Chapter 30
Archer
Archer entered the back door of the kitchens to find Maggie at the stove frying bacon. He felt like the bisto kid inhaling a lung full of the amazing smells.
“Are you hungry?” she called over her shoulder without looking at him.
“Always Maggie,” he replied.
“You’ll have to eat toast tomorrow along with Bailey. This is the last of the bacon until I can get down into the high street.”
“What?” he barked in mock outrage. “No bacon sandwich?”
With the frying pan in hand, Maggie turned in a circle and walked over to the side bench, chuckling.
“Yes, Archer, you’ll cope.”
“I don’t think I will. Is there a national shortage?”
“No. But I’m too busy to leave Turner Hall. You’ve eaten through my bacon stocks. Miss Turner doesn’t eat it. It’s only you and Bailey. ”
“I’ll go for you. Is there anything else you need from the butcher?”
“No, Archer. I wouldn’t make you go and see the butcher.”
“He’s still my grandfather even if his daughter ran off and left us.”
“Oh, Archer. I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“A mother abandoning her four kids, never to be heard from again but apparently is still alive? Yeah, sure, there’s bound to be a really great reason for never getting in contact with her children. Not even when her husband died. They never divorced, so she was still his wife.”
Archer couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. Maggie put the pan down and came over to the bench seat at the kitchen table. Her plump body twisted at the waist, and she wrapped her arms around his body from the side. The harder she squeezed him, the more Archer wanted to lash out. Being hugged by his childhood cook and surrogate mother felt safe and comforting.
“I’m sorry, Archer. I’ll get the bacon.”
“I’ll get the bacon,” Archer replied. He looped his arm around to bring her head in close, and he kissed into her hair. “Give me the list, and I’ll get everything you need.”
“Why don’t I phone it through, and you just need to pop in and pick it up. If you don’t want to stay and talk then, it will minimise the awkwardness.”
“Okay,” he said, patting her arm to encourage her to move out of her motherly hold before he started sobbing. “Sounds like a plan.”
While Maggie busied herself making his bacon sandwich, his mind drifted back to a couple of days ago when he walked through the rows of narcissi at the farm. Erica had never visited a flower farm before and was in awe of the thousands of flowering plants as far as the eye could see. All the flower farms were part of their upbringing. As the eldest, he could remember going with his parents and grandparents numerous times. His sister Daisy hadn’t had the opportunity to run through pathways with their mother. She’d left when Daisy was six months old. His brother Jason had some knowledge of going out as a family, but not many he admits to remembering. Luke was a toddler at two and a half years and remembered little at all. Jason was angry, he was bitter, Luke was indifferent, and Daisy was nostalgic for a mother she’d never met.
He managed to pry out Bailey and Maggie other items they needed in town and took the golf buggy down the hill to collect provisions. Ordinarily, they would have to wait a week or fetch it themselves. With only Erica as a guest, who Maggie told him wanted very little in food requirements over the stock items they’d provided, they only needed to feed themselves and his aunt.
Parking up in a side street, he walked straight to the butchers to get it over with first. When he arrived at the window-fronted establishment, he found there was a queue out the door. The green metal strands acting as a curtain to keep the flies out swished as each person left and the next ventured inside. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, his name was called out.
Archer looked to the man, his grandfather, his mother’s father. Pete Boyle. The white-haired man with a ruddy complexion and the bluest eyes was happy to see him. Archer noted he was much slimmer than when he last saw him but looked in good health.
“Maggie said you were coming to collect her order. It’s good to see you, Archer,” Pete said, coming around the glass counter and bringing Archer in for a bear hug. “It’s been too long, and Betty will be thrilled that you’re back.”
Mrs Boyle was never as joyful when speaking with Archer but was polite.
“You’re looking well, Pete,” Archer replied when he was let out of the second hug of the morning.
“Thanks,” he said and returned to his side of the counter and disappeared out the back, coming straight back with a tray of meat.
“Here’s Maggie’s order. Lucy has your vegetables next door.”
“Okay, thanks,” I pop in there next.
“Is Jason, Luke, and Daisy here too?”
“No, not yet.”
