Chapter Seven
‘—and that’s as far as I’ve got!’ Ditty said with as broad a smile as she could manage.
Really, she should have been more prepared. There were only two weeks left until this proposal, and in truth, she didn’t really have anything much yet.
Other than the restaurant, of course. Ditty had eaten every evening at Reg’s and was already wondering how she was going to live without that focaccia bread when she returned to London.
But despite her meagre plans, Charles looked thrilled. ‘I love it!’
Ditty blinked. They were in his law office, an impressive one. The seat she was sitting on was very comfortable. The large one Charles was seated on, on the other side of the desk, looked even more luxurious.
‘Oh, I would not have thought of half these things,’ he continued. ‘Really inspiring, you know—but then, that’s why I hired you!’
It was good to hear after the week she’d had.
She’d been forced to stop reading newspapers altogether in the mere fear she’d start noticing that every newspaper was mentioning her disaster of a life.
No one deserved that, and the very least they could do was get her name right!
She’d been Annabelle, Alphabelle—which she wasn’t even sure was a name—and for some reason, Delphine. It was ridiculous!
But that was what happened, she supposed, when a mere spinster went up against the son of an earl.
But here, at least, she was starting to be appreciated as she deserved.
Even though the proposal was not entirely planned, she had put a lot of thought into it.
The florist had been a great help, and now that she could be certain Reg’s restaurant could serve up the best meal she had tasted in a long time, half the setting was arranged.
So all she had to do was work on those finishing touches.
‘Charles, tell me,’ said Ditty aloud, ‘is there a haberdasher in Brexley?’
She hadn’t seen one in her walk along King’s Street, and although she’d ventured into some of the lanes leading from it, she hadn’t spotted anything that looked like it sold buttons and ribbons.
There would always be custom-made things needed in a proposal, and usually she had three or four places she could go to commission items. But in Brexley?
Her heart sank as Charles considered, then shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Mrs Fletcher’s sister used to have a place, but it closed last year, the village is simply too small. Those who can afford it send away to Marchester, those who cannot, make do and mend. Why?’
Ditty sighed. ‘It’s nothing, it’s just, well, I always like to commission a few things for the proposal. Some keepsakes, sometimes something to decorate—’
‘Oh, well, that’s different,’ said Charles confidently. ‘We’ve got a place for that.’
Ditty blinked. ‘You…you do?’
‘Oh, yes, if you want something knitted or crocheted or woven or baked, there’s only one place in Brexley you go,’ said Charles with a smile. ‘The Brexley Lodge for Gentlemen and Ladies of a Certain Age.’
Ditty’s face fell.
Gentlemen and ladies of a certain age?
The last thing she needed was some old dears getting in her way. This was supposed to be a perfect proposal!
Obviously her scepticism showed on her face, for Charles laughed. ‘You’d be surprised—our ladies have won prizes for their embroidery, and there’s nothing old Brian can’t do with a hammer and nails. Here, I’ll give you directions.’
And that was how Ditty was somehow convinced to hike up what felt like a very steep hill just west of the town, up an icy path, in search of old-lady knitters.
Really, was this what she had been reduced to?
Charles had described it as a community in the Lodge of the Glanyrafon Estate, designed for those who didn’t want to live on their own, but weren’t always unwell.
A community, he’d said. Not a hospital. Go on up, I think you’ll enjoy it there.
And perhaps she would, Ditty thought as she puffed for breath. If she ever got there!
Reaching the peak of the hill, the road twisted to the left. Ditty walked along it for just a minute before a large building appeared with an astounding pair of wrought iron gates.
It was beautiful. If she hadn’t seen the sign, Brexley Lodge for Gentlemen and Ladies of a Certain Age: Where Love Comes to Roost, she would have guessed it was a manor house, or some sort of impressive home for a wealthy family.
It was only as she grew closer that she started to notice how dilapidated it was.
The window frames were elegant, but in sore need of repainting. One of the windowpanes was boarded up, which didn’t make sense. Why not fix it?
Ditty’s eyes scanned over the unimpressive patch jobs that had been done to the brickwork around the door, and the flickering light on the third floor.
What was going on here?
Still, she needed someone who knew one end of a needle from the other. There was nothing to do but go in and see what she could find.
The hall she walked into had seen better days. Wallpaper was peeling from the ceiling, and there was a run-down, almost unloved atmosphere.
No, not unloved. Ditty corrected herself silently as she stepped to a desk in the corner where a woman sat with a beaming gaze.
