The fetid stench of the rat race seemingly clung to her clothes. The memory of the sweaty bloke’s armpit she’d travelled pressed up against on the train was still fresh in her memory, and the smell still lingered in her nostrils. She took a gulp of her strong caffeine and sugar fix and fumbled for her ticket, swiping it as she went past the ticket barrier, a single body in the herd of office workers walking stridently towards the various workplaces in the city centre. Feeling a buzz from her handbag, she tapped on her Bluetooth earpiece, barking, ‘Perry!’ into the busy atmosphere.

      ‘Miss Perry, it’s Elaine. I just wanted to go over your schedule for today. You haven’t left any time for lunch again. Do you want me to rearrange anything?’

      Angela rolled her eyes, almost tipping her coffee over herself as she flicked her wrist to check her watch. ‘No, Elaine, it’s fine. I will send out for something, and have a working lunch.’ She walked out of the station, click-clacking in her high heels along the pavement towards her office, law firm Stokes Partners at Law. She could hear her long-suffering assistant sighing down the line.

      ‘No problem, Miss Perry, shall I ring Antony’s?’ Antony’s was the deli round the corner from the office, and they delivered. Pasta, salads, breads and cheeses to die for. Amanda’s stomach growled, betraying the yoghurt and blueberries she had gulped down this morning. Amanda smiled at her assistant’s fussy care of her.

      ‘Yes, СКАЧАТЬ