A Season for Second Chances(42)

The warm apple and cinnamon added their perfumes to the vanilla-scented candles, and Annie shook crisps into bowls and set them on the table. Sally was the first to arrive.

“Oh, this is lovely,” said Sally as Annie closed the door behind her.

“Sweet, isn’t it?” said Annie. “It’s like a time capsule.”

“It’s great,” said Sally. “Are you going to open it up? It would make a fab little bistro in the evenings.”

“Maybe,” said Annie, inwardly fist-pumping; fantasizing about opening the tearoom had begun to play on loop in her mind, and she was gratified to have her inner monologue validated. “Would you like some nonalcoholic punch?”

“Yes, please,” Sally replied, and moved a chair away from the table and inserted her own in its place. She plonked her copy of The Woman in White on the table and grabbed a handful of crisps. “So, how’s it been?” she asked. “New place and all that?”

“The place is great,” said Annie. “I love it. I know already it’s going to be a huge wrench to leave here in the spring. There’s something about the place that seems to wrap you into it. I feel—” Annie stopped, pondering the right word for how she felt. “Ensconced. I feel ensconced.”

“That’s really good news,” said Sally, having another crisp. “I am genuinely pleased for you. I won’t lie to you, when I first spoke to you, that day on the phone, I was seriously worried about your mental health.”

“So was I,” said Annie. “I think I needed to reboot.”

“Everyone gets body-slammed by life at least once in their lives,” said Sally. “But look at you now! You’ve got a nice little place—in the arse end of nowhere, admittedly—and you’re back on top of your personal hygiene; it’s all good.”

Annie laughed.

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect to be quite so settled so soon,” said Annie.

“And what about the ex?” asked Sally.

“Not so settled,” said Annie.

“Those shelves look well stocked,” Sally said, casting a look around.

“Yes.” Annie smiled. “I may have opened the kiosk. I’m just trying it on for size.”

“Well, it’s good to see that the stupid husband didn’t squash your entrepreneurial spirit. Well done, you!”

A trilling outside was followed by a deeper snappish voice and a knock at the door. Annie ushered Gemma and Maeve into the tearoom and quickly shut the door on the chill. Gemma was waving a bottle of wine above her head like she’d just entered a dorm-room party.

“She’s been insufferable all the way here,” Maeve complained, taking her Barbour coat off and chucking it onto the bench along the window; the candles flickered in protest.

“I’m excited,” trilled Gemma. “Our first book club meeting. Oh, Annie, I love what you’ve done with the place, it looks so cozy.” She caught sight of Sally and stretched out her wine-free hand. “Gemma,” she said. “You must be Sally. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Maeve,” said Maeve, shaking Sally’s hand next. She inclined her head toward Gemma, who was cooing over the pesto tartlets on the counter. “She’ll be asleep by ten,” she said. “She has the temperament of a Labrador puppy.”

Sally laughed.

“So, you’ve decided to open the kiosk proper, then,” said Maeve. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“News travels fast,” said Annie.

“The Willow Bay hotline never sleeps,” said Gemma. “It’ll be lovely to able to buy the kids hot drinks after a cold walk.”



* * *



—

Annie poured drinks and laid the tartlets out on the table. The candles settled down to a gentle quiver as everybody took their seats. Each woman had her copy in front of her, except Maeve, who tapped her head, saying: “It’s all in here.”

Gemma had brought a notebook with gold-edged pages, which she smoothed open with her palms.

“I’ve been making notes while the children do coloring in,” she said.

“Right,” said Maeve. “Let’s begin.”

The women shuffled in their seats and ran their hands over their books as though divining inspiration from the jackets.

“It was long,” said Sally. “But not as long as it seemed when I read it at school.”

“But not boring,” said Gemma.

Sally nodded. “No, the explanations and descriptions seemed pertinent.”

“And at least not all the women were drips,” said Annie.

“I assume you’re referring to Marian?” said Maeve, leaning back in her chair. “Unusual for a male writer of the time to write a woman of such gumption and not have her fainting all over the place.”

“I hate that,” said Gemma. She put her hand to her forehead and feigned a Victorian swoon. “Oh, I do declare,” she said in a wispy voice. “I just caught sight of Julian’s sock-suspender!”

“Laura faints all over the place,” said Sally. “Made me want to slap her with a wet cod.”

“All delicacy and self-effacing,” agreed Annie. “Why wasn’t Walter in love with Marian? She was much more interesting.”