Chapter 12 #2
‘And were you?’ Abby asked.
‘No. Well it doesn’t really matter… it’s just an expression.’ Lara suddenly realised she was too tired to explain. It had been a long day.
Abby prided herself on never losing herself in verbiage, so quickly got back to the matter of Lady Porter. ‘We must arrange for you to get together with Sarah and find out what Mrs M meant by her references to Richard Porter.’
‘Oh, I don’t expect she knows anything,’ Lara said dismissively, as she started to gather up the discarded flower stems.
‘Now why would you say that?’ Abby asked.
Lara started to look uncomfortable. ‘I can’t explain it,’ she whispered crossly, not wanting to revisit the day at the church fete, adding, ‘you wouldn’t understand.’
‘That is as unoriginal as it is nonsensical,’ Abby said, sounding not unlike her old governess, Miss Ampleforth.
Lara then lost herself in a series of half sentences that sounded whiney even to her own ears.
‘I just don’t think she’ll talk to… I know what she’s thinking when…
And I bet she knows about Julian and thinks I’m…
She clearly thinks I can’t run a business…
And her shop’s lovely and I bet she thinks I’m just playing at…
And I’m not.’ Lara came to a confused standstill.
Abby stood back and looked at her in astonishment. ‘Is that really what is going through your mind when you see that perfectly friendly young woman?’
‘Sort of,’ Lara said sulkily, suddenly feeling about eight years old.
‘Well, all I can say is that it is a good job you never met my Aunt Augusta. She really did think the worst of everyone and she availed herself of every opportunity to let them know.’ Abby saw the same look on Lara’s face that she had been wearing when she had first set eyes on her in IKEA.
She had looked exhausted and defeated. She softened.
‘Lara, I do believe Sarah likes you and is giving you every indication that she would like to get to know you better.’
Lara looked unconvinced.
‘You will see,’ was all Abby would say.
At this point the landlord, Ron, popped his head around the corner. ‘I’ve left a glass of red wine for you on the table by the fire. Take the weight off your feet for five minutes, Lara, you look done in.’
‘Oh, thanks, Ron. That is exactly what I need,’ Lara responded gratefully. ‘I’ll just put the rubbish in the van.’
‘I can get rid of that for you,’ Ron said, taking the broken stems from her, and he nodded towards the fire.
As Lara sank into a chair Abby stood looking into the mirror above the mantelpiece, rearranging the intricate folds of her lace cravat.
Just then the door to the bar swung open and a group of six or seven men entered.
They were dressed in tweeds and gaiters and they were also sporting a considerable amount of mud.
Their faces were flushed from the fresh air, and Abby suspected, from the hip flask she saw one of them slip into his shooting bag.
They talked loudly to each other of covers and drives and it was some time before they settled and gathered at the bar in front of the patiently waiting Ron.
‘Evening, gentlemen. What can I get you?’
Orders came thick and fast, and Ron set about pouring pints, pushing optics and opening bottles with practised agility.
It was at this point that Abby noticed Lara’s reaction.
She was staring at one of the younger men in the crowd.
Lara then shifted her gaze and fixed her eyes on the fire as if nothing had ever been more fascinating or demanded so much of her attention.
Abby was left in no doubt who this young man was.
But then she reminded herself she did have a knack for this sort of thing.
So this was Julian Armstrong.
Abby regarded Julian with interest. He was at the centre of the men and was clearly on very good terms with them all.
There was much good-natured joking and laughter and Julian was in the thick of it.
He had not noticed Lara. Nor did he notice Abby as she sauntered over to take a better look.
It was perhaps fortunate that Lara was facing away from her, eyes fixed on the flames, as the sight of Abby circling the group like a cat contemplating its prey might very well have put her off her wine.
Eventually Abby stood back, hands on hips, contemplating Julian.
He had dark blond hair and blue eyes and while Abby thought he had probably looked angelic as a little boy, he now had a hard, sculpted, very masculine face.
His angular features were only softened by his full sensual lips, which were the colour of bruised peaches.
‘As I live and breathe,’ she whispered dryly to herself, ‘Major Norton; as if born again.’ Abby had not mentioned to Lara that the reason the Margate Strangler had been able to get so close to his victims was because of his remarkable good looks.
It was also widely reported that the Major had more charm than it was decent for one man to possess.
Abby continued to watch Julian as he held court.
Lara continued to study the fire unaware she was picking a hole in her jumper.
Abby could not deny it, the man was startlingly good-looking and he carried his looks with a casual grace that only added to his attraction.
His appearance and mannerisms also had a distinctly sexual edge, that even here, among his male friends, Abby could feel.
And I am a ghost, Abby thought to herself. Goodness only knows the effect on Lara. She glanced uneasily at the figure by the fire.