The Keeper of Lost Things(27)
“Yes, it is. Shall I show you?”
“Not today. I’ll finish my tea and washing-up liquid first, and then there’s a job I have to go to. But next time I’m here, it’s a date.”
Sunshine almost smiled. Laura was beginning to feel a little superfluous.
“Anthony was certainly a very good man, Sunshine, but strictly speaking, he wasn’t a saint.”
Freddy drained his cup. “Well now, he could have been. Have you never heard of St. Anthony of Padua, the patron saint of lost things?”
Laura shook her head.
“I kid you not. It’s true. Five years at Sunday school,” he added by way of explanation.
Sunshine smiled triumphantly. Now she had two friends.
CHAPTER 19
Laura was throwing away her old life. It was going to be a messy business. She tipped a boxful of junk into the bin and slammed the lid shut, blowing a puff of dust and dirt into her face in the process. She had been sorting through the last of her things she had brought with her from the flat, many of which hadn’t been unpacked since she had moved from the house she had shared with Vince. If she hadn’t needed them in the last ten years, she reasoned, she wasn’t likely to need them now. The local charity shop might have been glad to have some of her “junk,” but that would involve a trip into town which Laura wasn’t keen to make. “I’m too busy for that at the moment . . .” she convinced herself. Before the ink could dry on her words of excuse, they were smudged with guilt as she remembered Anthony’s letter: “There is a world outside Padua and it is well worth a visit now and then.” Another day, she promised herself.
She wiped the grime from her face with her hands, and then wiped her hands on her jeans. God, she was filthy; time for a shower.
“Hello. Do you work here?”
The question came from a leggy blonde who appeared down the path at the side of the house in skintight jeans and pale pink suede loafers which boasted telltale Gucci horse bit trims and matched perfectly with her cashmere sweater. Laura’s dumbfounded expression clearly caused the young woman to assume that she was either foreign, simple, or deaf. She tried again, speaking very slowly and a little too loudly.
“I’m looking for Freddo—the groundsman.”
Thankfully, at that moment, the very man himself appeared, sauntering down the garden carrying a wooden crate of freshly dug potatoes that he set down at Laura’s feet.
“Darling Freddo!”
The young woman flung her arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically on the lips. Freddy gently untangled himself and took her hand.
“Felicity, what in God’s name are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to take my darling boyfriend out to lunch.”
Freddy grinned. He looked a little uncomfortable.
“Felicity, this is Laura. Laura this is Felicity.”
“So I gather.” Laura nodded, but didn’t offer her hand, which was just as well because Felicity wasn’t in the habit of shaking hands with “the help.” The happy couple trotted off, arm in arm, and Laura took the potatoes into the kitchen and banged the crate down on the table.
“Sodding cheek!” she fumed. “Do I look like I work here?”
Catching sight of herself in the hall mirror, Laura was forced to reconsider. With her unkempt hair scragged back under a spotted bandanna, grime-streaked face, and baggy, shapeless sweatshirt, she looked like a modern-day scullery maid.
“Bugger!”
She stomped upstairs and had a long hot shower, but afterward, as she sat on her bed swathed in a towel, it was clear that the water had only succeeded in washing away the dirt and not her anger. She was jealous. She was mortified to admit it, but she was. The sight of that wretched woman kissing Freddy had thoroughly annoyed her. Laura raised her eyebrows at her own reflection in the dressing-table mirror and smiled sheepishly.
“I can go out to lunch if I like.”
That was it. She would go out to lunch. Anthony had wanted her to go out, and so she would. Today. Right now.
The Moon Is Missing was a “smart casual” pub with “black tie” aspirations. Its proximity to St. Luke’s meant it was popular for post-funeral pick-me-ups and pre-wedding loin-girders. Laura ordered a whiskey and soda, and “herb-crumbed goujons of cod served with hand-cut wedges of King Edwards and a lightly frothed tartare sauce,” and took a seat in one of the booths that lined the wall facing the bar. Her bravura had deserted her almost as soon as she had left the house, and what should have been a treat had become something to endure, like a visit to the dentist or a crawl through rush-hour traffic. Laura was glad she had arrived early enough to bag a booth, and that she had remembered to bring a book with her to hide behind, just in case anyone tried to talk to her. On her way here, it had suddenly and rather worryingly occurred to her that Freddy and the frisky Felicity might also be lunching in this particular pub, but much though the thought horrified her, she was too stubborn to turn back. And so here she was, drinking in the middle of the day, which was unheard of, and pretending to read a book she wasn’t really interested in, while waiting for a lunch that she didn’t really want. All in order to prove a point to herself and not let Anthony down. And to think that she could have been at home cleaning the cooker. Even Laura couldn’t help but crack a wry smile at her own ridiculousness.