A Season for Second Chances(54)

In the midst of it all, Annie found herself looking out for John Granger. She wanted him to see how positive the response was, what she had achieved. But he didn’t show, or at least she hadn’t spotted him. But then she hadn’t had much time to see any of the proceedings, really. From the moment Pam had cut the ribbon, Annie had been practically attached to the coffee machine. The cakes she had made sold out by half past eleven, and the crisps and bars she’d bought at the cash-and-carry had gone by lunchtime. She knew it was a false indicator of what she would need realistically day by day; she was pretty sure mid-November would be a markedly subdued turnout by comparison. But Mari would receive a healthy twenty percent from her first day’s trading, which would be one in the eye for her nephew.

A large bouquet of flowers arrived in the afternoon, causing plenty of tongues to wag. Of course, it was from Max, the gracious deserted husband.

Maeve tsked when she saw them. “A more heartfelt way to show you care would be to not screw other women,” she said dryly.

Sally arrived with Susan, and Susan made all the right appreciative noises about the café.

“So, this is where my other half keeps disappearing off to of an evening,” said Susan, smiling.

“Poor Susan gets a blow-by-blow account of book club,” said Sally.

“I’m thinking of writing a sitcom about it.” Susan arched an eyebrow.

Annie laughed. “Oh, crikey, that’ll send the historical society into overdrive!”



* * *



—

    Samantha left to relieve Tom up at the shop, and Maeve heroically stepped in to her place behind the counter. It took her a few goes to get to grips with the new high-tech till, but none of the customers were about to complain to Maeve’s face.

“Looking for anyone in particular?” Maeve asked when she saw Annie scanning the groups of people through the window.

“Oh,” said Annie. Busted. “I was wondering if John Granger would make an appearance. He’d said he wouldn’t, but I thought he might not be able to resist spying on me.”

“I think he went to Cornwall for a few days to catch up with Mari and his daughter.”

“His daughter?”

“Yes, Celeste; must be about twenty-two, twenty-three now? She went to live there after uni, does something to do with the Cornwall Wildlife Trust, looking after ditches or some such. She’s a good girl. Did work experience on my farm. Feisty, like her dad. John is an absolute fool for her, thinks the sun shines out of her backside. But then I suppose we all think that about our kids.”

Oh, Celeste is his daughter, not his wife! Annie thought. She didn’t know why, but the revelation pleased her. She couldn’t imagine John being anybody’s fool, but she liked the idea that he had someone to give him a run for his money.

“I hope he’s not giving Mari a hard time about me opening the café,” said Annie.

“Don’t judge him too harshly.”

Annie pulled a face and was about to respond when Maeve put up a hand.

“I know, you two got off on the wrong foot and, yes, he can come across as brash. But his heart’s in the right place. Last winter was very hard for Mari; much harder than she let on.”

“But to force her to sell?”

“Did Mari tell you that?”

“Well, no, but . . .”

“Mari may not want to sell to builders, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t open to the idea of selling. Mari is a romantic and John is a pragmatist, but I am given to understand that their end goal is the same.”

Annie reflected on Maeve’s words. Perhaps her own wish to stay in Willow Bay and Emily’s fervent hopes to save Saltwater Nook had clouded her opinion of John Granger. Admittedly he did himself no favors, he was gruff and overly formal and quick to judge, but maybe his heart was in the right place.





Chapter 42



At four o’clock, Raye and Aiden helped the band pack up their stuff and began to ferry the garden furniture back up to the pubs ready for the barbecue. The last customers finished their drinks and melted away. The chill in the air was beginning to bite without the sun to lend its warmth.

Annie was exhausted; she could feel the armchair and the TV upstairs in the tiny sitting room calling her name, but since both sets of Willow Bay publicans had turned out in support of her new venture, she felt she must show her face at their joint barbecue.

“Don’t you have to get back for Alfred?” Annie asked.

“Back for Alfred?” Maeve exclaimed.

“I thought he was fixing your guttering today.”

“He is.”

“Oh, well, it’s just that he said he was going to get a pie and mash supper out of it.”

“He is,” said Maeve again. “He doesn’t need me to sit up there with him while he eats it! Besides, Alfred’s like me, not afraid of his own company. All he’s got to do is sling it in the microwave.”

“Has Alfred got a key to your house?” asked Gemma.

“Doesn’t need a key,” said Maeve. “I didn’t lock the door.”

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” asked Annie.

“Not really, my cottage is on the farm; there’s always some bugger around to notice if something is amiss. And both the girls know how to use a shotgun.”