Chapter 13 #2
With the last of the items from Crayke’s Cottage loaded into Nate’s van, he and Lark headed back to her house for her to get changed before she opened the shop.
The suitcase would be locked in the shed at Seashell Cottage for the time being; more than ever, she didn’t want it in her home.
They’d agreed that he should contact Mr Thurston about it and its contents before approaching the curator of the heritage museum, just in case he’d changed his mind about Nate keeping them.
They didn’t want to risk sharing something Mr Thurston might rather keep private.
So, Nate had called the older man and left a message on his answerphone, explaining what they’d found, asking him to call back as soon as possible.
While he’d been doing that, Lark had texted Maggie thanking Bear for his offer of a lift and explaining that she wouldn’t need it since Nate had offered to drop her off in town on the way to his workshop.
Returning to the warmth – not to mention calm – of Seashell Cottage, Lark wasn’t completely surprised to find that Luna kept her distance, observing them with silent interest, as if she knew where they’d been.
In a bid to further banish any traces of energy that might be lingering on them from Crayke’s Cottage, Lark topped up the aromatherapy diffuser, sending the soothing fragrance of lavender and scented geranium into the air, hoping it would help Luna feel more settled.
While he was waiting for Lark to get changed out of her dusty clothing and gather together the stuff she needed for the shop, Nate made a pot of tea and checked his mobile to see he’d missed a call from Mr Thurston.
In his voicemail message, the older man had sounded more than a little agitated and told Nate very firmly he wanted nothing to do with any of what they’d found, that Nate had paid for all of the contents so was now the legal owner, just as they’d agreed.
He could do whatever he wanted with the pistol, etcetera.
He’d added, quite snappily, that he didn’t want to hear about anything else, and that he and his brother would be glad to have the property off their hands.
After changing into a brightly coloured Scandinavian-style jumper and a pair of dark red trousers, leaving her hair hanging loose over her shoulders, Lark had headed back downstairs.
Nate relayed his conversation with Mr Thurston to her.
They agreed his response had only added to the intrigue of the old property.
Quickly finishing their mugs of tea, they headed out into the bright winter sunshine.
‘Looks like the next plan of action is for us to get in touch with the curator of the heritage museum.’ Nate was carefully negotiating one of the many sharp bends of Skitey Bank, snow piled high at the edges of the road where the plough had pushed it back.
It took an age for the van to warm up and it was as cold inside the vehicle as it was outside.
‘I’ll get onto it later today. I’ve already told Florrie I’ll pop over to see her at the bookshop.
’ Lark was looking out of the passenger window, taking in the view of Old Micklewick below, lifting her gaze and skimming over the snow-covered fields of Thorncliffe Farm that stretched out beneath a vivid blue sky. It looked breathtakingly beautiful.
‘Right then, here we are.’ Nate pulled the van up outside Lark’s Vintage Bazaar in Victoria Square, yanking the handbrake on. ‘Everywhere looks pretty quiet. Mind, it’s hardly surprising. I should imagine folk’ll be waiting for the snow to clear before they head out.’
Lark peered out through the windscreen to see the run of sandstone planters that divided the wide road were completely hidden under a dense blanket of white, and the clock at the bottom, located opposite the station building, was sporting what appeared to be a top hat of snow.
‘Hmm. I doubt I’ll get much trade today, but that’s fine, I’ve got a load of new stock to get out as well as the Christmas decorations to finish.’
‘Aye, I doubt I’ll make many sales, but I’ve got a backlog of restoration to catch up on, so I’ll crack on with that.’
‘Thanks, Nate.’ She leant across and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘I’ll keep you up to speed if I get to speak to the curator.’ She grabbed her bag filled with the unfinished Christmas decorations and the one containing her shoes to change into out of her wellies.
‘Good stuff. Let me know if you need a lift back home.’
‘Thanks, I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ She didn’t like to put on him, or for him to think she expected him to go out of his way on her account.
She’d be quite happy to walk back home. She climbed down from the van, her wellies sinking into the snow that was piled against the kerb.
‘See you later, hope you have a good day.’ Her breath curled into a plume of condensation in the chilly air.
‘Aye, you too.’ He smiled and gave her a salute as she heaved the door shut.
Lark’s Vintage Bazaar was a treasure trove of interesting and intriguing finds, where her loyal customers could lose themselves for hours.
Not only did it stock vintage items, but also Lark’s own range of homemade aromatherapy products, as well as a range of crystals.
No one who entered it ever left empty-handed.
The shop was almost directly opposite The Happy Hartes Bookshop which was owned by her friends, Florrie and Ed.
The store, named in honour of Lark, had originally been a joint enterprise opened by her mother, Serena, and godmother, Elfie.
By the time she’d reached eighteen, they’d handed Lark the reins while they followed their passion for travelling, knowing it would be left in a safe pair of hands.
Lark had been at the helm ever since. Since then, she’d grown the stock, repairing garments where necessary, or tweaking and making alterations in order to increase the item’s appeal to a contemporary market – a pair of checked, nineteen-seventies flares had become a neatly tailored pair of ankle-grazers, for example.
Now, Lark’s Vintage Bazaar did a roaring trade and people came from miles around to have a rummage through the rails.
Standing in front of her shop, Lark took a moment to survey the Christmas display in the large window.
It was still a work in progress, but she liked to take her time, make sure she got it just right.
Last year’s featured a mannequin wearing a white pleated nineteen-seventies maxi dress that she’d styled to look like an angel complete with wings.
It managed to look ethereal and bohemian at the same time.
This year, she’d opted for two mannequins, each dressed for a Christmas party while building a snowman.
They were sporting sparkly vintage dresses, uber-high heels and glittery tights, cocktail glasses in hand.
The playful scene was set against an Alpine backdrop with fake snow appearing to tumble from the sky.
She’d had fun thinking it up and putting it together.
Her quick appraisal told Lark the mannequins’ hair would benefit from a bit of attention.
One had a wig of dark waves which she’d brushed back to look as if the wind was blowing it off her face.
The other sported a blonde, messy “up-do” from which a few too many tendrils had escaped.
A quick spritz of hairspray should fix things. Small tweaks.
That morning, the town had been deathly quiet and the time had passed slowly.
Only two customers had paid the shop a visit.
The first had bought a vintage eighties jumpsuit comprising of satin trousers in a vibrant shade of electric-blue and a sequinned sleeveless top.
The other had picked up a selection of aromatherapy products as a Christmas present, along with a shimmering cream blouse.
The quiet shift meant Lark had been able to add some new clothes to the rails and rearrange the display of vintage shoes. That done, she moved on to finishing her Christmas decorations.
She was stitching a hanging loop of twine onto a star-shaped decoration when her mobile pinged. Setting her needle down, she smiled to see a text from Florrie.
Ready when you are! I’ve reserved us a table in the teashop as well as a slice each of Jazz’s ginger shortbread Fxx
The mere thought of their friend’s homemade shortbread was enough to get Lark’s mouth watering. Jasmine’s baking always went down a storm. She tapped out a quick reply.
I’ll be there in 2 mins xx