“How long are you here on the island?”
“It could be forever. It depends on my aunt’s mood.”
Pete Boyle nodded sagely, his smile slipping from his face. “Well, I hope it goes in your favour. It would be great to see you all back.”
Archer nodded, not commenting, and lifted the tray of food to wave farewell.
“Come into The Anchor for a pint. I’m there most evenings,” Pete called out to his back.
“Will do,” Archer replied, leaving the butcher’s shop so others could come in.
He took the fully laden buggy back to the kitchens after a quick trip to the greengrocers and two other shops. He unloaded everything while Bailey and Maggie ferried the food to their rightful places.
“When are we going to meet the future Mrs Turner?” Maggie asked when all the produce was put away.
“Who? ”
“We know everything, Archer. The woman you’ve proposed to, Erica, I think her name is.”
“Yeah,” Archer said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I am getting married—Erica Taylor, who is staying in the cottage.”
“That’s fast work,” she answered.
“When you know, you know, ya know,” he replied.
“Bring her with one morning for breakfast. She must be running out of food by now.”
“I will. Is the mistress of the house in the morning room?”
“Yes, Bailey has just taken her a pot of tea.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later. If you need me to make another trip, let me know.”
He left Maggie in the kitchen, raced up the stairs to the grand foyer, and strode across the marble floor. When his aunt was holed away in her greenhouse, he’d skid along the floor in his socks as it was the only big space where he could mess about as a kid and not knock over a family heirloom when it was raining. Grinning at the memories of happier times when he and Jason introduced their dad to skidding around, he entered the morning room. When the door was open, it permitted anyone to enter unannounced. He hated he had to knock on a closed door before he was allowed to enter, especially when it was the living room.
“Hello, aunt,” he said as he entered the room.
Aunt Cynthia was in a pair of tartan slacks and a twin set. One strand of pearls around her neck.
“I hear you went into town today to see that man,” she said without looking at him.
Something had her attention out of the window. Archer betted it was a blade of grass.
“I went into town to pick up Maggie’s meat order. ”
“And to speak with Imelda’s father,” she said.
Imelda was his mother, the butcher’s daughter, and not the woman his father was supposed to marry. His aunt had spent every day after Imelda had walked out of the family saying I told you so in a million different ways.
“We spoke yes, he is my grandfather.”
“Your grandfather is dead, Archer.”
“I have two. You can’t change that fact. You can’t rub my mother’s family off the family tree.”
Cynthia turned to him, a saucer balanced on her palm and the cup midway to her lips. “You want to make a bet about that?”
“My mother has nothing to do with you. My father’s marriage has nothing to do with you. So why do you hate Mr Boyle, anyway?”
“It doesn’t matter. The fact is, you’re following in your father’s footsteps, marrying the first woman to turn your head and not look for good stock to continue the Turner line.”
“You’ve forced my hand with your ridiculous conditions.”
“I gave you three months. There’s plenty of time to find a better wife.”
“You don’t know anything about Erica.”
“I know all I need to.”
“If Erica is not good enough and I’m not allowed to whore my way around town, how the hell am I supposed to find a wife to meet your criteria?”
“We can arrange a match from the lower-level aristocracy.”
“No. We made a deal. I find a wife, and you give me the business. That’s it.”
“You’re no better than your father. ”
“I’ll take that as a compliment because, despite your best efforts, he was a fantastic dad.”
He didn’t let her reply and carried on. “Where can I get in touch with the wedding manager?”
“Ask Bailey.”
“He doesn’t know who he is. So back to you, where can I get in touch with the wedding manager for Edward Hall. Does he live in town?”
“He lives on the mainland.”
“Then I need his number to help Erica, and I organise the celebrations.”
“What celebrations? You go to church, get married, and then we come back here for afternoon tea.”
“Times have moved on. Erica and I will want to celebrate with our friends.”
In truth, he had no idea what Erica wanted, but he was on a roll, pushing his luck.
“I’ll locate the paperwork and leave it out for you.”
“Thank you.”
Archer left the morning room and passed Bailey on the threshold, they nodded, and Archer marched out of Turner Hall to find Erica.