There was love in this place, you could feel it oozing from the walls—alongside the slightly damp smell she now registered.
Someone had tried to tape the wallpaper back up.
Someone had placed a painting on the wall in an attempt to keep the wallpaper from falling down.
There were fresh flowers on the desk which smelled wonderful. Daffodils.
‘Good day there, how may I help you?’ said the woman.
Ditty hesitated. She had never been to a place like this before. Her father had never reached his sixtieth birthday, let alone needed to consider moving to a place like this. Her mother…well, if Ditty could stop her mother gallivanting for more than five minutes together, it would be a miracle.
‘Hello,’ Ditty said helplessly. ‘I was wondering if—’
‘Ah, you must be Miss Oliver,’ said a cheerful voice behind her. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you came.’
Ditty turned on her heels as the lady at the desk said sternly, ‘Now then, Mavis.’
‘Mavis?’ The name sounded familiar somehow, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Where had she heard that name? Sometime recently, in a deep voice that made a shiver rush up her spine.
‘I only said I wondered how long it would take before Miss Oliver visited us,’ the woman, who was evidently Mavis, said defensively. ‘I don’t see why that’s such a bother. Come on, dear, let’s talk properly in the sunroom.’
‘The— I haven’t actually—’
But it appeared Ditty had no choice in the matter. Mavis had slipped her thin arm into hers and was marching her to the left, down a corridor and into a beautiful large room that overlooked the town.
‘You can sit here,’ said Mavis sternly, pushing Ditty into an armchair that swallowed her whole. ‘Now tell me. How long have you been in Brexley, and why did I not hear about it until this morning?’
Ditty smiled weakly.
Well, old ladies were the same everywhere—not that Mavis could truly be considered old.
She could only be in her late seventies, maybe early eighties, with beautiful hair curled and put up in the old-fashioned style of the last century, and was wearing a lovely blue gown with a thick woollen scarf around her shoulders.
A scarf, Ditty could not help but think, she had perhaps made herself?
‘Oh, is that her?’ Another woman, seated two armchairs down with an empty chair between them, perked up. ‘I wondered when she’d be getting here.’
‘That’s just what I said!’ Mavis said triumphantly, giving Ditty a wink that she could not help but smile at. ‘But of course, we are a way out of the town. I suppose you had to make your way around the rest of the place.’
‘I—’
‘I would have thought she’d start with us,’ interrupted the woman whose pearl necklace bobbed each time she spoke. ‘I’m Avril, dear, but you’ll know that. I suppose you’ve come to—’
‘She’s my guest, I found her,’ Mavis protested.
Ditty’s smile broadened. They were rather wonderful—but Avril…why was that name ringing a bell, too? There was something strange going on here, something she did not entirely understand.
Mavis was waving an imperious hand. ‘Fine, we’ll share her—just don’t let that Brian sneak her away, she’s not here for him!’
‘Brian?’ Ditty repeated. ‘No, actually I was wondering—’
‘A pretty woman like you can certainly do better than Brian,’ Avril said decidedly, nodding her head. Her pearls jingled. ‘Goodness, I could do better than—’
‘No you couldn’t, dear,’ sniffed Mavis haughtily. ‘None of us could.’
Ditty gazed between the two of them, completely lost. They weren’t suggesting…
‘You…you think I’m here looking for a husband?’ she said weakly.
She would have laughed aloud if the thought wasn’t so ridiculous!
‘Well, naturally,’ said Mavis smartly. ‘Many people come to Brexley for Valentine’s Day, hoping to catch someone’s eye. You are early—’
‘Nothing wrong with being eager,’ Avril cut in with a righteous nod. ‘I certainly was, when I met my—’
‘No one wants to hear that story, Avril, we’ve all heard it a thousand times,’ Mavis said, rolling her eyes to Ditty as though she was in on the joke.
Ditty tried not to laugh. Oh, she certainly should have come here sooner. If there was one way to push aside the hurt from those newspaper articles, it was speaking to these two!
Mavis and Avril. Why did she have the feeling…
‘I suppose you are here for the doctor, aren’t you?’ said Avril in a mock whisper that carried throughout the entire room.
Ditty grinned. Well, she could play along with two old ladies for a few minutes before she found whoever was in charge here. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?
‘Why, do you think I should?’ she said in a stage whisper of her own. ‘Is he very handsome?’
‘Oh, I think you’ll have to be the judge of that,’ said a deep, dry voice from behind her.
* * *