Chapter 13
Saturday passed as most Saturdays did with work in The Silver Teapot. Today she was paired with Annabelle again, given that Katie was once again in the city with Jason. At least that relationship seemed to be working out, even if Ellie had failed at her own. Not that she was thinking about him.
She’d thought she’d done a fairly reasonable job at hiding her feelings about Ethan and his manipulation.
She’d obviously been too na?ve and had believed the first man to really smile at her.
Maybe all those books offering Christian relationship advice were wrong when they said to date to find your mate.
She might’ve believed that once upon a time, but she sure could’ve done with some experience in just plain dating, rather than misinterpreting the first guy to ever show any interest.
Experience for the win.
“Ready for another day?” Annabelle asked, preparing to open the front door for the people already waiting outside.
Was she ready for today? After her shift here, she’d need to prepare for the function tonight, which still puzzled her. “Let’s do it.”
Annabelle opened the door, and Ellie welcomed people inside.
She smiled and gathered menus for the customers seated at the round table. “Hello, and welcome to the Silver Teapot. We’re so glad you’ve joined us today.” She passed out menus. “I’ll give you a moment to look over the various teas we have on offer, and then I’ll return to take your selections.”
Her heart panged. This was what she should’ve been doing with Ethan last weekend. But no. She wasn’t going to think about that. Wasn’t going to think about him.
Just as she had all week, she’d keep busy, keep distracted, keep her mind focused on what could be done rather than on the things that could never be.
And for the next five hours, she did exactly that.
Filling up teapots with tea leaves and just-boiled water.
Handing out plates of pastries and scrumptious sandwiches.
Making small talk about the beautiful weather and blossoms and the district’s tulip festival.
Snatching sips of coffee or water and bites from the unsaleable food to keep up her energy.
Smiling at little girls dressed up in their princess finery.
Helping Dad ice cupcakes and slice sandwiches and box up leftovers in cardboard takeaway containers.
Clearing away teacups and used serviettes and cutlery.
“Whew.” Annabelle wiped down the kitchen’s stainless-steel bench. “Can I admit that I’m glad that’s done? That tea party upstairs was so noisy.”
“You can go home and relax now.”
“Mm. I’d planned to watch the new Austen film at the cinema tonight. Want to come?”
“I’d normally love to, but tonight I’m on a job.”
“On a Saturday night?”
Ellie explained what Nicola had asked her to do, which was met with raised eyebrows. “That is strange.”
“That’s what we both thought. Especially as the client looked at me like she thought I was inferior and insisted I call her Mrs. Dashwood.”
“Bless her cotton socks.”
“Amen.”
Annabelle’s brow puckered. “Mrs. Dashwood? She’s not the politician’s daughter, is she?”
“I don’t know if I can say.” Which was as good as saying yes, she knew. Nicola had had a few clients with NDAs Ellie had been forced to sign. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just read online that the opposition leader’s daughter had moved to the area recently—or at least bought a farm. I think her last name was something like Dashwood.”
“I don’t know why someone like that would want me there.” She straightened a set of white platters. “Not that it matters. I’m just going to measure up some things, then I’m out.”
“Well, if you finish early enough, you could come to the movies with me. Otherwise, I’ll see you at church tomorrow.”
“Sure. Thanks. And thanks again for your help today.”
Annabelle said goodbye to Dad, then exited.
Dad looked at Ellie. “Did I really hear her say that Neville Ferris’ daughter is your client?”
“Possibly. I don’t know for sure.” She shrugged. “You know I don’t like politics.”
“Hmm. Well, if it is, perhaps you can see if someone has some connections so you can use your graphic design skills.”
“I’m really only going so I can measure up the night lighting she wants done.”
“It never hurts to have some business cards you can hand out if necessary.”
“People don’t tend to use those these days. We just swap details on our phones.”
“What happens if you lose your phone?”
She shrugged. “I guess if you don’t have things saved, then you lose those too.”
“So then, isn’t something tangible like a business card better?”
“It’s clutter though.”
“Or it’s something you can find again.”
“How many times have you lost your phone, Dad?”
“I’m just saying …”
Ellie laughed, and he smiled.
“I’ve missed hearing that sound.”
“There’s been a bit going on lately.”
She went home, got changed into the nicest pair of trousers she owned and a cream lacy blouse.
She was shooting for stylish enough in case Francine was a politician’s daughter, but also comfortable enough in case she literally needed to get on the ground to measure things, as she’d been led to believe.
At six thirty she was driving to the address given her, in one of the wealthier areas of the Highlands.
People in this neighbourhood were known to have their own helipads, saunas, and guesthouses on their “estates.” The houses here were a mix of renovated-to-the-hilt old farmhouses and newly built award-winning architectural marvels.
This was the landscape many identified as being most like England, with its gentle rolling hills of green, bordered with hedges and old trees planted by English and Scottish settlers well over a hundred years ago.
It was so pretty, especially in the fading light of sunset, when the sun gilded the trees and—
“Oh!” A smudge of brown on the road made her swerve sharply, before she pulled to the side of the road. Oh, thank goodness. Her heart was pounding frantically. What was a wombat doing on the road at this time of day? Usually they preferred darkness.
She watched as the wombat waddled across the road, safely making it to the other side.
Sweat slicked down her back, forcing her to scrabble in her handbag for her mini deodorant spray, which she applied, then followed with a quick spray of her usual perfume, a tiny sample of Jo Malone’s Nectarine Blossom and then maybe she’d still have time to catch up with Annabelle at the movies.
And hey, if she got the chance to eat some of the delicious-looking food she could see being handed around by servers, then that was a bonus.
So, where was Francine? She passed an older male guest, busy holding conversation with several people hanging on his every word.
He paused, his gaze flicking from her hair to her lacy boho top, and she offered a small smile and kept walking.
No prizes for guessing what he might be thinking.
Still, she wasn’t here to impress anybody.
Apart from Francine, she wouldn’t rub shoulders with these people ever again.
She stopped a passing server. “Excuse me, do you know where Francine is?”
“Mrs. Dashwood?”
Crepes. She’d better remember that. “Yes. The owner of the house.”
“She’s over near the wisteria pergola.”
She bit back a smile. That sounded so pretentious. Although, considering the house and gardens, perhaps there were multiple pergolas deserving the distinction of different names.
She followed a curved path and found the lady of the manor holding a glass of champagne and a smile that broadened when she noticed Ellie. Here went nothing, then.
“Ah, Elinor.”
Would it be petty to insist on being called Ms. Bennett? Probably.
“You came.”
Ellie nodded. “As requested.”
“Well, what do you think of the place?”
“It’s beautiful, and perfect for alfresco gatherings like this.”
“It’s what sold me on the place. Can I get you a glass of champagne? Wine? Orange juice?”
“Um, orange juice would be fine. Thank you.” Who was this woman? Why was she acting nice when she’d been so rude before? Why was Ellie here?
Perhaps some of her questions appeared on her face, because Francine smiled again. “I expect you must be wondering why I asked you to come.”
“It was to check on the garden lighting placement, right?”
“Well, yes. That. And something else.”